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The Green Bag And then the stream aforesaid flows In an unfettered way, While counsel glare and tables pound Their valor to display. A pleasant sight it is to see The lawyers battling there With many rare varieties Of whisker, nose and hair, And hear the champions orate, For clients clean and white, Whose adversaries' cases are As dark as blackest night. The lawyer with a verdict won, His feet spread wide apart, Stands round for admiration While his friends proclaim "he's smart!" The vanquished in the outer hall, Profane with drooping jaw, Hears many people say, "He's good, But lost on pints o' law." The winner's clients says to him, "Your pleading was sublime"; The winner says, "Your case was clear, I knew it all the time." Yet many nights he'd lain awake And mourned his client's plight, For fear he'd lose the verdict in That selfsame lucky fight. The loser to his lawyer says : "The judge is clearly wrong, The jurors were nonsensical, On blunders they were strong." His lawyer says: "You're right, old man, For you I deeply feel; We'll give them still another round And lick 'em on appeal." Sometimes the Court is criticised, And dubbed an arrant fool, As blind as any crazy bat Whilc laying down a rule.