Florist And Pig.

        A florist - wit had run a rig -
        Had set his fancy on a pig;
        Which followed master like a dog,
        And petted was, although a hog.

        The master thus addressed the swine:
        "My house and garden both be thine;
        Feast on potatoes as you please,
        And riot 'midst the beans and peas;
        Turnips and carrots, pig, devour,
        And broccoli and cauliflower;
        But spare my tulips - my delight,
        By which I fascinate my sight."

        But Master Pig, next morning, roamed
        Where sweet wort in the coolers foamed.
        He sucked his fill; then munched some grains,
        And, whilst inebriated, gains
        The garden for some cooling fruits,
        And delved his snout for tulip-roots.
        He did, I tell you, much disaster;
        So thought, at any rate, his master:
        "My sole, my only, charge forgot,
        You drunken and ungrateful sot!"

        "Drunken, yourself!" said Piggy-wiggy;
        "I ate the roots, not flowers, you priggy!"

        The florist hit the pig a peg,
        And piggy turned and tore his leg.

        "Fool that I was," the florist said,
        "To let that hog come near my bed!
        Who cherishes a brutal mate,
        Will mourn the folly, soon or late."