United States, (1779-1863)
The Pig and the Rooster
- On a warm sunny day, in the midst of July,
- A lazy young pig lay stretched out in his sty,
- Like some of his betters, most solemnly thinking
- That the best things on earth are good eating and drinking.
- At length, to get rid of the gnats and the flies,
- He resolv’d, from his sweet meditations to rise;
- And, to keep his skin pleasant, and pliant, and cool,
- He plung’d him, forthwith, in the next muddy pool.
- When, at last, he thought fit to arouse from his bath,
- A conceited young rooster came just in his path:
- A precious smart prig, full in vanity drest,
- Who thought, of all creatures, himself far the best.
- “Hey day! little grunter, why where in the world
- Are you going so perfum’d, pomatum’d, and curl’d?
- Such delicate odors my senses assail,
- And I see such a sly looking twist in your tail,
- That you, sure are intent on some elegant sporting;
- Hurra! I believe, on my life, you are courting;
- And that figure which moves with such exquisite grace,
- Combin’d with the charms of that soft-smiling face,
- In one who’s so neat and adorn’d with such art,
- Cannot fail to secure the most obdurate heart.
- And much joy do I wish you, both you and your wife,
- For the prospect you have of a nice pleasant life.”
- “Well said, master Dunghill,” cried Pig in a rage,
- “You’re doubtless, the prettiest beau of the age,
- With those sweet modest eyes staring out of your head,
- And those lumps of raw flesh, all so bloody and red.
- Mighty graceful you look with those beautiful legs,
- Like a squash or a pumpkin on two wooden pegs.
- And you’ve special good reason your own life to vaunt,
- And the pleasures of others with insult to taunt;
- Among crackling fools, always clucking or crowing,
- And looking up this way and that way, so knowing,
- And strutting and swelling, or stretching a wing,
- To make you admired by each silly thing;
- And so full of your own precious self, all the time,
- That you think common courtesy almost a crime;
- As if all the world was on the look out
- To see a young rooster go scratching about.”
- Hereupon, a debate, like a whirlwind arose,
- Which seem’d fast approaching to bitings and blows;
- ‘mid squeaking and grunting, Pig’s arguments flowing;
- And Chick venting fury ‘twixt screaming and crowing.
- At length, to decide the affair, ’twas agreed
- That to counsellor Owl they should straightway proceed;
- While each, in his conscience, no motive could show,
- But the laudable wish to exult o’er his foe.
- Other birds, of all feather, their vigils were keeping,
- While Owl, in his nook, was most learnedly sleeping:
- For, like a true sage, he preferred the dark night,
- When engaged in his work, to the sun’s blessed light.
- Each stated his plea, and the owl was required
- To say whose condition should most be desired.
- It seem’d to the judge a strange cause to be put on,
- To tell which was better, a fop or a glutton;
- Yet, like a good lawyer, he kept a calm face,
- And proceeded, by rule, to examine the case;
- With both his round eyes gave a deep-meaning wink,
- And, extending one talon, he set him to think.
- In fine, with a face much inclin’d for a joke,
- And a mock solemn accent, the counsellor spoke —
- “‘twixt Rooster and Roaster, this cause to decide,
- Would afford me, my friends, much profesional pride.
- Were each on the table serv’d up, and well dress’d,
- I could easily tell which I fancied the best;
- But while both here before me, so lively I see,
- This cause is, in truth, too important for me;
- Without trouble, however, among human kind,
- Many dealers in questions like this you may find.
- Yet, one sober truth, ere we part, I would teach —
- That the life you each lead is best fitted for each.
- ’tis the joy of a cockerel to strut and look big,
- And, to wallow in mire, is the bliss of a pig.
- But, whose life is more pleasant, when viewed in itself,
- Is a question had better be laid on the shelf,
- Like many which puzzle deep reasoners’ brains,
- And reward them with nothing but words for their pains.
- So now, my good clients, I have been long awake,
- And I pray you, in peace, your departure to take.
- Let each one enjoy, with content, his own pleasure,
- Nor attempt, by himself, other people to measure.”
- Thus ended the strife, as does many a fight;
- Each thought his foe wrong, and his own notions right.
- Pig turn’d, with a grunt, to his mire anew,
- And He-biddy, laughing, cried — cock-a-doodle-doo.
Poems. New York: Bartlett & Welford, 1844.
Editor’s Note:
Moore is best known as the credited author of A Visit From St. Nicholas (more commonly known today as ’twas the Night Before Christmas). However there is some debate on this and Henry Livingston (1748-1828) is also suggested as the author of that work.
About the Poet
Clement Clarke Moore (1779-1863), Professor of Oriental and Greek Literature at the General Theological Seminary of the Episcopal Church of New York (now Columbia University) and a member of the board of managers of the New York Institute for Special Education. [DES-6/03]