He clenched his pamphlets in his fist

Lord A[dvoca]te:

He clenched his pamphlets in his fist,
He quoted and he hinted,
Till in a declamation-mist,
His argument he tint it;
He gaped for't, he graped for't,
He fand it was awa, man;
And what his common sense came short,
He eked it out wi' law, man,

Mr Erskine:

Collected, Harry stood awee,
Then open'd out his arm, man;
His lordship sat wi' ruefu' e'e,
And ey'd the gathering storm, man;
Like wind-driv'n hail it did assail,
Or torrents owre a lin, man;
The BENCH sae wise lift up their eyes,
Half-wauken'd wi' the din, man.

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Copyright © 2001, Jack Campin