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Rh hold its red end! And I thought the lord had taken it!"

And she released this unfortunate and sped into the house. The lord drew on his hose and took to his heels.

The girl came running into the house.

"Where is my comb, little father?"

"Ah! what a daughter!" grumbled the pope. "See, little mother. I believe she hath lost her maidenhead."

"Examine her thyself, little father," said the popess. "That will be better."

The pope lowered his drawers and gave the comb to his daughter. When they were in action, the pope gasped and cried:

"No, no—the girl hath not lost her honour……"

Quoth the popess:

"Little father, push her honour yet further back."

"Fear not, little mother. She will not let it fall. I have pushed it far."

Thus went the pope's daughter to the comb. Henceforth the pope combed them both, regaling them with his little 'doll,' passing his life in futtering both daughter and mother.