Billy Bumble's Bargain.

Young Billy Bumble bowt a pig,     Soa aw've heeard th' neighbors say;     An monny a mile he had to trig     One sweltin' summer day;     But Billy didn't care a fig,     He sed he'd mak it pay;     He knew it wor a bargain,     An he cared net who said nay.     He browt it hooam to Ploo Croft loin,     But what wor his surprise     To find all th' neighbors standing aght,     We oppen maaths an eyes;     "By gow!" sed Billy, to hissen,     "This pig must be a prize!"     An th' wimmen cried, "Gooid gracious fowk     But isn't it a size?"     Then th' chaps sed, "Billy, where's ta been?     Whativver has ta browt?     That surely isn't crayture, lad,     Aw heeard 'em say tha'd bowt?     It luks moor like a donkey,     Does ta think 'at it con rawt?"     But Billy crack'd his carter's whip.     An answered 'em wi' nowt.     An reight enuff it wor a pig,     If all they say is true,     Its length wor five foot eight or nine,     Its height wor four foot two;     An when it coom to th' pig hoil door,     He couldn't get it throo,     Unless it went daan ov its knees,     An that it wodn't do.     Then Billy's mother coom to help,     An hit it wi' a mop;     But thear it wor, an thear it seem'd     Detarmined it 'ud stop;     But all at once it gave a grunt,     An oppen'd sich a shop;     An finding aght 'at it wor lick'd,     It laup'd cleean ovver th' top.     His mother then shoo shook her heead,     An pool'd a woeful face;     "William," shoo sed, "tha should'nt bring     Sich things as theas to th' place.     Aw hooap tha art'nt gooin to sink     Thi mother i' disgrace;     But if tha buys sich things as thease     Aw'm feared it will be th' case!"     "Nah, mother, nivver freat," sed Bill,     "Its one aw'm gooin to feed,     Its rayther long i'th' legs, aw know,     But that's becoss o'th' breed;     If its a trifle long i'th' grooin,     Why hang it! nivver heed!     Aw know its net a beauty,     But its cheap, it is, indeed!"     "Well time 'ul try," his mother sed, -     An time at last did try;     For nivver sich a hungry beeast     Had been fed in a sty.     "What's th' weight o'th' long legged pig, Billy!"     Wor th' neighbors' daily cry;     "Aw connot tell yo yet," sed Bill,     "Aw'll weigh it bye an bye."     An hard poor Billy persevered,     But all to noa avail,     It swallow'd all th' mait it could get,     An wod ha swallow'd th' pail;     But Billy tuk gooid care to stand     O'th' tother side o'th' rail;     But fat it didn't gain as mich     As what 'ud greeas its tail.     Pack after pack o' mail he bowt,     Until he'd bowt fourteen;     But net a bit o' difference     I'th' pig wor to be seen:     Its legs an snowt wor just as long     As ivver 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 hah matters stood;     He luk'd at th' troff, an thear it wor,     Five simple bits o' wood,     As cleean scraped aght 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,     An monny a bit o' fun     They had, for Billy's mother sed,     "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 stickin 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 nivver knew;     An what wor th' war'st, 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 'at's tempted to goa buy     Be careful what yo do;     Dooant be persuaded 'coss "it's 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 onny price.