But Nele replied, all red and cross:
“Why did you not make something different of him?”
“There,” said Soetkin, “now she is weeping; hold your tongue, husband.”
LXII
Ulenspiegel upon a day came to Nuremberg and gave himself out for a great physician, the conqueror of sickness, a most illustrious purger, renowned queller of fevers, celebrated scavenger of plagues, and scourge invincible of the itch and mange.
There were in the hospital so many sick that they could not know where to put them. The master hospitaller hearing of Ulenspiegel’s coming, came to see him and inquired if it was true that he could heal all diseases.
“Except the last sickness,” replied Ulenspiegel; “but promise me two hundred florins for the cure of all the others, and I will not accept a liard till all your sick confess themselves cured and leave the hospital.”
On the morrow he came to the said hospital with a confident look and carrying his phiz solemnly and doctorally. Once within the wards, he took each sick man separately and said:
“Swear,” quoth he, “not to confide to any what I am about to tell thee in thine ear. What is thy malady?”