Lines Read at a Dairymen's Supper

It almost now seems all in vain

For to expect high price for grain,

Wheat is grown on Egyptian soil

On the banks of mighty Nile.

And where the Ganges it doth flow,

In India fine wheat doth grow,

And the price of labor is so cheap

That it they can successful reap.

Then let the farmers justly prize

The cows for land they fertilize,

And let us all with songs and glees

Invoke success into the cheese.