THE FATE OF THE WILL. By Fred Borton.
there was and he filled his sack O H, a man (Even as you and I), With a mine and a mill and a railroad track (We thought he would leave to his children a stack); But the lawyers they knew that they'd get a whack At his wealth in sweet bye and bye. Oh, the ink we waste and the chink we waste, And the work of our penning hand, Make sport for the lawyers who never say die (For now we know that the lawyers are sly), And the jury who don't understand. Oh, a widow she was and she saw her chance (Even as you and I), With her passionate tale of a young romance (And veil and weeds her cause to enhance), She lead those poor heirs a merry dance (Even as you and I). Oh, the plans we lay and the hands we play And the trump cards we command, Are powerless to cope with the widow's tears (And the lawyer who shouts in the jury's ears), That jury that don't understand. The judge then scratched his round bald head (Even as you and I), And some fossilized nonsense he solemnly read (From some other old fogies three centuries dead), Which settled the will so His Honor said (Even as you and I). And it isn't the claim nor the widow's game That kills our conceit so bland, It's the coming ' to know that our hard work is nil (For the judge and the lawyers make rags of the will), And the jury do not understand.
