Classic Poem

I.

I'll tell you a story — a story that's true,
A story that's tragic and comical too,
'Tis of a mischance that was ready to fall
On this realm, through the skylight of Westminster-hall.

Sing bags and briefs, bands, gowns, and other like rigs,
Queues, bags, ties, and full-bottom wigs, wigs, wigs.

II.

The court was just opened, and each learned brother
Preparing which readiest could puzzle the other,
When, on top of the house, a poor ignorant wench
Puzzled judge, jury, counsel, and all the whole bench.
Sing bags and briefs, &c.

III.

Some say they a knotty dispute were upon,
Of some trifle, like perjury, bail, or crim. con.
When this maid, with good nature alone for her object,
Wash'd the windows to let in some light on the subject.
Sing bags and briefs, &c.

IV.

Others say, and that boldly, this sly little quean
Was determin'd to wash all their consciences clean;
But that would have taken, so wrong was her notion,
Instead of some drops, more than all the whole ocean,
Sing bags and briefs, &c.

V.

But the lawyers, with consciences ever awake,
Did the poor girls civility strangely mistake,
And augmenting this mouse to a mountain of evil,
Took her mop for a pitchfork, and her for the devil.
Sing bags and briefs, &c.

VI.

One appearing, however, less scar'd than the rest,
Their absurd apprehensions soon turn'd to a jest;
Crying, courage! Old Nick will not take you this bout,
He'll be punctual, ne'er fear, but your time is not out.
Sing bags and briefs, &c.

VII.

And now, lest the roof on their noddles should fall,
In two minutes deserted was Westminster-hall;
Pris'ner, judge, and jew-bail 'gainst each other did squeeze
And the counsel bags, wigs, and all lost but their fees.
Sing bags and briefs, &c.

VIII.

No longer let France then her Joan of Arc boast,
Of her country's stout foes who subdu'd a whole host,
On the maid of the skylight more honour shall fall,
For she routed the lawyers from Westminster-hall.
Sing bags and briefs, &c.