ESSEX AGRICULTURAL 
 
 Sltot^ction 
 
 THE BAKER TESTIMONIAL DINNER. 
 
 A LASH AT «THE LEAGUE.” 
 
 AIR Good Old Days of Adam and Eve** 
 
 MY song, I trust, Twont you fatigue. Sirs, 
 
 Though but about what's dubb'd ^*The League,” Sirs; 
 A queer set who treat with scorn laws, 
 
 Made but to protect, call’d ‘‘Corn Laws:" 
 
 Creatures who’d all things have cheaper^ 
 
 And sink our Isle in mis'ry deeper I 
 
 This “League" has oft gone such a track, Sirs, 
 
 It seem’d in league with him in black. Sirs ! 
 
 But now, the ugly thing, brought down ’tis, — 
 
 Yea, through our BAKER quite ^^done brown** 'tis! 
 
 As fast as “Jack the Giant Killer," 
 
 In his ^Heague** boots,— (the vile instiller 
 Of arson and all disaffection!) — 
 
 “The League" once sped in each direction : 
 
 From its base hirelings’ garbled “Lectures" 
 
 The weak were left to form conjectures, — 
 
 And nightly then our misled nation 
 Beheld some wilful conflagration! 
 
 But now, the guilty “League," &c. 
 
 Free Trade, ’tis Mister Cor-den’s ^^hohby** 
 
 (If not a pet with sly Sir Bobby ! !)* 
 
 He — some still think — will row, anon. Sirs, 
 
 In the same boat with plain “Lord John," Sirs!— 
 —How Bright, too, oft have seem'd “League" meetings! 
 To please their heads, all *^hands'* gave greetings,— 
 Though, of the number, half, in fact. Sirs, 
 
 (Like order'd goods) were — sent there ^*pack*d,** Sirs ! 
 But now, the wily “League,” &c. 
 
 Our cotton “Coves," when go their jaws. Sirs, 
 
 Pretend to plead the poor man’s cause, Sirs ; 
 
 Assert great wrongs are here inflicted 
 Because Corn comes not unrestricted : 
 
 But, mark you— more pelf so they're craving— 
 
 Their drudges they keep on enslaving. 
 
 And daily work them hours near twenty : 
 
 In fact, of Fact’ry facts we’ve plenty! 
 
 But now, the heartless “League,” &c. 
 
 Those who compose the Whiggish “League," Sirs, 
 
 (Ever, as now, full of intrigue. Sirs)— 
 
 They were the harsh New Poor Law makers. 
 
 An Act that oft makes all sects qudkersl 
 And Him so grieves who wrought the thunder. 
 
 By tearing man and wife asunder 1 
 While, then, the great aim of these sages 
 Was — war to wage against fair wages \ 
 
 But now, the subtle “League," &c. 
 
 Our “League," too, — thrust near to the ditch, once— 
 Things brought to a “^«r-nation” pitch, once : 
 
 Instead of it in peace enjoying. 
 
 Their “devil's dust” they kept employing 
 In an attempt to stop our throats. Sirs, 
 
 By ^*swamping'* all good honest votes. Sirs ! 
 
 Though this such a disgraceful trick seem’d, 
 
 It but the “League’s" last dying kick seem’d! 
 
 Yet, now, behold how much, &c. 
 
 Though so the land's claim for discardin’, 
 
 “The League," of late, they sought a Garden,— 
 
 And cultivated all their art there 
 To lure the “flats" from ev’ry part there ; 
 
 And when their toys they vend can all. Sirs, 
 
 They’ll once more strive to take the wall. Sirs I 
 — Meanwhile, let us their tact be praising 
 Who’d, somehow, still “the wind" be raising! 
 
 As yet, howe’er, the “League," &c. 
 
 Oh ! long will honour still redound. Sirs, 
 
 To him among us this day found. Sirs ! 
 
 But you I need not now be showing 
 What to our BAKER bold is owing: 
 
 He it was — an essex yeoman — 
 
 “The League" exposed when check’d by no man ! 
 
 But when he once the torch had lighted, 
 
 Gods! how the “League’s" hopes all were blighted! 
 
 And, now, behold how low brought down ’tis,— 
 
 Yea, through our BAKER quite ^^done brown** ’tis! 
 
 * Let this line be uttered in a subdued tone. 
 
 CHARLES CLARK. 
 
 GREAT TOTHAM, JUNE, 1845.