I saw three black pigs riding
In a blue and yellow cart —
Three black pigs riding to the fair
Behind the old grey dappled mare;
But it wasn't black pigs riding
In a gay and gaudy cart
That sent me into hiding
With a flutter in my heart.

I heard the cart returning,
The jolting, jingling cart —
Returning empty from the fair
Behind the old jog-trotting mare;
But it wasn't the returning
Of a clattering empty cart
That sent the hot blood burning
And throbbing through my heart.