The only extant fragment of an otherwise unknown Latin epic. It was found in an Irish bog. Authorship and date of composition are uncertain.

Pastor aramque cani fido defendat et agros
imperat, exitio porcis et dulcibus agnis
ne veniant apri ingentes et saeva lupum vis.
porcellus minimus, silvis qui primus in altis,
parvae molis opus, faeno sibi condidit aulam,
solus ibi secum grave olenti stratus in herba
iactabat pinguemque fimum caenumque profundum.
nil tamen aeternum superorum numina divom
porcino generi dederunt: magnusque malusque
ecce lupus sanie spumans et sanguine rubro
stramineamque casam totumque a culmine tectum
aequat humi. pavidus procurris, porce, sed ille
grunnitu citius te corripit ore furenti.
at procul horribilem strepitum vix audit obesis
auriculis porcus maior: "fratercule", grunnit
"frater, ubi es? lacrimo mentemque suilia tangunt.
dulcia praepinguis cur liquimus ubera matris?"

The shepherd orders his faithful dog to defend both the pig-sty and the fields, lest the huge wild boars and the savage violence of the wolves should come to destroy the pigs and the sweet lambs. The littlest piglet, who first in the tall woods established a palace for himself out of straw, a task of little labor, alone by himself there, wallowing in the foul-smelling grass, tossed about both the rich manure and the deep mud. But the will of the gods above has granted nothing everlasting to the piggy race. Behold, a wolf, both big and bad, foaming with gore and red blood, levels with the ground both the straw cottage and the whole shelter from its very top. Pig, you run out in fear, but the wolf, quicker than a grunt, snatches you in its raving mouth. But far off the bigger pig scarcely hears the dreadful din with his fat wee ears: "Little brother", he grunts "where are you, my brother? I am weeping and our pigsties touch my mind. Why did we leave our wonderfully fat mother's sweet teats?"