An old labourer, bent1 double with age and toil2, was gatheringsticks in a forest. At last he grew so tired and hopeless that hethrew down the bundle of sticks, and cried out: "I cannot bearthis life any longer. ah, I wish death would only come and takeme!" As he spoke3, death, a grisly skeleton, appeared and said tohim: "What wouldst thou, mortal? I heard thee call me." "Please, sir," Replied the woodcutter, "Would you kindly4 helpme to lift this faggot of sticks on to my shoulder?" 
We would often be sorry if our wishes were gratified. 