That evening Jasmine returned without her magic purse, rejoicing that her husband would once more delight in her beauty. She went to say good night to her little son, who lay in his cot, struggling to draw his tiny toes up into his mouth. The window was open. Suddenly he stretched forth his arms towards the shining moon. It looked so good to suck; he longed to grasp it. He struggled and bubbled and clutched, his crinkled face growing crimson with effort. How funny he looked! Suddenly, Jasmine found herself laughing—laughing—laughing until her whole body shook, and happy peals broke through her astonished lips. “Oh, you darling, darling little joke,” she cried, joyfully kissing her child.
At that moment in rushed Anselm, and stood transfixed at the dazzling beauty of his wife.
“Jasmine, Jasmine,” he cried, “what has happened. Why are you so dazzlingly beautiful?”
“Because I have no longer a magic purse. I have bought you back your Sense, husband.”
“You too?” cried Anselm; “and I have bought back your laughter.”
“Then we are both poor! Oh, how funny!” cried Jasmine, her laughter growing louder and louder as they fell into one another’s arms.
Thus Anselm and Jasmine parted with their magic purses, and had to work for their daily bread, but they lived happily ever afterwards in a world that was blessedly beautiful and blessedly funny.
The Joyous Ballad of the Parson and the Badger
Henry Newbolt