“Willingly would I dine with you,” said he, “and dine off you into the bargain! You and all your companions in turn, for you are morsels fit for a king, more delicate to swallow than any ortolan or thrush or snipe!”
“Nay,” they answered, “but we are not for sale.”
“Then perhaps you will give?” he asked them.
“Yea, verily,” they laughed, “a good box on the ear to such as are too bold. And if needs were we would beat you now like a bundle of corn!”
“Thank you,” he said, “I will go without the beating.”
“Well then,” they said, “come in to dinner.”
So he followed them into the inn yard, glad for their fresh young faces. And thereafter he saw the Brethren of the Jolly Face themselves, who were now entering the yard with great ceremony, and by their own jolly appearance living up most conspicuously to the name of their Guild.
They scrutinized Ulenspiegel with some curiosity, till one of the women informed them who he was—a pilgrim they had picked up on the road, and whom, being a good red-face like unto their husbands and their sweethearts, they had invited to share in the entertainment. The men were agreeable to this proposal, and one of them addressed himself to Ulenspiegel:
“Pilgrim on pilgrimage, what say you now to continuing your pilgrimage across some sauce and fricassee?”
“I shall have need of my seven-league boots,” answered Ulenspiegel.