Classic Poem

The prospect is but little pleasing.
The court looks like a sea; its councillors
Are deep engulfed in thought; its tossing waves
Are wrangling advocates; its brood of monsters
Are these wild animals — death's ministers —
Attorneys skim like wily snakes the surface —
Spies are the shellfish cowering 'midst its weeds,
And vile informers, like the hovering curlew
Hang fluttering o'er, then pounce upon their prey:
The beach, that should be justice, is unsafe,
Rough, rude, and broken by oppression's storms.