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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=415744" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Great Pig Story of the Tweed</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Hands off, old man!” the young man cried—<br>They stood beside the Tweed,<br>Where still the name of Murder Creek<br>Records some bloody deed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The old man seized the hapless youth,<br>With frantic grasp and rough,<br>By what is popularly called<br>(But vulgarly) the scruff;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And shouted as he twirled him round,<br>And shook him to and fro,<br>“Was them consignments pigs? . . Great Scott!<br>Was them things pigs or no?”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Wild-eyed and gaunt, and grim he stood,<br>Beneath the scorching noon,—<br>Cantharides P. Roebuck, late<br>Of the steamboat Arakoon.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He was an ancient mariner,<br>A Yankee skipper he,<br>Whom winds of adverse destiny<br>Had blown across the sea;—</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Whom hither still had Fate pursued,<br>And served with many a trick,<br>Till now he roamed the Tweed a one-<br>Idea'd lunatic;—</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Whom all men shunned, for whosoe'er<br>Upon his beat might chance,<br>Was bound to hear his tale in each<br>Minutest circumstance.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A tale that haunted such as heard,<br>Nor left them night or day;<br>A torturing enigma, too,<br>That turned their wits astray;—<br>For ofttimes they, like him who told,<br>Would vaguely wandering go,<br>And cry, “Was them consignments pigs?<br>Was them things pigs or no?”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Hands off!” again the young man cried.<br>“It's this way, boss, you see,<br> <br>We've come a stretch of thirty mile,<br>Her uncle, her, an' me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“You see it's this way. Parson comes<br>Our road but once a year—<br>We lives at Yougerbungaree,<br>Just thirty mile from here;—</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“At sundown yesterday I spied<br>The parson ridin' past;<br>I runs to Sue's, an' ‘Sue,’ says I,<br>‘Our chance is come at last!’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“This morning to his camp we goes,<br>Us three, an' mother, four;<br>‘Splice us,’ says we, but parson, he<br>Puts in his blessed oar.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“ ‘Fill up this form,’ says he. We fills.<br>‘Hullo!’ he cries, ‘my dear!<br>Father alive? You under age?<br>Me marry ye! No fear.’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“(Don't throttle, boss!)—Says parson then;<br>‘Go, seek a magistrate;<br>Get his consent; an’ hurry back;<br>I leave to-night at eight.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“So off we starts, ten mile an hour—<br>(For heav'n's sake let me speak!)<br>You see, it's this way, boss; they've gone<br>To square it with the beak.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“I'm only hangin' round. I fixed<br>To meet them there at one;<br>An' if I fail, my pretty Sue<br>Will think I've cut an' run.”—</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Was them things pigs?”—“Oh drat the pigs!<br>It's this way, boss,—we're late.<br>Think, thirty mile! the mokes dead beat!<br>An' parson off at eight!”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Twas all in vain; and when at length,<br>Exhausted, limp, and pale,<br>He gave reluctant ear, 'twas thus<br>The skipper told his tale.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“I took the things on board as pigs,<br>As pigs I signed for them;<br>I passed an entry on them—pigs!<br> <br>Pigs, sar, from starn to stem.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Wal, wal; I little guessed that Fate<br>Would play it down so low.<br>Was them things pigs, d'ye hear! . . But how<br>The [Hades] should you know!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“It was the steamboat Arakoon,<br>A craft of coasting fame;<br>Cantharides P. Roebuck, sar,<br>Was skipper of the same.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“The iserlated cusses here<br>Was runnin' all to seed<br>When first the steamboat Arakoon<br>Come tradin' to the Tweed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Pigs, pigs, all sprung (mark that) from two,<br>They fetched them by the score,<br>An' nary strain had crossed the breed<br>For twenty year an' more.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“I cleaned the settlement of pigs,<br>Upp'd steam an' tore for town,<br>Nor guessed that them all-fired galoots<br>Had been and done me brown.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“An' sech a voyage! grunt and squeak!<br>(Pard, never load with swine.)<br>Whate'er the durned abortions wur,<br>The grunt was genu-ine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“A hundred thousand times I swore<br>To drown them in the sea;<br>But, lord, they had an idgiot look<br>That fairly gravelled me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“We made the port. Upon the wharf<br>A Brisbane butcher sot,<br>An' through the roarin' of the steam,<br>He hollered, ‘What ye got?’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“ ‘Got pigs,’ sez I, ‘like bullocks, sar!’<br>Cries butcher, ‘I'm your man,’<br>An' clewin' up his apron, slick<br>Along the plank he ran.”—</div><div style="margin:10px 0">(But here the youth renewed his plaint;<br>“Have mercy on me mate!<br>It's thirty miles! the mokes dead beat!<br>An' parson leaves at eight!”)