Just as the party pass'd the inn-yard gate,
A startled pig—a young and timorous thing
That in a puddle had been weltering—
Woke from some rapturous dream, and in its fright
Rush'd 'tween the nag's forelegs, who, woful sight!
Employ'd his hinder ones so wondrous well,
That Widow Higgins, bed, and daughters, fell
(Alas, my muse!) into the porker's bath!
Oh, day turn'd night! oh, pleasure sour'd to wrath!
But soon they did recover mirth, and jok'd,