Excerpt
THE OLD WOMAN AND HER PIG. A little old woman, who lived in a house, Too small for a giant, too big for a mouse,— Was sweeping her chambers, (though she had not many,) When she found, by good fortune, a bright silver penny! [2] Delighted she seized it, and, dancing a jig, Exclaim’d, “With this money I’ll purchase a pig.” So saying, away to the market she went, And the fruits of her fortunate sweeping she spent On a smooth-coated, black-spotted, curly-tailed thing, Which she led off in triumph, by means of a string. [p3] But how shall I paint her vexation and toil, When, in crossing a meadow, she came to a stile, And found neither threats nor persuasions would do To induce Mr. Piggy to climb or creep through? She coax’d him, she strok’d him, she patted his hide, She scolded him, threaten’d him, thump’d him beside; But coaxing, and scolding, and thumping proved vain, Whilst the evening grew dark, and ’twas likely to rain. [p4] The dame, out of patience, now cried, in a fright, To a dog which came up, “Pray, give Piggy a bite, “And over the stile, Sir, compel him to go, “Or here I may stay till ’tis midnight, you know.” This request Mr. Bow-wow, of course, must have heard, But he silently stood, without saying a word. “Well, well,” said the dame, “I’ll be even with you,— “Unkindness like this you may happen to rue.” [p5] Then pausing and anxiously looking around, She saw a stout crab-stick lie flat on the ground. “Kind stick,” she exclaim’d, “I entreat you to flog “This cruel, regardless, unmannerly dog, “Who will not bite Piggy, though plainly you see “My pig will not stir, and there’s no home for me.” No reply made the stick, not a blow would it strike, But crab-stick and cur remained silent alike. [p6] “Well, this is provoking! but yonder’s a fire, “And now,” said old Goody, “I’ll have my desire.” The flame she saluted, and cried, “Pray be quick, “Assist a poor woman, and burn this vile stick, “For ’twill not beat yon dog, though the cur will not bite “My pig; and I here may remain all the night.” In vain to the flame did our sweeper appeal, For her sufferings it would not, or perhaps could not, feel. [p7] An opposite element next caught her eye, And its friendly assistance she therefore would try.— “Dear water,” she said, “do extinguish this fire, “Which will not (although ’tis my ardent desire) “Consume yonder crab-stick, which, obstinate too, “With beating that cur will have nothing to do; [p8]“And the dog, as ill-natured, you see, as the rest, “Refuses to bite this young obstinate beast; “So here I’m compelled, most reluctant, to stay, “And here may remain till the break of the day.” The water regardless of all that was said, Lay perfectly still,—not an effort was made. So next to an ox her attention she turn’d, And telling him how her entreaties were scorned, [p9]By the dog, by the stick, by the flame, and the flood, She said, “I beseech you, great Sir, be so good, “As to drink up this water, which, every one knows, “Could have put out the fire with ease, if it chose: “Oh grant me this favour—do pity my plight, “Or here in the fields I must stay all the night!“ The ox was unmoved, not an eye would he turn, Though no flood would extinguish, no fire would burn, No crab-stick would give Mr....