A pretty maid   A Protestant 
Was to a chance wed 
To love all Bible truths and tales 
Quite early she'd been bred




It sorely grieved her husband's heart 
That she would not comply 
And join the Mother Church of Rome 
And heretics deny 




So day by day he flattered her 
But still she saw no good 
Would ever come from bowing down 
To idols made of wood 




The mass   The host   The miracles 
Were made but to deceive 
And transubstantiation too 
She'd never dare believe 




He went to see his cleryman 
And told him his sad tale 
My wife is and unbeliever   Sir 
You can perhaps prevail 




For all your Romish miracles 
My wife has strong aversion 
To really work a miracle 
May lead to her conversion 




The priest went with the gentleman 
He thought to gain a prize 
He said I will convert her   Sir 
And open both her eyes 




The priest has come to dine with us 
He's welcome   She replied 

And when at last the meal was o'er 
The priest at once began 
To teach his hostess all about 
The sinful state of man 




The greatness of our Saviour's love 
Which Christians can't deny 
To give Himself a sacrifice 
And for our sins to die 




I will return tomorrow   Lass 
Prepare some bread and wind 
The sacremental miracle 
Will stop your soul's decline 




I'll bake the bread   The lady said 
You may   He did reply 
And when you see this miracle 
Convinced you'll be   Say I 




The priest did come accordingly 
The bread and wine did bless 
The lady asked   Sir   Is it changed 
The priest answered   Yes 




It's changed from common bread and wine 
To truly flesh and blood 
Begorra   Lass  This power of mine 
Has changed it into God 




So having blessed the bread and wine 
To eat they did prepare 
The lady said unto the priest 
I warn you to take care 




For half an ounce of arsenic 
Was mixed right in the batter 
But since you have it's nature changed 
It cannot really matter 




The priest was struck real dumb 
He looked as pale as death 
The bread and wine fell from his hands 
And he did gasp for breath 




Bring me my horse   The priest cried 
This is a cursed home 
The lady cried begone 
Tis you who shares the curse of Rome 




The husband   Too   He sat surprised 
And not a word did say 
At length he spoke   My Dear   Said he 
The priest has run away 




To gulp such mummery and tripe 
I'm not for sure quite able 
I'll go with you and we'll renounce 
This Roman Catholic Fable