An Epigramme called the Honest Lawyer

Sprightly my muse, speake like the son of thunder
And with a full mouth, ring out Albions wonder:
No Sussex Dragon, no Virginian,
But of a Lawer that's an Honest man.
Whose definition if you wish to know,
Is a blacke Swan, faire Moore, or milke-white Crow.
He takes no fees, till he conceiue the cause,
Nor with an Oyly bribe annoints his iawes.
He wants the vse of feeling, feares Heauens curse,
Strings not his conscience with his Clients purse.
Hee' not be tongue-tide, but for Iustice sake,
He seekes to earne the mony he does take.
He hates aequiuocation and delay,
Nor will he make his Threed-bare Client stay
For his dispatch: he will not haue his fee,
Till he discusse the causes equity.
His Iudgement will not vaile to wind nor wether,
Nor is his conscience made of retching lether.
His eye's on Iustice, nor will euer he
Banke-rupt his soule, t' enrich posterity.
His tongue's no time-obseruer, made to please,
His fist is shut from taking double fees.
He will not forge a lye, nor wrest the sence,
Of law or right, for any faire pretence.
He will not backe his Clyent, or maintaine
An vniust suit, to reape a priuate gaine.
He speakes and stands too't, nor is sorry for't,
Though he by speaking truth, incense the Court.
He hates corruption, nor has euer sould,
His peace of Conscience, for a peece of gold
He loues no perfumes, nor is one of those,
Whose peak't mouchatoes skirmish with their nose.
His beard's not starcht, he has no subtile sconce,
Nor Ianus-like lookes he ten waies at once.
His Eare is neuer shut to poore mens mones,
His Coach-wheele is not made of Clients bones,
His Conscience nere did ought that needs relenting
Or ere made Clients pay for his wiues painting.
His soule was neuer soild by corrupt dealing,
Nor stands he on a veluet gowne at sealing.
His face was nere at Braziers, nor his skin
Sy-sambris-like was hung vp to be seene.
His tongue speakes truth, makes peace where ere he can.
This Lawer must be needs an honest man.
It's true, he must: but where now shall we finde
This man: I feare theres none left of his kind.
Yes one I know, and more there be no doubt
But that my dull pate cannot find them out,
Who's truely honest: Whom you may discerne,
You Clients you, that visit this throng Terme,
By no example in our Albion more,
Then by my Patron in my Catch before.
Aske you me why? Experience tells it me,
"None of's Profession honester then he.