severed,
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 persua