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.
Embro, Embro Copyright © 2001, Jack Campin