There are hills up to Highgate and lands as set forth,
There are Lords in the west, and Lads in the north;
And bold free electors, twice thousand times three,
Who can make Little Leighton our local M.P.!
Then awa’ to the highlands and meadows in cocks,
Eer I’d own with old Gladstone I’d crouch with the Fox:
Oh! tremble false whigs, in the midst of your glee,
Ye hae no seen the last o’ my colours or me.
Gladstone’s Address.