Now silence charms the sages of the gown,
To purer air doth speed each crafty wight;
The well-squeez'd client quits the dusty town,
Grown grey in the asserting of his right,
With head yfraught with law, and pockets light,
Well pleas'd he wanders o'er the fallow lea,
And views each rural object with delight.
Ne'er be my lot the brawling courts to see;
Who trusts to lawyer's tongue doth much misween, perdy.