Then these garden Machiavellis set to work and did not stop
Till the promise of September prematurely plumped each crop.
Ah! the early frost is ruthless, and the caterpillar's cruel,
But, to spifflicate the plum or give the gooseberry its gruel,
To confusticate the apple, or to scrumplicate the pear,
Discombobulate the cherry, make the grower tear his hair,
And in general play old gooseberry with the orchard and the garden,
Till the Autumn crop won't fetch the grumpy farmer "a brass farden,"
There is nothing half so ogreish as the Bullfinch and his chums,
Those imps of devastation—as regards our pears and plums.