The common folk gather under the tall steeple, to celebrate the coming of May. It their favourite summer day. It is May Day in old Swine Town. The sun is high and beating down. A fat suckling pig is on a spit roasting. The town drunk is bravely boasting. He will fight any man there for a pound. The truth is he would not last a round. His piggy eyes are small and none too good and one of his legs is made of wood. It a town where there are more swine than mortal men. At the last count there was a hundred and ten. It not endowed with great wealth or natural beauty. But the inhabitants are industrious and know duty. Runaway pigs often run amock through the high street and are soon caught and butchered for their skin and meat. It is May Day in Swine Town and from many chins pork fat is dripping down.