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."