The Donaghmore Pig

Poem about a pig's mischief on St Patrick's Day

The Donaghmore Pig

Good people I pray you attend for a while,
These verses I sing may cause you to smile,
Or else they will banish dull care for a while,
The more has been paid for his labour.
It’s concerning a pig came to old Donaghmore,
I’m sure such a pig you n’er heard of before,
In that papish village he raised an uproar,
On St. Patrick’s day in the morning.

It happened to be on that Sts. Blessed day,
The pig from his pen he wandered away,
And into the chapel he travelled straight way,
Oh the villain was upon mischief,
Round the altar he snuffled about,
He done wonderful mischief before he came out,
And in the holy water pot yalloped his snout,
On St. Patrick’s day in the morning.

What care for St. Bridget, St. Peter or Paul,
In his wrath he did not give a fig for them all,
Nor the image that hung from a nail in the wall,
Fell a victim alike to his fury,
He tore the Priest’s vestments likewise the black gown,
All the Gods round the altar he tumbled them down,
And poor Paddy lay with his nose in the ground
On his own Blessed day in the morning.

When it spread round the town, what the pig he had done,
Through back lanes and valleys the people did run,
For some it was grief, but for others fine fun,
Through gateways and lanes they came swarming,
They had grumpey a prisoner at the chapel gate,
He stood unconcerned his sentence to wait,
Among those Phillestines hard was his fate,
On St. Patrick’s day in the morning.

Pat McClinchey like Peter came up with the keys,
When he saw what was done he stood in amaze,
On the cursed thief he did stare and gaze,
His looks they were mingled with scorn,
He swore by the cross he would murder the pig,
For law nor for justice he cared not a fig,
In spite of the deel he would make him a rig,
For his conduct on that Holy morning.

Now some would maintain him a Catholic beast,
His size was a boar that belongs to a Priest,
But away from the town the portatine chase,
Like a fugetive banished with scorn,
At the back of some ditch he may languish and die,
He left his good home and his good warm sty,
But more of the Phillestines dare him draw nigh,
For his conduct on that holy day in the morning.
Supported by the EU Programme for Peace and Reconciliation