Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Indecision
Indecision.
"Evils as many and as great belong
To judging slowly as to judging wrong."
To judging slowly as to judging wrong."
A Chancellor, who in every case
Judged slow, with sad and solemn face,
Doubts upon endless doubts renewed
As fast as each could be subdued;
Fatigued, at length, with noise and brawl,
Left for a time the wrangling Hall,
To taste the joys of calm retreat,
With spousy at his country-seat,
Though tittering scandal did declare
No calm could be if she were there.
My Lord, one hot September morning,
Received his prudent Lady's warning
(The larder was than usual thinner,)
To shoot some partridges for dinner;
Behold him now the fields o'erstride,
With Tray and Sancho by his side;
The pointers, with unwearied pace,
Did many a close and common trace,
In every line of subdivision,
With mathematical precision.
My Lord lagged on with toil and pain
For many a weary hour in vain,
At length to compensate his trouble
They found a covey in the stubble.
With wary step near and more near,
By slow degrees advanced the Peer;
And gained at length his proper station,
Prepared for death and desolation;
The whirring covey upward flew,
Full in the learned sportsman's view,
Who straight began a deep dispute,
Which of these birds 'twas best to shoot,
He paused—for doubts o'erwhelmed his mind—
The dogs supposed their master blind.
The birds in different ways divided,
And left the Chancellor undecided.
"Friend Tray," quoth Sancho in derision,
"Behold this master of decision,
Would'st take this man of doubts and flaws,
For an expounder of the laws,
An arbiter of quibble mooters?
Goodness defend his Lordship's suitors:
Justice this once doth well repay
To him the fruits of his delay,
For see the vacillating sinner
Has spoiled his sport, and lost his dinner."
Judged slow, with sad and solemn face,
Doubts upon endless doubts renewed
As fast as each could be subdued;
Fatigued, at length, with noise and brawl,
Left for a time the wrangling Hall,
To taste the joys of calm retreat,
With spousy at his country-seat,
Though tittering scandal did declare
No calm could be if she were there.
My Lord, one hot September morning,
Received his prudent Lady's warning
(The larder was than usual thinner,)
To shoot some partridges for dinner;
Behold him now the fields o'erstride,
With Tray and Sancho by his side;
The pointers, with unwearied pace,
Did many a close and common trace,
In every line of subdivision,
With mathematical precision.
My Lord lagged on with toil and pain
For many a weary hour in vain,
At length to compensate his trouble
They found a covey in the stubble.
With wary step near and more near,
By slow degrees advanced the Peer;
And gained at length his proper station,
Prepared for death and desolation;
The whirring covey upward flew,
Full in the learned sportsman's view,
Who straight began a deep dispute,
Which of these birds 'twas best to shoot,
He paused—for doubts o'erwhelmed his mind—
The dogs supposed their master blind.
The birds in different ways divided,
And left the Chancellor undecided.
"Friend Tray," quoth Sancho in derision,
"Behold this master of decision,
Would'st take this man of doubts and flaws,
For an expounder of the laws,
An arbiter of quibble mooters?
Goodness defend his Lordship's suitors:
Justice this once doth well repay
To him the fruits of his delay,
For see the vacillating sinner
Has spoiled his sport, and lost his dinner."