Anonymous – England, (19th century)
Christmas Sucking Pig
So come on all both great and small and listen to my lay
As I tell you of the sucking pig we ate on Christmas Day!
- You all have heard of the Christmas Goose
- And the walloping Great Pie,
- But I think to myself it’s not much use
- To tell such a precious lie.
- But I’ll tell you of a wonder now,
- All true, or I’m a sinner,
- It is about a wonderful sucking pig
- We had for Christmas dinner.
- Perhaps you may think it’s not all true,
- But I don’t care a fig;
- What I tell you, I know is true,
- Of the Christmas suckling pig.
- The very first day this pig was born,
- He cut some rummy capers,
- For he swallowed a field of turnip tops,
- And forty ton of taters.
- They took and draw’d out all his teeth,
- But it only made him snarly,
- For he bolted a wagon-load of swedes*,
- And a stack of oats and barley.
- This sucking-pig he got so fat,
- Now perhaps you think it is a lark,
- But his head, they say when three weeks old,
- Was big as Noah’s Ark.
- One leg was as big as a greasy pole,
- And a ton of bristles on it,
- And his curly tail when pull’d out straight
- Was longer than the comet.
- One ear was as big as Temple Bar,
- At least so people tell us:
- And his precious snout each time he breathed,
- Was like a blacksmith’s bellows;
- His back was like Blackfriars Bridge
- And if I’m not mistaken,
- His head and neck was made of pork
- And his latter-end of bacon.
- To kill this wonderful sucking pig,
- They all got tired of trying,
- it took no end of trying,
- For, without telling a word of lie,
- He was seventy years a-dying.
- And when at last they laid out streight
- The pig that was so frisky,
- The tip of his tail was at Tyburne Gate
- And his head in the Bay of Biscay
- Two hundred men then set to work,
- With a lot of knives and choppers
- But it took them all about seven years
- To cut off one of his trotters.
- One leg these men had for their for lunch
- So in Hyde Park they took it,
- And they had to boil the Serpentine
- Before that they could cook it.
- His bones were sent off to the mill,
- To be ground up for flour,
- And they filled ten thousand sacks,
- In less than half an hour.
- To see this wonderful suckling pig,
- The people came in clusters,
- And the bakers bought the sacks of flour,
- To make their quartern** batters.
- Perhaps you think it is not true,
- But I do not care one fig.
- For in everything I have told no lie
- About this wonderful pig.
Editor’s Note:
* swede – the British word for a rutabaga, a member of the cabbage family and thought to be an ancient cross between a turnip and a cabbage – a hybrid
** quartern – (Chiefly British, archaic) A loaf of bread weighing about 4 pounds (1.81 kilograms).] as a type of loaf 4 inches square, used esp for making sandwiches or any loaf weighing about 1600g when baked.
The Parson and the Suckling Pig
To me Folla del lay, folla del lay, folla delara lay
Folla del lay, folla del lay, folla delara lay.
- Come ye that love a bit of fun and listen here awhile,
- I’ll tell you of a droll affair that will give you cause to smile.
- A parson dressed all in his best, cocked hat and bushy wig,
- He went up to a farmer’s house to choose a sucking pig.
- “Good morning,” said the parson, “good morning sir to you,
- I’ve come to choose a sucking pig, which you know it is my due.
- Therefore I pray go fetch me one that is both plump and fine,
- For I have asked a friend or two along with me to dine.”
- So in the sty the farmer goes among the pigs so small,
- And he chooses for the parson the least amongst them all.
- When the parson saw the same, how he did rant and roar,
- He stamped his foot and he shook his wig and he almost cursed and swore.
- “Well then sir,” said the farmer, “since my offer you refuse
- I pray you go into the sty, there you may pick and choose.”
- In the sty the parson ventured, without any more ado;
- The old sow ran with open mouth, and she at the parson flew.
- Well the first she grabbed him by the coat and took off both the skirts,
- She ran her head between his legs and rolled him in the dirt.
- The parson cursed the very hour he’d ventured for the pig,
- You’d have laughed to see the little ones how they shook his hat and wig.
- Well the next she grabbed him by the breeches, as he so loudly cried,
- “Oh! Free me from this cursed pig or I shall surely die!”
- The little pig his waistcoat tore, his stockings and his shoes,
- The farmer said, “You’re welcome, I hope you’ll pick and choose.”
- Well at length they let the parson out, all in a handsome trim,
- The sow and pigs so neatly in the dirt had rolled him
- His coat was to a spencer turned, his brogues were ripped behind,
- And beside his backside was all bare and his shirt hung out behind.
- He’d lost his stockings and his shoes, which grieved him full sore,
- Beside his waistcoat, hat and wig, they were all to pieces tore.
- Then of the parson, he scampered home, as fast as he could run,
- The farmer almost split his sides with laughing at the fun.
- The parson’s wife stood at the door awaiting his return
- But when she saw his awful plight, she into the house did run.
- “My dear what is the matter, and where have you been?” she said.
- “Get out you slut,” the parson cried, “for I am almost dead.
- “Go fetch me down a suit of clothes, go fetch ‘em down I pray,
- And bring me my old greasy wig, without any such delay.
- And for the usage I’ve received all in that cursed sty
- I never will relish sucking pig, until the day I die.”
Editor’s Note:
Here is a version of “The Parson and the Sucking Pig” sung by Bob Copper from his 1977 album, Sweet Rose In June – Countryside Songs From The South and out on Topic Records Ltd. in the UK.
Roasted Sucking-Pig
- COOKS who ’d roast a sucking-pig,
- Purchase one not over big;
- Coarse ones are not worth a fig;
- So a young one buy.
- See that he is scalded well
- (That is done by those who sell,
- Therefore on that point to dwell
- Were absurdity).
- Sage and bread, mix just enough,
- Salt and pepper quantum suff.,
- And the pig’s interior stuff,
- With the whole combined.
- To a fire that ’s rather high,
- Lay it till completely dry;
- Then to every part apply
- Cloth, with butter lined.
- Dredge with flour o’er and o’er,
- Till the pig will hold no more;
- Then do nothing else before
- ’T is for serving fit.
- Then scrape off the flour with care;
- Then a buttered cloth prepare;
- Rub it well; then cut—not tear—
- Off the head of it.
- Then take out and mix the brains
- With the gravy it contains;
- While it on the spit remains,
- Cut the pig in two.
- Chop the sage and chop the bread
- Fine as very finest shred;
- O’er it melted butter spread,—
- Stinginess won’t do.
- When it in the dish appears,
- Garnish with the jaws and ears;
- And when dinner-hour nears,
- Ready let it be.
- Who can offer such a dish
- May dispense with fowl and fish;
- And if he a guest should wish,
- Let him send for me!
About the Poet:
Anonymous, England, (19th century). Here are three forms of humorous poetry, or perhaps poetical cookery is more accurate. Many versions of these verses exist with slight variations in wording, meter or the locations mentioned. These were popular as poems, ballads or put to music as songs, all for entertaining public presentation. [DES-12/18]