Bewildered by metamorphosis, the prince
Tried his new limbs and wept, discerning too late
Her scorn for one so easily released
From spells (that kiss, you gather, was not the first).

Loudly, the princess mourned, lamenting her gross,
Her cunning love whose bed was criminal
And cursed the youth freed by unwanted art
From his foul shape, his bullock's head and heart.