each to make a bribe That any Judge would feel was large Enough to prove the gravest charge—­ Unless, it might be, the defense Put up superior evidence.  The law’s traditional delay Was all too short:  the trial day Dawned red and menacing.  The Judge Sat on the Bench and wouldn’t budge, And all the motions counsel made Could not move him—­and there he stayed.  “The case must now proceed,” he said, “While I am just in heart and head, It happens—­as, indeed, it ought—­ Both sides with equal sums have bought My favor:  I can try the cause Impartially.” (Prolonged applause.)

  The prisoner was now arraigned
  And said that he was greatly pained
  To be suspected—­he, whose pen
  Had charged so many other men
  With crimes and misdemeanors!  “Why,”
  He said, a tear in either eye,
  “If men who live by crying out
  ‘Stop thief!’ are not themselves from doubt
  Of their integrity exempt,
  Let all forego the vain attempt
  To make a reputation!  Sir,
  I’m innocent, and I demur.” 
  Whereat a thousand voices cried
  Amain he manifestly lied—­
  Vox populi as loudly roared
  As bull by picadores gored,
  In his own coin receiving pay
  To make a Spanish holiday.

  The jury—­twelve good men and true—­
  Were then sworn in to see it through,
  And each made solemn oath that he
  As any babe unborn was free
  From prejudice, opinion, thought,
  Respectability, brains—­aught
  That could disqualify; and some
  Explained that they were deaf and dumb. 
  A better twelve, his Honor said,
  Was rare, except among the dead. 
  The witnesses were called and sworn. 
  The tales they told made angels mourn,
  And the Good Book they’d kissed became
  Red with the consciousness of shame.

  Whenever one of them approached
  The truth, “That witness wasn’t coached,
  Your Honor!” cried the lawyers both. 
  “Strike out his testimony,” quoth
  The learned judge:  “This Court denies
  Its ear to stories which surprise. 
  I hold that witnesses exempt
  From coaching all are in contempt.” 
  Both Prosecution and Defense
  Applauded the judicial sense,
  And the spectators all averred
  Such wisdom they had never heard: 
  ’Twas plain the prisoner would be
  Found guilty in the first degree. 
  Meanwhile that wight’s pale cheek confessed
  The nameless terrors in his breast. 
  He felt remorseful, too, because
  He wasn’t half they said he was. 
  “If I’d been such a rogue,” he mused
  On opportunities unused,
  “I might have easily become
  As wealthy as Methusalum.” 
  This journalist adorned, alas,
  The middle, not the Bible, class.

  With equal skill the lawyers’ pleas
  Attested their divided fees. 
  Each gave the other one the lie,
  Then helped him frame a sharp reply.