The Pies





Swift, in passing through the county of Cavan, called at a homely but

hospitable house, where he knew he should be well received. The Lady

Bountiful of the mansion, rejoiced to have so distinguished a guest,

runs up to him, and with great eagerness and flippancy asks him what he

will have for dinner. Will you have an apple-pie, sir? Will you have a

gooseberry-pie, sir? Will you have a cherry-pie, sir? Will you have a

currant-pie, sir? Will you have a plum-pie, sir? Will you have a

pigeon-pie, sir? Any pie, madam, but a magpie.





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