His heart was snared; her form its cage, its stall.
He lavished gold; and made her thus his thrall.
But now, behold the wayward spite of fate!
The maid fell sick, this prince’s joy to bate.5
An ass had Hodge; no saddle to the fore.
A saddle bought; a wolf straight Jacky tore.
A jug had Dick; the well, alas, was dry.
The well then filled; the jug was broke hard by.
Now leeches called the prince, from left, from right.
“Two lives,” quoth he, “depend upon your might.