(Pat whistles a bit of a popular air.)
'I've lived a long time, Mary,
In this wide world, my dear,
But a door to whistle like that
I never yet did hear.'
'But, mother, you know the fiddle
Hangs close beside the chink,
And the wind upon the strings
Is playing the tune I think.'
(The pig grunts.)
'Mary, I hear the pig,
Unaisy in his mind.'
'But, mother, you know, they say
The pigs can see the wind.'
'That's true enough in the day,
But I think you may remark,
That pigs no more nor we
Can see anything in the dark.'
(The dog barks.)
'The dog is barking now,
The fiddle can't play the tune.'
'But, mother, the dogs will bark
Whenever they see the moon.'
'But how could he see the moon,
When, you know, the dog is blind?
Blind dogs won't bark at the moon,
Nor fiddles be played by the wind.
'I'm not such a fool as you think,
I know very well it is Pat:—
Shut your mouth, you whistlin' thief,
And go along home out o' that!