How pure the joy, when first my hands unfold

Torn from their destined page (unworthy meed Of knightly counsel and heroic deed).

Now cheaply bought for thrice their weight in gold.

The princeps copy, clad in blue and gold.

Ye blushing virgins happy are In the chaste nunnery of her breasts— For he'd profane so chaste a fair, Whoe'er should call them Cupid's nests.

For see the rosy May draws nigh; She claims a virgin queen; And hark, the happy shepherds cry, 'Tis Kate of Aberdeen.

So venerable, so majestic, is this living temple of justice, this immemorial and yet freshly growing fabric of the Common Law, that the least of us is happy who hereafter may point to so much as one stone thereof and say, The work of my …