Come with your crowbar, spade, and pick;—and sure the battle's won,
For bolts and bars show Spedding's race that you don't care a fig,
And prove that right's no match for might when rallied round Latrigg."
So shouted Routh-Fitzpatrick, and Lake-men with a cheer,
To Fawe Park Gates from Keswick's peaceful slopes were drawing near,
When high upon the topmost wall as if to break the spell,
There uprose the Solicitor of Mrs. Spencer Bell.
He spoke and as his voice he raised his arms he waved around,
"Beware," he cried, "what you're about, for this is private ground.
With sundry pains and penalties you'll surely be repaid,