  In a certain farm-yard, not a hundred miles off, Some pigs were enjoying themselves at a trough; They were having their dinner, or if 'twere too soon, It might be their breakfast,—it scarcely was noon, And, as pigs of fashion, their ears it might shock To talk about dining before twelve o'clock. Well,—let us suppose it was breakfast,—and they With their delicate noses were grubbing away, When up came their master, whose looks, to my thinking, Betokened a love for good eating and drinking; And 'tis not unlikely the pigs thought so too, For they never so much as said "How do you do?" But went on in silence to finish their feeding, Which certainly was not a mark of good breeding; But as they thus acted, I must tell the truth, Though I'd rather my pigs had not been so uncouth. However, the master looked on at his leisure, And seemed to regard them with infinite pleasure, And no ill intent,—'till he happened to see One fat little lady pig, white as could be. Then his mouth fairly watered, as he thought how nice, With sage, onion, and apple sauce, would be a slice Of that nice tempting piggy,—so, calling to Joe, Who also was fond of roast pork, you must know, Said, "Joe, you had better that little pig kill, Before she gets bigger." Said Joe, "Sir, I will." The pigs heard this order with great consternation, And grunted, quite clearly, their disapprobation; But master and man took no heed of their sorrow, And Miss was to die the day after the morrow. The rest, who were all in her fate interested, Now offered such comfort as pity suggested: "They won't hurt you much," simpered one tender swain, "I've heard that this killing is scarce any pain; Pray take some more wash, and this cabbage-stalk bite." "No, thank you," said Piggy, "I've no appetite." At night, when she laid herself down in her sty, In vain she attempted to close her bright eye: Not a wink could she get through the whole of the night, And wept till she made herself look like a fright. She turned first on one side, and then on the other, And two or three times thought of waking her mother; But this was not easy, for pigs are sound sleepers, And not very willing to open their peepers. At last morning dawned, and mamma pig awoke, When thus poor Miss Piggy with much spirit spoke: "Dear mother, it certainly is a great pity, To kill me while I'm so young and so pretty; But if they can have such bad taste as to do it, I really don't see why I should submit to it. No one in their senses, I think, would remain When they know they are soon to be cruelly slain; There are more sties than this in the world, I dare say, So I think I had better at once run away." "Alas! my dear child," said her mother, "I fear You may as well make up your mind to stay here, For 'tis likely the very first person you meet, Would carry you off, and then kill you to eat. Wherever you go, there is just the same danger; You had better be killed by a friend, than a stranger. To tell you the truth, I am sadly afraid, It is for man's eating that we pigs are made. The thought is not pleasant, yet, what we can't cure, As the old proverb says, we must learn to endure." Then a grave-looking pig, of respectable age, Who was always considered remarkably sage, Said, "Ladies, allow me to offer a word Respecting the orders we yesterday heard. It seems that Miss does not approve of the plan Proposed by our master to Joseph, his man; Though such we all come to, at one time or other: Last week I thus lost my affectionate brother, And next week, perhaps, I myself may be taken, For this is the season for making of bacon; However, as Miss Pig objects thus to be Cut off in her prime,—and we all must agree It is very unpleasant,—there can be no doubt of it,— I've thought of a way by which she may get out of it: Now, if she had not been so plump and good looking, They would never have fancied her ready for cooking; But if she'd get rid of these charms, I am thinking, By living awhile without eating or drinking, And hides herself up in the loft, 'mongst the hay, They'll think that somebody has stole her away. And when she comes back, she will be so much thinner, Depend on't they'll no longer want her for dinner." Mamma thought this scheme was uncommonly clever, But her daughter indignantly answered, "No, never! What! lose all my beauty? I'd much rather die for it; If that's my last chance, I am sure I shan't try for it; To be called thin and ugly,—I never could bear;— The thought makes me nervous. I vow and declare. I should be neglected, and not have a lover: I'd rather be killed, half a dozen times over. 'Tis a comfort to know, since my life I'm not able To save, I shall look very well on the table." Poor Piggy was killed on the very next day, And all who'd the pleasure of tasting her, say That she was so nice, they should never forget her, The Queen and Prince Consort could not have a better. END OF |
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