Young Widow Mahan had an iligant pig,
In the garden it loved for to wallow and dig;
On potatoes it lived, and on fresh buttermilk,
And its back was as smooth as fine satin or silk.
Now Peter McCarthy, a graceless young scamp,
Who niver would work, such a lazy young tramp,
He laid eye on the pig, as he passed by one day,
And the thafe of the world, he stole it away!

_Chorus_

An iligant pig in every way,
Young Widow Mahan used often to say:
"Faith, when it's full grown, I'll go to the fair,
A mighty foine price I'll get for it there."

As Mr. Sweeney started to repeat the four lines of the chorus, a
soprano voice rose above his own, and, as the last note died away,
Maude came in for her share of the applause. Mrs. Crowley was
delighted, and showed her appreciation by laughing until she cried.

II

He drove the poor piggy to Ballyporeen,
And the price of it soon he did spend in poteen,
He got into a fight and was cracked on the head,
Then to jail he was carried and taken for dead.
The constable then for the Father did send,
For he thought that McCarthy was quite near his end;