Give that brief to me,
Without so much bother;
Never let it be
Given to another.
Why this coy resistance?
Wherefore keep such distance?
Why hesitate so long to give that brief to me?


Should'st thou ever find
Any counsel willing
To conduct thy case
For one pound one shilling;
Scorn such vulgar tricks, love;
One pound three and six, love,
Is the proper thing,--then give that brief to me.


Should thy case turn out
Hopeless and delusive,
Still I'd rave and shout,
Using terms abusive.
Truth and sense might perish,
Still thy cause I'd cherish,
Hallow'd by thy gold,--then give that brief to me.


Should the learned judge
Sit on me like fury,
Still I'd never budge--
There's the British Jury!
Should that stay prove rotten,
Bowen, Brett, and Cotton {143}
Would upset them all,--then give that brief to me.

More verses by Horace Smith