The name of wife and the joys of life
She rigidly would eschew.
She prick’d, for her sins, her head with pins,
And the blood in streamlets drew,
And tears they were spilt for her fancied guilt,
By the blessed St. Rose of Peru.
And oft she would fast, but to eat at last
The bitterest herbs she knew,
And all that was pleasant and good to the taste
In horror away she threw;