<br> <br>“He eyed the brutes,” the tale flowed on,<br>“An' tossed his cussèd head;<br>An' turnin' on his heel, sez he,<br>‘I thought 'twas pigs you said.’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“ ‘An' ain't them pigs?’—but he was gone.<br>Wal, though I biled at this,<br>I tried my level best to see<br>The p'ints he took amiss.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“But 'cep' a kinder cur'ous smile<br>That squintin' didn't mend,<br>An' an appealin' way they had<br>Of settin' up on end,—</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“An' cept' about the snout a tech<br>Of Native Porkypine,<br>I couldn't see no reason why<br>That parcel wasn't swine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Wal, stranger, just as I had cussed<br>My liver into tune,<br>Another bloomin' butcher stepped<br>On board the Arakoon.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">(But here, at sound of distant hoofs,<br>The captive writhed anew;<br>“That's them!” he cried, “They've given me up!<br>Oh curse your pigs and you!”)</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“No, pard—it ain't no use to squirm.<br>Whar was I? le'mme see.<br>Another butcher jumps aboard;<br>‘Good marnin', sar,’ sez he.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Got any p—?' But here he stuck.<br>The critturs caught his eye.<br>Sakes! how he stared as one by one<br>The things meandered by.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“At length sez he, astoopin' down,<br>The better to survey,<br>‘I wonder now what day o’ the week<br>The Lord created they!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“ ‘What name, mate?’ ‘Pigs, sar, PIGS!’ I yelled,<br>‘As prime as ever growed!<br>D'ye know pigs when you see them, sar?’<br>‘Oh, pigs,’ sez he, ‘be blowed.’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Pard, should you come across him, say<br> <br>That I apologize;<br>For, oh! I banged that butcher's head<br>Agin the smokestack guys!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“I sought an old an' trusted friend,<br>A butcher in the town;<br>I struck his diggin's, seized him, hailed<br>A shay, and yanked him down.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“I carried him aboard—he was<br>A heavy man and slow—<br>‘Now on your naked oath,’ sez I,<br>‘Air them things pigs or no?’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“He made no sign, he made no sound,<br>But something in his eye,<br>As plain as signal lights, declared<br>The contract was awry.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“At last sez he, consid'rin' like,<br>An' strokin' down his jaws,<br>‘Cantharides P., it seems to me<br>Them pettitoes is claws!’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“ ‘Great Neptune!’—that was all I said,<br>And fell down in a swoon,<br>A broken wreck, upon the deck<br>Of the steamboat Arakoon.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“But twurn't Finis yet, old hoss,<br>For at the smell of gin<br>Cantharides P. Roebuck's soul<br>Jumped back into his skin.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“ ‘Go, fetch me a zew-ologist!’<br>I thundered as I rose.<br>‘Let's see what larnèd science makes<br>Of them 'ere pettitoes!<br>“ ‘Who knows of one?’—The fireman's son<br>Sez, ‘Captain, if you please,<br>If what you mean stuffs beastises,<br>I'll fetch you wan o' these.’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“ ‘Go, bub!’ I cried. ‘Make tracks to onst,<br>An' ketch him out or in!—<br>This butcherin' conspiracy<br>Is just a trifle thin.’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Wal, pard, the great man came. I slipped<br>A sov'rin in his hand,<br> <br>Which, though he 'peared almighty skeered,<br>He seemed to understand.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Sez I then, as he stooped an' spread<br>His hands upon his knees,<br>‘Illustrious zew-ologist,<br>What articles air these?’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“A wild surprise lit up his eyes<br>As through his specs he blinked,—<br>‘Dear me,’ sez he, ‘I always thought<br>That griffins wur extinct!’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">* * * * *<br>“From that to this is blank—all blank;<br>But if 'tis true they say,<br>I ordered round the vessel's head,<br>An' ran her down the Bay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“An' there, in spite of mate an' crew,<br>An' cook an' fireman's son,<br>I slung the critturs overboard,<br>An' drowned them every one.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“An' now beside this blessèd Tweed<br>I wander day an' night,<br>An' vainly ask of airth an' heaven<br>To read the riddle right.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“I ask the sea, I ask the skies,<br>I ask it high an' low,—<br>Was them 'ere shipments pigs? . . Great Scott!<br>Was them things pigs or no?”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">* * * * *<br>That night at Yougerbungaree,<br>The house clock striking ten,<br>Into a maiden's presence burst<br>The most distraught of men.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Oh, Ned, he's gone!” the maiden wailed.<br>“How could you treat me so?”—<br>For all reply there came the cry,<br>“Was them things pigs or no?”</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=James+Brunton+Stephens">James Brunton Stephens</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=415744" data-title="The Great Pig Story of the Tweed de James Brunton Stephens" data-description="“Hands off, old man!” the young man cried—
They stood beside the Tweed,
Where still the name of Murder Creek
Records some bloody deed.

The old man seized the hapless youth,
With frantic grasp and rough,
By what is popularly called
(But vulg..."></div>
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