AN EPIGRAM TO THE COUNCILLOR THAT PLEADED AND CARRIED THE CAUSE by BEN JONSON

That I, hereafter, do not think the bar,
The seat made of a more than civil war;
Or the great hall at Westminster, the field
Where mutual frauds are fought, and no side yield;
That, henceforth, I believe nor books, nor men,
Who 'gainst the law, weave calumnies, my Benn;
But when I read or hear the names so rife
Of hirelings, wranglers, stitchers-to of strife,
Hook-handed harpies, gowned vultures, put
Upon the reverend pleaders; do now shut
All mouths, that dare entitle them (from hence)
To the wolf's study, or dog's eloquence;
Thou art my cause: whose manners since I knew,
Have made me to conceive a lawyer new.
So dost thou study matter, men, and times,
Mak'st it religion to grow rich by crimes!
Dar'st not abuse thy wisdom, in the laws,
Or skill to carry out an evil cause!
But first dost vex, and search it! If not sound,
Thou prov'st the gentler ways, to cleanse the wound,
And make the scar fair; if that will not be,
Thou hast the brave scorn, to put back the fee!
But in a business, that will bide the touch,
What use, what strength of reason! And how much
Of books, of precedents, hast thou at hand?
As if the general store thou didst command
Of argument, still drawing forth the best,
And not being borrowed by thee, but possessed.
So com'st thou like a chief into the court
Armed at all pieces, as to keep a fort
Against a multitude; and (with thy stile
So brightly brandished) wound'st, defend'st! The while
Thy adversaries fall, as not a word
They had, but were a reed unto thy sword.
Then com'st thou off with victory and palm,
Thy hearer's nectar, and thy client's balm,
The court's just honour, and thy judge's love.
And (which doth all achievements get above)
Thy sincere practice, breeds not thee a fame
Alone, but all thy rank a reverend name.

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