Pack after pack o’ mail he bowt,
   Until he’d bought fourteen;
But net a bit o’ difference
   I’th’ pig wor to be seen: 
Its legs an’ snowt wor just as long
   As iver they had been;
Poor Billy caanted rib bi rib
   An’ heaved a sigh between.

One day he, mix’d a double feed,
   An’ put it into th’ troff;
“Tha greedy lukkin beeast,” he sed,
   “Aw’ll awther stawl thee off,
Or else aw’ll brust thi hide—­that is
   Unless ’at its to toff!”
An’ then he left it wol he went
   His mucky clooas to doff.

It worn’t long befoor he coom
   To see ha matters stood;
He luk’d at th’ troff, an’ thear it wor,
   Five simple bits o’ wood,
As cleean scraped aat as if it had
   Ne’er held a bit o’ food;
“Tha slotch!” sed Bill, “aw do believe
   Tha’d ait me if tha could.”

Next day he browt a butcher,
   For his patience had been tried,
An’ wi a varry deeal to do,
   Its legs wi rooap they tied;
An’ then his shinin knife he drew
   An’ stuck it in its side—­
It mud ha been a crockadile,
   Bi th’ thickness ov its hide.

But blooid began to flow, an’ then
   Its long legg’d race wor run;
They scalded, scraped, an’ hung it up,
   An’ when it all wor done,
Fowk coom to guess what weight it wor,
   And mony a bit o’ fun
They had, for Billy’s mother said
   “It ought to weigh a ton.”

Billy wor walkin up an’ daan,
   Dooin nowt but fume an’ fidge! 
He luk’d at th’ pig—­then daan he set,
   I’th nook o’th’ window ledge,
He saw th’ back booan wor sticken aght,
   Like th’ thin end ov a wedge;
It luk’d like an’ owd blanket
   Hung ovver th’ winterhedge.

His mother rooar’d an’ th’ wimmen sigh’d,
   But th’ chaps did nowt but laff;
Poor Billy he could hardly bide,
   To sit an’ hear ther chaff—­
Then up he jumped, an’ off he run,
   But whear fowk niver knew;
An’ what wor th’ warst, when mornin’ coom,
   Th’ deead pig had mizzled too.

Th’ chaps wander’d th’ country far an’ near,
   Until they stall’d thersen;
But nawther Billy nor his pig
   Coom hooam agean sin then;
But oft fowk say, i’th’ deead o’th’ neet,
   Near Shibden’s ruined mill,
The gooast o’ Billy an’ his pig
   May be seen runnin still.

Moral.

Yo fowk ’ats tempted to goa buy
   Be careful what yo do;
Dooant be persuaded coss “its cheap,”
   For if yo do yo’ll rue;
Dooant think its lowerin to yor sen
   To ax a friend’s advice,
Else like poor Billy’s pig, ’t may be
   Bowt dear at ony price.

Rejected.

Gooid bye, lass, aw dunnot blame,
   Tho’ mi loss is hard to bide! 
For it wod ha’ been a shame,
   Had tha ivver been the bride
Of a workin chap like me;
One ’ats nowt but love to gie.

Hard hoot’d neives like thease o’ mine. 
   Surely ne’er wor made to press
Hands so lily-white as thine;
   Nor should arms like thease caress
One so slender, fair, an’ pure,
’Twor unlikely, lass, aw’m sure.