. Poetical works of James Montgomery . ckon here Each day a month, each month a year. Tiiere honest William stands in state, The porter, at the horrid gate ; Yet no ill-natured soul is he, Entrance to all the world is hee ; One thing, indeed, is rather hard, Egress is frequently debarrd : Of all the joys within that reign. Theres none like—getting out again! Across the green, behold the court, Where jargon reigns and wigs resort! Where bloody tongues fight bloodless battles, For life and death, for straws and rattles; Where juries yawn their patience out, And judges dream in spile of gout. The
. Poetical works of James Montgomery . ckon here Each day a month, each month a year. Tiiere honest William stands in state, The porter, at the horrid gate ; Yet no ill-natured soul is he, Entrance to all the world is hee ; One thing, indeed, is rather hard, Egress is frequently debarrd : Of all the joys within that reign. Theres none like—getting out again! Across the green, behold the court, Where jargon reigns and wigs resort! Where bloody tongues fight bloodless battles, For life and death, for straws and rattles; Where juries yawn their patience out, And judges dream in spile of gout. There, on the outside of the door, (As sang a wicked wag of yore,) Stands Mother Justice, tall and thin. Who never yet hath ventured in. The cause, my friend, may soon be shown, The lady v/as a stepping-stone, Till—though the metamorphose odd is— A chisel made the block a goddess : —• Odd ! did I say ?—Im wrong this time ; But I was hamperd for a rhyme: Justice at—I could tell you where— Is just the same as justice But lo ! my frisking dog attends,The kindest of four-footed friends ;Brim-full of giddiness and mirth,He is the prettiest fool on rogue is twice a squirrels size,With short snub nose and big black eyes ;A cloud of brown adorns his curls and serves him for a sail;The same deep auburn dyes his ears,That never were abridged by shears :While white around, as Ijapland snows,His hair, in soft profusion, flows ;Waves on his breast, and plumes his feetWith glossy fringe, like feathers thousand antic tricks he plays,And looks at one a thousand ways ;His wit, if he has any, hesSomewhere between his tail and eyes;Sooner the light those eyes will Billy cease to wag that tail. And yet the fellow neer is safeFrom the tremendous beak of Ralph;A raven grim, in black and arch a knave as eer you knew;Who hops about with broken pinions,And thinks these walls his own wag a mortal foe to Bill fight
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1850, bookidpoeticalwork, bookyear1853
