Ah! teäke ceäre how dost trust em. Dost thou know
The funny feäble o' the pig an' crow?
Woone time a crow begun to strut an' hop
About some groun' that men'd a-been a-drillèn
Wi' barley or some wheat, in hopes o' villèn
Wi' good fresh corn his empty crop.
But lik' a thief, he didden like the païns
O' workèn hard to get en a vew graïns;
Zoo while the sleeky rogue wer there a-huntèn,
Wi' little luck, vor corns that mid be vound
A-peckèn vor, he heärd a pig a-gruntèn
Just tother zide o' hedge, in tother ground.
"Ah!" thought the cunnèn rogue, an' gi'ed a hop,
"Ah! that's the way vor me to vill my crop;
Aye, that's the plan, if nothèn don't defeät it.
If I can get thik pig to bring his snout
In here a bit an' turn the barley out,
Why, hang it! I shall only have to eat it."
Wi' that he vled up straïght upon a woak,
An' bowèn, lik' a man at hustèns, spoke:
"My friend," zaid he, "that's poorish livèn vor ye
In thik there leäze. Why I be very zorry
To zee how they hard-hearted vo'k do sarve ye.
You can't live there. Why! do they meän to starve ye?"
"Ees," zaid the pig, a-gruntèn, "ees;
What wi' the hosses an' the geese,
There's only docks an' thissles here to chaw.
Instead o' livèn well on good warm straw,
I got to grub out here, where I can't pick
Enough to meäke me half an ounce o' flick."
"Well," zaid the crow, "d'ye know, if you'll stan' that,
You mussen think, my friend, o' gettèn fat.
D'ye want some better keep? Vor if you do,
Why, as a friend, I be a-come to tell ye,
That if you'll come an' jus' get drough
Theäse gap up here, why you mid vill your belly.
Why, they've a-been a-drillèn corn, d'ye know,
In theäse here piece o' groun' below;
An' if you'll just put in your snout,
An' run en up along a drill,
Why, hang it! you mid grub it out,
An' eat, an' eat your vill.
Their idden any fear that vo'k mid come,
Vor all the men be jist a-gone in hwome."
The pig, believèn ev'ry single word
That wer a-twold en by the cunnèn bird
Wer only vor his good, an' that 'twer true,
Just gi'ed a grunt, an' bundled drough,
An' het his nose, wi' all his might an' maïn,
Right up a drill, a-routèn up the graïn;
An' as the cunnèn crow did gi'e a caw
A-praisèn [=o]'n, oh! he did veel so proud!
An' work'd, an' blow'd, an' toss'd, an' ploughed
The while the cunnèn crow did vill his maw.
An' after workèn till his bwones
Did eäche, he soon begun to veel
That he should never get a meal,
Unless he dined on dirt an' stwones.
"Well," zaid the crow, "why don't ye eat?"
"Eat what, I wonder!" zaid the heäiry plougher.
A-brislèn up an' lookèn rather zour;
"I don't think dirt an' flints be any treat."
"Well," zaid the crow, "why you be blind.
What! don't ye zee how thick the corn do lie
Among the dirt? An' don't ye zee how I
Do pick up all that you do leäve behind?
I'm zorry that your bill should be so snubby."
"No," zaid the pig, "methinks that I do zee
My bill will do uncommon well vor thee,
Vor thine wull peck, an' mine wull grubby."
An' just wi' this a-zaid by mister Flick
To mister Crow, wold John the farmer's man
Come up, a-zwingèn in his han'
A good long knotty stick,
An' laid it on, wi' all his might,
The poor pig's vlitches, left an' right;
While mister Crow, that talk'd so fine
O' friendship, left the pig behine,
An' vled away upon a distant tree,
Vor pigs can only grub, but crows can vlee.