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A
pretty maid, a Protestant, was to a Catholic wed.
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To
love all Bible truths and tales, quite early shed been bred.
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It
sorely grieved her husbands heart that she would not comply.
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And
join the Mother Church of Rome and heretics deny.
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So
day by day he flattered her, but still she saw no good
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Would
ever come from bowing down to idols made of wood.
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The
mass, the host, the miracle, were made but to deceive;
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And
transubstantiation, too, she'd never dare believe.
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He
went to see his clergyman and told him his sad tale.
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My
wife is an unbeliever, sir; you can perhaps prevail.
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For
all your Romish miracles, my wife has strong aversion.
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To
really work a miracle may lead her to conversion.
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The
priest went with the gentleman--he thought to gain a prize.
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He
said, I will convert her, sir, and open both her eyes.
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So
when they came into the house, the husband loudly cried,
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The
priest has come to dine with us He's welcome, she replied.
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And
when at last the meal was o'er, the priest at once began,
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To
teach his hostess all about the sinful state of man;
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The
greatness of our Saviour's love, which Christians cant deny.
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To
give Himself a sacrifice and for our sins to die.
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I
will return tomorrow, lass, prepare some bread and wine;
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The
sacramental miracle will stop your soul's decline.
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Ill
bake the bread, the lady said. You may he did reply.
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And
when you've seen this miracle, convinced you'll be, says I.
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The
priest did come accordingly, the bread and wine did bless.
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The
lady asked, Sir, is it changed? The priest answered Yes.
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Its
changed from common elements to truly flesh and blood.
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Begorra,
lass, this power of mine has changed it into God.
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-
So
having blessed the bread and wine, to eat they did prepare.
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The
lady said unto the priest, I warn you, take care.
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For
half an ounce of arsenic was mixed right in the batter.
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But,
since you have its nature changed, it cannot really matter.
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The
priest was struck real dumb--he looked as pale as death.
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The
bread and wine fell from his hands, and he did gasp for breath.
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Bring
me my horse! the priest cried. This is a cursed home!
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The
lady replied, Be-gone, 'tis you who share the curse of Rome.
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The
husband, too, he sat surprised, and not a word did say.
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At
length, he spoke. My dear, said he, the priest has run away;
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To
gulp such mummery and tripe, I'm not for sure quite able.
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I'll
go with you, and well renounce this Roman Catholic fable.
