'Gainst frost, and rain, and blighted grain, and all that's foul and fickle?
When the fly is on the turmuts, and the blight is on the barley,
And meadows show like sodden swamps, a farmer do get snarley.
But now the crops from hay to hops show promising of plenty,
A-doubling last year's average, plus a extry ten or twenty.
And straw is good, uncommon so, and barley, wheat and oats, Sir,
Make a rare show o'er whose rich glow the long-tried farmer gloats, Sir!
Beans ain't so bad, spite o' May frosts; turnips and swedes look topping;
Though the frost and fly the mangolds try, and the taters won't be whopping.
Those poor unlucky taters! If there's any mischief going,