The Learned Pig

You all must have heard of the learned pig, A little one in size, but in science very big; But what will you say to a pig of my own, To which that pig was no more than a drone; For as Cocklane ghost, on wainscot or post, With a knock or a scratch, to answer was wont, sir, So my pig too, will answer as true— Saying no, with a snort, and yes, with a grunt, sir. Fol lol, de rol.

The parson of the parish, a pious man, Says, pray Mr. Pig, now resolve me, if you can, As I christen, and I bury, and I preach, and I pray, And I constantly keep every festival day: Then say, shall not I be a bishop bye and bye, And from diocese to diocese to Canterbury pass, sir? No! says the Pig.—Says the parson, looking big, You are an imposter, and your pig is but an ass sir, Fol lol, de rol.

Then old lady wish for't, a widow I wot, Who the joys of wedlock never had forgot, With a thumping colt's-tooth fast in her head, And thinking of the life she had formerly led; Says pray Mr. Swine, will a husband soon be mine, And I no longer a widow be forlon, sir? Yes, says the Pig, which set her all a-gig,— For she vow'd that such a pretty little pig was never born, sir. Fol lol, de rol.

Then a French refugee, who was jealous of his rib; And knowing that my Pig at an answer was glib, Says Monsieur, Repondez, moi san fason, Am I von cuckold sir, oui or non? Yes was the reply, begar says he, you lie, My vife to be sure she no care for me von fig, sir, But if I vear de horn, no Frenchman ever born, Vill suffer to be call'd von cuckold by a pig, sir. Fol lol, de rol.

Then Sir Guttlebelly Gobbledown, who never baulk's his glass, Says, dam'me, an't it hard for a sot that I shou'd pass. But though I'm thus abus'd Mr. Pig, by my wife, Did you ever see a soberer man in your life? Pig grunted so loud, that the rest of the crowd, All gaped and stared like stuck pigs I vow, sir, When old Boozy in a pout, turns round hiccoughing out— Why dam'me, but your pig is as drunk as Davy's sow, sir. Fol lol, de rol.

A punning philosopher was standing by, Who Phythagoras' doctrine held, by the bye, Very gravely exclaim'd, I can easily trace A metemsychosis in that Pig's face; Pig is but a name, and man is but the same, And in transmigration, if I am not mistaken, That learned Pig must be by consanguinity, A lineal descendant of the great Lord Bacon. Fol lol, de rol.

The Pig at a joke so humourous and blunt, Cry'd, whee! whee! whee! as loud as he could grunt Which shew'd that he knew, tho' a four-footed elf, His pedigree as well as Cadwallader himself; And my life will I pawn that when collard into brawn, He that eats but his fill, tho' at college never bred, sir, Like an egg full of meat, will with learning be replete, He'll have it in his belly, if not in his head, sir. Fol lol, de rol.