Shall your sight behold his gold ring
And parade your sockets abroad his handsome robe?
Shall his words deride you of sound reasoning
And cause your mind to jilt solemn sanity?
Shall his bribe in the back undo you
And deliver mercy into the hands of cruel judgment?
Shall the smell of mint currency hijack your olfactory
And pervade the evil evidences displayed before you?

Shall his object of oppression be naught to you
That you shut every book of legal law and logic?
Shall the rags and ugly limbs disgust you
That as swiftly as a squirrel, you part with wisdom?
Shall the dearth of eloquence expunge you
That you surrender your wits to wads of folly?
At the Palm of Deborah, between rot-will and justice-villa
May you decide whose fate shall write your history.


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