So, Juror Simpson, you got drunk
And was a holy show!
Who could have thought that you had sunk
So very low
As not to hold it clearly sinful
To get your miserable skin full?
Defendant has a right, I think,
To trial by her peers;
Are you one when you are in drink
Up to your ears?
You’re not her equal by a pailful
When you’ve enough to make a whale full.
Judge Ross, who never, never looks
On wine when it is red,
But sits cold sober cramming books
Into his head,
Poor fellow! must have felt quite rueful,
Observing, not himself, but you full.
Ah, well, I know you did not mean—
’Twas all an accident:
You drank between drinks, and between
Them you repent.
But just prepare for something awful
In words: That jurist has his jaw full.