THE husband, while the holy pastor spoke, Appeared to grumble and his stars invoke. The wife was in a rage, and 'gan to scold: Said she to Peter, wretch that I behold! Thou'lt be through life a prey to pain and grief, Come not to me and bray and hope relief, The worthy pastor would have us procured The means that might much comfort have ensured. Can he deserve such treatment to receive? Good Mister John this goose I now would leave, And ev'ry morning, while he gathers fruits, Or plants, herbs, cabbages, and various roots, Without averting him, pray, here repair, You'll soon transform me to a charming mare. No mare, replied the husband, I desire; An ass for me is all that I require.