“Why are you laughing?” asked Jan of Zuursmoel. “Do you think that our nostrils are made of brass? Eat of this zennip, since it is you that dressed it yourself.”
“I like better things grilled with cinnamon,” answered Ulenspiegel.
Jan of Zuursmoel got up to beat him.
“There is,” said he, “foulness in this pot of mustard.”
“Baes,” said Ulenspiegel, “have you no mind of the day when I went at your heels to the far end of your garden? There, you bade me, showing the zennip: ‘Everywhere you see that plant, entreat it foully, for this it is that serveth for rack and gallows.’ I did entreat it so, baes, I did entreat it shamefully with great affronting; do not now go to murder me for my obedience.”
“I said kennip and not zennip,” shouted Jan of Zuursmoel in a fury.
“Baes, you said zennip and not kennip,” retorted Ulenspiegel.
Thus they argued loud and long, Ulenspiegel speaking humbly, Jan of Zuursmoel screaming like an eagle and mixing up zennip, kennip, kemp, zemp, zemp, kemp, zemp, like a skein of ravelled silk.
And the guests laughed like devils eating cutlets of Dominican friars and inquisitors’ kidneys.
But Ulenspiegel must needs leave Jan of Zuursmoel.