“But you said something e’en now of magistrates, I hope,” said I, “there are no judges in hell.” “You may as well imagine,” cried the spirit, “that there are no devils there; for let me tell you (friend mine) your corrupt judges are the great spawners that supply our lake; for what are those millions of catchpoles, proctors, attorneys, clerks, barristers, that come sailing to us every day in shoals, but the fry of such judges! Nay sometimes, in a lucky year, for cheating, forging, and forswearing, we can hardly find cask to put them in.”
“From hence now,” quoth I, “would you infer, that there’s no justice upon the face of the earth.” “Very right,” quoth the devil, “for Astræa (which is the same thing) is fled long since to heaven. Do not ye know the story?” “No,” said I. “Then,” quoth the devil, “mind me and I’ll tell ye it.
“Once upon a time Truth and Justice came together to take up their quarters upon the earth: but the one being naked, and the other very severe and plain-dealing, they could not meet with anybody that would receive them. At last, when they had wandered a long time like vagabonds in the open air, Truth was glad to take up her lodging with a mute; and Justice, perceiving that though her name was much used for a cloak to knavery, yet that she herself was in no esteem, took up a resolution of returning to heaven: and in order to her journey, she bade adieu in the first place to all courts, palaces, and great cities, and went into the country, where she met with some few poor simple cottagers, that gave her entertainment; but malice and persecution found her out in the end, and she was banished thence too. She presented herself in many places, and people asked her what she was? She answered them, ‘Justice,’ for she would not lie for the matter. ‘Justice?’ cried they, ‘she is a stranger to us; tell her here’s nothing for her,’ and shut the door. Upon these repulses, she took wing, and away she went to heaven, hardly leaving so much as the bare print of her footsteps behind her. Her name however is not yet forgotten, and she’s pictured with a sceptre in her hand, and is still called Justice; but call her what ye will, she makes as good a fire in hell as a tailor; and for sleight of hand, puts down all the gilts, cheats, picklocks, and trepanners in the world: to say the truth, avarice is grown to that height, that men employ all the faculties of soul and body to rob and deceive. The lecher, does not he steal away the honour of his mistress? (though with her consent). The attorney picks your pocket, and shows you a law for’t; the comedian gets your money and your time, with reciting other men’s labours; the lover cozens you with his eyes; the eloquent, with his tongue; the valiant, with his arm; the musician, with his voice and fingers; the astrologer, with his calculations; the apothecary, with sickness and health; the surgeon, with blood; and the physician, with death itself; and in some sort or other, they are all cheats; but the catchpole (in the name of justice) abuses you with his whole man; he watches you with his eyes; follows you with his feet; seizes with his hands; accuses with his tongue; and in fine, put it in your litany, from catchpoles, as well as devils, _libera nos domine_.”