Poems about lawyers and law an abc for lawyers

A mightily strange book came out in 1947 under the lofty auspices of Stevens & Sons Limited of London. Though it may have sold well amidst Halsbury's and Blackstone, this one had the anomaly of quasi-anonymity, being authored by a mysterious "J.P.C."

A is for arson, the firing of houses B is for bigamy, too many spouses. C is for caveat. Emptor beware! D’s for defense which are counsel prepare. E’s for extradition of chaps from abroad, F is for felony, forgery, fraud. G is for all the goodwill you will need, H is for heir, who will try to succeed, I’s for identity, plus the parade,

J’s for the juries who never get paid. K is for kin who are sought from afar, L is for lawyers, all sides of the bar. M’s the mandamus, for which we have waited, N is the nuisance as yet unabated. O is for oath on the old or the new,

O is for oath on the old or the new, P is for paperwork, long overdue. Q is for question which counsel will ask, R’s the refresher he needs for his task. S is for sacrilege, stealing from churches, T is for title - a good one on purchase. U is for usage, the custom of trade, V is for view, which his Lordship has made. W’s for wife and for woolsack and wills, X is the sum of solicitors’ bills. Y is the number of years you will get. And Z is a crime that we do not know of yet.

References:

J.P.C., Poetic Justice (London: Stevens & Sons Ltd., 1947), page 3.

http://www.duhaime.org/LawFun/LawArticle-1177/An-ABC-For-Lawyers.aspx

Nursery rhyme

Tommy Trot, a man of law, Sold his cot and slept on straw, Sold his straw and slept on grass, To buy his wife a looking glass.

THE LAWYERS KNOW TOO MUCH (By Carl August Sandburg) The lawyers, Bob, know too much. They are chums of the books of old John Marshall. They know it all, what a dead hand wrote, A stiff dead hand and its knuckles crumbling, The bones of the fingers a thin white ash. The lawyers know a dead man's thought too well. In the heels of the higgling lawyers, Bob, Too many slippery ifs and buts and howevers, Too much hereinbefore provided whereas, Too many doors to go in and out of. When the lawyers are through What is there left, Bob? Can a mouse nibble at it And find enough to fasten a tooth in? Why is there always a secret singing When a lawyer cashes in? Why does a hearse horse snicker Hauling a lawyer away? The work of a bricklayer goes to the blue. The knack of a mason outlasts a moon. The hands of a plasterer hold a room together. The land of a farmer wishes him back again. Singers of songs and dreamers of plays Build a house no wind blows over. The lawyers--tell me why a hearse horse snickers hauling a lawyer's bones.

The lawyers' ways (By Paul Laurence Dunbar)

I've been list'nin' to them lawyers

In the court house up the street,

An' I've come to the conclusion

That I'm most completely beat.

Fust one feller riz to argy,

An' he boldly waded in

As he dressed the tremblin' pris'ner

In a coat o' deep-dyed sin.

Why, he painted him all over

In a hue o' blackest crime,

An' he smeared his reputation

With the thickest kind o' grime,

Tell I found myself a-wond'rin',

In a misty way and dim,

How the Lord had come to fashion

Sich an awful man as him.

Then the other lawyer started,

An' with brimmin', tearful eyes,

Said his client was a martyr

That was brought to sacrifice.

An' he give to that same pris'ner

Every blessed human grace,

Tell I saw the light o' virtue

Fairly shinin' from his face.

Then I own 'at I was puzzled

How sich things could rightly be;

An' this aggervatin' question

Seems to keep a-puzzlin' me.

So, will some one please inform me,

An' this mystery unroll--

How an angel an' a devil

Can persess the self-same soul?

SONNET 35 (By William Shakespeare) No more be grieved at that which thou hast done: Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud; Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud. All men make faults, and even I in this, Authorizing thy trespass with compare, Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss, Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are; For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense-- Thy adverse party is thy advocate-- And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence: Such civil war is in my love and hate That I an accessary needs must be To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me.

Epigraph from THE JUDGE IS FURY (by James Vincent Cunningham)

These the assizes: here the charge, denial, Proof and disproof: the poem is the trial. Experience is defendant, and the jury Peers of tradition, and the judge is fury. THE LAW MY CALLING IS (By Sir John Davies)

The Law my calling is, my robe, my tongue, my pen. Wealth and opinion gain, and make me judge of men. The known dishonest cause, I never did defend, Nor spun out suits in length, but wisht and sought an end Nor counsel did bewray, nor of both parties take, Nor ever tooke I fee for which I never spake.

LAW LIKE LOVE (By Wystan Hugh Auden)

Law, say the gardeners, is the sun, Law is the one All gardeners obey Tomorrow, yesterday, today. Law is the wisdom of the old, The impotent grandfathers feebly scold; The grandchildren put out a treble tongue, Law is the senses of the young. Law, says the priest with a priestly look, Expounding to an unpriestly people, Law is the words in my priestly book, Law is my pulpit and my steeple. Law, says the judge as he looks down his nose, Speaking clearly and most severely, Law is as I've told you before, Law is as you know I suppose, Law is but let me explain it once more, Law is The Law. Yet law-abiding scholars write: Law is neither wrong nor right, Law is only crimes Punished by places and by times, Law is the clothes men wear Anytime, anywhere, Law is Good morning and Good night. Others say, Law is our Fate; Others say, Law is our State; Others say, others say Law is no more, Law has gone away. And always the loud angry crowd, Very angry and very loud, Law is We, And always the soft idiot softly Me. If we, dear, know we know no more Than they about the Law, If I no more than you Know what we should and should not do Except that all agree Gladly or miserably That the Law is And that all know this If therefore thinking it absurd To identify Law with some other word, Unlike so many men I cannot say Law is again, No more than they can we suppress The universal wish to guess Or slip out of our own position Into an unconcerned condition. Although I can at least confine Your vanity and mine To stating timidly A timid similarity, We shall boast anyway: Like love I say. Like love we don't know where or why, Like love we can't compel or fly, Like love we often weep, Like love we seldom keep.