Young Billy Bumble bowt a pig,
Soa aw've heeard th' neighbors say;
An' mony a mile he had to trig
One sweltin' summer day;
But Billy didn't care a fig,
He said he'd mak it pay;
Heknew it wor a bargain,
An' he cared net who said nay.
He browt it hooam to Ploo Croft loin,
But what wor his surprise
To find all th' neighbors standing aat,
We oppen maaths an' eyes;
"By gow!" sed Billy, to hissen,
"This pigmust be a prize!"
An' th' wimmen cried, "Gooid gracious fowk!
But isn't it a size?"
Then th' chaps sed, "Billy, where's ta been?
Whativer has ta browt?
That surely isn't crayture, lad,
Aw heeard 'em say tha'd bowt?
It luks moor like a donkey,
Does ta think 'at it con rawt?"
But Billy crack'd his carter's whip.
An' answered' em wi' nowt.
An' reight enuff it war a pig,
If all they say is true,
Its length war five foot eight or nine,
Its height wor four foot two;
An' when it coom to th' pig hoil door,
He couldn't get it through,
Unless it went daan ov its knees,
An' that it wodn't do.
Then Billy's mother coomed to help,
An' hit it wi' a mop;
But thear it wor, an' thear it seem'd
Detarmined it 'ud stop;
But all at once it gave a grunt,
An' oppen'd sich a shop;
An' finding aat 'at it wor lick'd,
It laup'd clean ovver th' top.
His mother then shoo shook her heead,
An' pool'd a woeful face;
"William," shoo sed, "tha shouldn't bring
Sich things as theas to th' place.
Aw hooap tha art'nt gooin to sink
Thi mother i' disgrace;
But if tha buys sich things as thease
Aw'm feared it will be th' case!"
"Nah, mother, niver freat." sed Bill,
"Its one aw'm goin to feed,
Its rayther long i'th' legs, aw know,
But that's becoss o'th' breed;
If its a trifle long i'th' grooin,
Why hang it! niver heed!
Aw know its net a beauty,
But its cheap, it is, indeed!"
"Well time 'ul try," his mother sed,—
An' time at last did try;
For niver sich a hungry beeast
Had been fed in a sty.
"What's th' weight o'th' long legged pig, Billy!"
Wor th' neighbors' daily cry;
"Aw connot tell yo yet," sed Bill,
"Aw'll weigh it bye an' bye."
An' hard poor Billy persevered,
But all to noa avail,
It swallow'd all th' mait it could get,
An' wod ha' swallow'd th' pail;
But Billy took gooid care to stand
O'th' tother side o'th' rail;
But fat it didn't gain as mich
As what 'ud greeas its tail.
Pack after pack o' mail he bowt,
Until he'd bought fourteen;
But net a bit o' difference
I'th' pig wor to be seen:
Its legs an' snowt wor just as long
As iver they had been;
Poor Billy caanted rib bi rib
An' heaved a sigh between.
One day he, mix'd a double feed,
An' put it into th' troff;
"Tha greedy lukkin beeast," he sed,
"Aw'll awther stawl thee off,
Or else aw'll brust thi hide—that is
Unless 'at its to toff!"
An' then he left it wol he went
His mucky clooas to doff.
It worn't long befoor he coom
To see ha matters stood;
He luk'd at th' troff, an' thear it wor,
Five simple bits o' wood,
As cleean scraped aat as if it had
Ne'er held a bit o' food;
"Tha slotch!" sed Bill, "aw do believe
Tha'd ait me if tha could."
Next day he browt a butcher,
For his patience had been tried,
An' wi a varry deeal to do,
Its legs wi rooap they tied;
An' then his shinin knife he drew
An' stuck it in its side—
It mud ha been a crockadile,
Bi th' thickness ov its hide.
But blooid began to flow, an' then
Its long legg'd race wor run;
They scalded, scraped, an' hung it up,
An' when it all wor done,
Fowk coom to guess what weight it wor,
And mony a bit o' fun
They had, for Billy's mother said
"It ought to weigh a ton."
Billy wor walkin up an' daan,
Dooin nowt but fume an' fidge!
He luk'd at th' pig—then daan he set,
I'th nook o'th' window ledge,
He saw th' back booan wor sticken aght,
Like th' thin end ov a wedge;
It luk'd like an' owd blanket
Hung ovver th' winterhedge.
His mother rooar'd an' th' wimmen sigh'd,
But th' chaps did nowt but laff;
Poor Billy he could hardly bide,
To sit an' hear ther chaff—
Then up he jumped, an' off he run,
But whear fowk niver knew;
An' what wor th' warst, when mornin' coom,
Th' deead pig had mizzled too.
Th' chaps wander'd th' country far an' near,
Until they stall'd thersen;
But nawther Billy nor his pig
Coom hooam agean sin then;
But oft fowk say, i'th' deead o'th' neet,
Near Shibden's ruined mill,
The gooast o' Billy an' his pig
May be seen runnin still.