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."