Tom, The Piper'S Son

A Paris butcher kept a shop Upon the river's bank Where you could buy a mutton chop Or two for half a franc. The little shop was spruce and neat, In view of all who trod the street The decorated joints of meat Were hung up in a rank.

This Gallic butcher led a life Of highly moral tone; He never raised his voice in strife, He never drank alone: He simply sat outside his door And slept from eight o'clock till four; The more he slept, so much the more To slumber he was prone.

One day outside his shop he put A pig he meant to stuff, And carefully around each foot He pinned a paper ruff, But, while a watch he should have kept, His habit conquered, and he slept, And for a thief who was adept That surely was enough.

A Scottish piper dwelt near by, Whose one ungracious son Beheld that pig and murmured: "Why, No sooner said than done! It seems to me that this I need." And grasping it, with all his speed Across the Pont des Invalides He started on a run.

Then, turning sharply to the right, Without a thought of risk, He fled. 'Tis fair to call his flight Inordinately brisk. But now the town was all astir, In vain his feet he strove to spur, They caught him, shouting: "Au voleur!" Beside the Obelisk.

The breathless butcher cried: "A mort!" The crowd said: "Conspuez!" And some: "A bas!" and half a score Responded: "Vive l'armée!" While grim gendarmes with piercing eye, And stern remarks about: "Canaille!" The pig abstracted on the sly. Such is the Gallic way!

The piper's offspring, his defeat Deep-rooted in his heart, A revolutionary sheet Proceeded then to start. Thenceforward every evening he In leaders scathed the Ministry, And wished he could accomplish the Return of Bonaparte.

THE MORAL is that when the press Begins to rave and shout It's often difficult to guess What it is all about. The editor we strive to pin, But we can never find him in. What startling knowledge we should win If we could find him out!