  Once it happened, though when, is not easily said, That a grunter, Jack Pig, took it into his head To quit his good home,—his dear mother to leave, Not thinking at all how for him she would grieve. Said Jack, "Brother Bob for his pleasure has strayed; I'll roam away, too, when I'm nicely arrayed:" Next morn he set off in a hat and wig dressed;— The same that the farmer's son wore as his best. With snout aloft, he started out, Then on the green he gazed about: He whisked his tail with pure delight, Saying—"I shall not lodge here to-night." The geese came hissing at his heel, But, 'midst their noise he heard a squeal; And looking to see from whence it came, He spied his mother down the lane. "Her son," said he, "so tall, she'll never know, Dressed smartly as I am, so like a beau." His heart beat quickly as his ma' he passed, But, bowing, "How d'ye do, good dame?" he asked; Then biting from out the hedge a nice cane, And putting his hat on, said "All's right again; Now over the world I'll roam, as fast as I can:" Then he flourished his cane, and onward he ran. And trotting on briskly, Piggy soon came To a field where some schoolboys were having a game; Said he, "As I'm tired, I'll lie down to rest, And perhaps if I do so, just here 'twill be best: For I should not much like these poor boys to disturb, As they possibly might be so very absurd As to leave off their game, for respect towards me, No occasion for which I can possibly see." But, just then, a boy spied him, and giving a call, Thus said to his comrades, "Come here, my lads, all." Then they left off their play, and they chased the poor pig, Until he had lost both his hat and his wig. They left him, at last, overcome with fatigue; "Though," said he, "it is not for myself that I grieve, But to think of the manners of these country clowns! Such conduct would never be met with in towns." To get back his wig, he was greatly perplexed, About which and his hat, he was equally vexed; For the wind, when the boys were hardest in chase, Blew them both in the river, its surface to grace; And they seemed to mock Piggy, as there they did float; "But I'll have you," said Jack, who pushed off in a boat; When his finery reaching, the boat he upset, "I can swim," cried the blade, "and I don't mind the wet." But, beside his own hide, both his wig and his hat Were wet and deranged; so, to remedy that, "I'll enter this cottage; here's a fire," he said, "I'll hang them to dry, while I lie in the bed." When the dame returned home, as he slumbered so snug, She soon spied the gentleman under the rug, And basted him well with a stick like a log, Turning him and his wardrobe out into a bog. In the miry mess Piggy long struggled about, Unable to rise; but at last he got out, And crept to a field where fine cabbages grew: "I'm hungry," said he, "I'll indulge in a few." When, just as his snout had a nice plant uptorn, A shot through his ear he had reason to mourn, Discharged from the gun of a lad stationed there, To take care of the crop, and all robbers to scare. Wounded, weary, and hungry, poor Jack now felt sad, And thought of the home, so safe he once had, Where he'd plenty of food, and clean straw for his bed, And at night, a roof of good thatch o'er his head. He escaped from the field, though he scarcely knew how, And scampered as fast as his strength would allow: In the distance, a town, long and wide he could see; "Ah! ah!" said Jack Swine, "that's the quarter for me." Then Jack hurried on to the city so gay, Where he walked through the streets in his comic array; But think of his horror, oh! think of his dread, When, hanging immediately over his head, In the first butcher's shop that he chanced to discover, Were the mortal remains of poor Bobby, his brother, "'Tis sad," sighed our Jack, "such a difference should be Between that unfortunate fellow and me." But now I have hardly the heart to relate To my dear little readers, the terrible fate That awaited poor Jack. Scarce a moment had passed, As he gazed on his brother, while tears trickled fast, When he uttered a loud and a heart-rending wail, For a butcher, in blue, had caught hold of his tail, By which, and one ear, while Jack squeaked for his mother, Away he was dragged, to be slain, like his brother. The sun rose, next morning, and shed its first gleam, On exact the same spot where his brother had been; But there, in the same place, extended and dead, Hung poor master Jacky, without any head. The head, too, hung near,—but without its fine wig, And was now to be seen as the head of a pig. Many times has the butcher thought of his good luck, But he'll never again capture such a gay buck. If pigs will walk upright, and strut with fine canes, Stalking in towns, 'stead of roaming in lanes, Misfortunes they'll meet with, no doubt, such as Jack's, Getting shots through their ears, and kicks on their backs. Piggy left a good sty, And went out, like a guy; But think you, who chide him, How many beside him, By false pleasures are won, Like the Prodigal Son. And while smiling at Piggy, think, too, of the woes That attend, more or END OF |
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