But under the mantle — what none suspected —
he’d managed to smuggle a real live pig.
And now he opened the representation;
the devil he pinched, and the pig gave voice.
The whole thing purported to be a fantasia
on the porcine existence, both free and in bonds;
and all ended up with a slaughter-house squeal —
whereupon the performer bowed low and retired.—
The critics discussed and appraised the affair;
the tone of the whole was attacked and defended.
Some fancied the vocal expression too thin,
while some thought the death-shriek too carefully studied;
but all were agreed as to one thing: qua grunt,
the performance was grossly exaggerated.—
Now that, you see, came of the devil’s stupidity
in not taking the measure of his public first.
[He bows and goes off. A puzzled silence comes over the crowd.]