And I’ll draw a draught of wine,
Good wine from Louvain,
And I’ll draw a draught of wine,
When Nele smiles again.
“You villainous man!” she cried, “making fun of me again!”
“Nele,” said Ulenspiegel, “it is true that I am a man. But I am not a villain. For our family is of noble origin, a family of aldermen, and it carries on its shield three pint pots argent on a ground bruinbier. But, Nele, tell me now, is it a fact that in Flanders when a man sows a kiss he always reaps a box on the ear?”
“I refuse to speak to you,” said Nele.
“Then why open your mouth to tell me so?”
“I am angry,” she said.
Ulenspiegel slapped her on the back very lightly with his hand, saying: