“Lord Prescott, down in Newport,”
Brave William Barton[1] said,
“Would make all show his colors, though
Their own blood dyed them red.
“Perhaps he thinks our natives,
On England’s footstool here,
Did they not feel his lordly heel,
Might deem him not a peer.”
“Say footpath here,” said Potter[8];
“Just now their doorsteps go