“Alas! my wife!” said Lamme.
He was on the point of emptying his wine flask, when Ulenspiegel put his hand on his arm.
“Do not drink in this fashion,” said he, “for drinking precipitately doth no benefit save to the kidneys. It were better if this belonged to him that hath no bottle.”
“You say well,” said Lamme, “but will you drink any better?” And he proffered him the flask.
Ulenspiegel took it, lifted up his elbow, then, returning the flask:
“Call me Spaniard,” said he, “if there is enough left to moisten a sparrow.”
Lamme looked at the flask, and without ceasing to whine, groped in his satchel, pulled out another flask and a piece of sausage which he began to cut in slices and chew in melancholy fashion.
“Dost thou never stop eating, Lamme?” asked Ulenspiegel.
“Often, my son,” replied Lamme, “but it is to drive away my mournful thoughts. Where art thou, wife?” said he, wiping away a tear.
And he cut off ten slices of sausage.