"Desire of me what you will." The beauty had been primed by her mother, who wished to be revenged on John, whose prophecies might tear her from her kingly lover.

The daughter breathed the words: "A dish for your table, O king!" "A dish of meat?
Speak more plainly." "Let your bridal gift be a dish of rare meat on a golden charger." "I do not understand what you want." "The head of the Baptist." The king understood, turned aside, and said: "Horror, thy name is woman!" Then she wept and murmured between her sobs: "I knew it.

A woman is nothing to you but a flower of the field.

You cut it down so that it turns to hay.

And hay is for asses.