What will make sunshine, rain and snow, As farmers want them, come and go, Keeping all things in _statu quo_? Protection! What, for a shield ’gainst foreign grain Will give us Law to trust again, Instead of British Brawn or Brain? Protection! What will leave landlords as of yore, And tenants as they did before, On the old paths to snooze and snore? Protection! Then raise on high a general call, For that which works the good of all, By robbing PETER to pay PAUL. PROTECTION! _Punch_, April 21, 1849. ――――:o:―――― THE BAKER. Who is it, in an idle hour, Grinds up some beans both cheap and sour, To mix them with his wheaten flour? The Baker! Who, if a trifling rise in price Occurs in corn, will not be nice, But in the bread will charge it twice? The Baker! Who, when the corn is “down again,” Is such a thorough rogue in grain, The rise in bread still to maintain? The Baker! Who is it, when we send a pie, Will child-like take a straw and try To suck it of the syrup dry? The Baker? Who is it, when we trust some ribs Of beef to bake, a portion cribs, And hides the fault by wicked fibs? The Baker! Who, if we miss a piece of fat, Has always got an answer pat, And lays it on a neighbour’s cat? The Baker! Who, from rice pudding, with a cup, Extracts the custard――every sup―― And says the fire has dried it up? The Baker! Who, the unpleasant truth to state, Cheats us at such a fearful rate, That every loaf is short in weight? The Baker! _Punch_, January 15, 1853. ――――:o:―――― THE POET. Who welcomes first the powers of spring? The swallow twittering on the wing, Who pines to hear the cuckoo sing?―― The Poet. Who loves the snowdrop, modest flower, First of the year to grace the bower, To cause its stay, who sighs for power? The Poet. Who marks it lowlier droop its head, And kiss its cold and damp death bed, Weeping when all its life is shed? The Poet. Who, when the lark awakes refreshed, And soars above its little nest, Loves its sweet morning song the best? The Poet. Who smiles to see the dark mist free, Young morning dawn o’er earth and sea, Who then feels proud of being free? The Poet.