But for the League so seedy!
“And, by my word, the Cotton Lords
In danger shall not tarry—
And, tho’ the farmers whet their swords,
Your measure I will carry!”
“Then haste ye, haste, and no more words,
Nor wait till it be calmer—
I’ll meet the raging of the Lords,
But not an angry farmer!”
The stormy Council Peel has left,