Classic Poem

Ye who have chafed at the law's delays
And the tedious trials of later days —
Ye who have laughed at the sage pretense
That ponders ridiculous evidence —
Hear of a process, devoid of sham,
In the trim little town of New Amsterdam.

Burgher Jan Haeckius standeth here
Claiming his due for a keg of beer
Sold — on the record this fact stands proven —
To crafty Jacobus Van Couwenhouven.
Cometh Jacobus, that wily man,
Boldly admitting the sale by Jan,
Natheless maintaining no pay is due,
Seeing the beer is a worthless brew,
Muddy of color and flat and sour,
Drawn from the vat in an evil hour.
Further, he claimeth of startled Jan
Gold for redress of his inner man.
What did the worshipful Schepens do?
Think you they summoned a learned crew
Laden with volumes, retorts, and vials
Such as bewilder our modern trials?
Nothing of ptomaines nor germs knew they;
Naught of the microbe that stalks by day;
Nothing they knew of those wondrous men
Skilled in the slights of the subtle pen.
Nothing they knew of our modern shame —
Perjury sanctioned by Learning's name.
The highway to Justice was broad and clear:
" Court is adjourned to inspect the beer. "

Out to the open the jury wan
With doubtful Jacobus and hopeful Jan.
Nothing was heard for an hour or twain
But mellow gurgles, the soft refrain
Of deep-drawn breathing and smack of zest
That tell of the spirit of man at rest,
While the jury, seated along a fence,
Absorbed and digested the evidence.

Seemly the session, though all too short
E'en for the litigants. Soon the Court
Gravely convened at its former stand,
Wiping its mouth on the back of its hand,
And spake with conviction, as jurors should:
" Verdict for plaintiff. Said beer was good. "