Classic Poem

That in the Court, some Justice might appear,
Justice is still hung in Effigie there;
The sole Way that ('tis said) she ever was
Known to be executed, in that Place;
Hang'd there, since grown her self a Criminal,
Where she her self, the Poor Man's Due does sell;
So, to be liker Justice now-a-days,
Hang'd out of reach, still in the Court she was;
Hang'd out, as in the Streets, Things worn-out, old,
Expos'd are, where the New are to be sold;
But so chang'd is, (from what she once was,) now,
That no Man scarce, can her for Justice know;
Since, that so little of her now is lest,
That of her Scales, she seems by Time bereft;
Yet shows her self, like Modern Justice more,
The less she seems now, what she was before;
For, as i'th' Courts, Transactions now we see,
A faint Resemblance of her, yet to be;
Her Sword remaining, and her Scales rubb'd out,
But make us, whether Justice 'tis, to doubt;
Which shows, nought by her, but by Force is done,
That Cruelty, remains with her alone,
Since with her Scales, her Equity seems gone;
She seems a Homicide, without her Scales,
To show, that Pow'r o'er Truth and Right prevails;
And that the Judges are corrupt, since they,
By Weight of Bribes, not Reason, Causes weigh:
Thus Justice hang'd up, does i'th' Court appear,
To show, Just Causes are suspended there;
That Justice is but in Effigie so,
There executed by the Judges now:
The Picture then of Justice on the Wall,
Now th'Absence shows of its Original;
Thus, when our Friends are dead and gone, we find,
Their Pictures in their Places left behind,
Of their Departure dumb Records to be,
When we no more their Real Presence see.