“The great Beggarman returns to this world! Lord God have mercy on my soul!”
And away he fled like a stag before the hounds.
Nele came to Ulenspiegel: “Kiss me, dearest,” she said.
Then Ulenspiegel looked about him once more. The two peasants had run off like the curé, and that they might run the faster they had thrown to the ground both shovel and parasol. As for the burgomaster and the aldermen, they lay groaning on the grass, stopping up their ears in their fright.
Ulenspiegel went to them and gave them a good shaking.
“Think you that they can be buried in the ground,” he asked them, “Ulenspiegel and Nele? Nele that is the heart of our Mother Flanders, and Ulenspiegel that is her soul? She can sleep too, forsooth, but die—never! Come, Nele.”
And they twain departed, Ulenspiegel singing his sixth song. But no man knoweth where he sang his last.
The Sixth Song