Parody, A

“The spacious firmament on high”
The apples hanging up on high,
And peaches blushing red hard by, 
And watermelons, all proclaim
Loafers may now have glorious game, 
The unwearied spies from day to day.
Search where the fairest orchards lay, 
And publish to the thieving band 
Where first to lay a ready hand.

Soon as the evening shades prevail
Tho poachers travel to the vale, 
And nightly to the listening earth 
To deeds of hookery give birth.
While hearts of rogues for plunder burn, 
And thieves from out their cold nests turn, 
And to the yard with bag and pole 
Go slowly forth and steal the whole.

What though in solemn silence all 
Move round amid the bushes tall;
What though no real voice nor sound 
Mid all their plundering ranks, be found,
When safe alone they all rejoice, 
And utter forth a roaring voice, 
Forever singing, line by line,
"These melons are confounded fine.”