“The more’s the pity, Bess--the more--” Said, with sardonic grin, the Boar; “If Pigs were Methodists and Bunyans, They’d make a sin of sage and onions; The curse of endless flames endorse On every boat of apple-sauce; Give brine to Satan, and assess Blackpuddings with bloodguiltiness; Yea, call down heavenly fire and smoke To burn all Epping into coke!” “Ay,” cried the Sow, extremely placid, In utter contrast to his acid, “Ay, that would be a Sect indeed! And every swine would like the creed, The sausage-making curse and all; And should some brother have a call, To thump a cushion to that measure, I would sit under him with pleasure; Nay, put down half my private fortune T’ endow a chapel at Hog’s Norton.-- But what has this to do, my deary, With their new Hebrew whigmaleery?” “Sow that you are! this Bill, if current, Would be as good as our death-warrant;-- And, with its legislative friskings, Loose twelve new tribes upon our griskins! Unjew the Jews, what follows then? Why, they’ll eat pork like other men, And you shall see a Rabbi dish up A chine as freely as a Bishop! Thousands of years have pass’d, and pork Was never stuck on Hebrew fork; But now, suppose that relish rare Fresh added to their bill of fare, Fry, harslet, pettitoes, and chine, Leg, choppers, bacon, ham, and loin, And then, beyond all goose or duckling”-- “Yes, yes--a little tender suckling! It must be held the aptest savour To make the eager mouth to slaver! Merely to look on such a gruntling, A plump, white, sleek and sappy runtling, It makes one--ah! remembrance bitter! It made me eat my own dear litter!” “Think, then, with this new waken’d fury, How we should fare if tried by _Jewry_! A pest upon the meddling Whigs! There’ll be a pretty run on pigs! This very morn a Hebrew brother With three hats stuck on one another, And o’er his arm a bag, or poke, A thing pigs never find a joke, Stopp’d--rip the fellow!--though he knew I’ve neither coat to sell nor shoe, And cock’d his nose--right at me, lovey! Just like a pointer at a covey!