“Will you wait till you are too old?” answered Ulenspiegel. “That is bad arithmetic. Never have I seen a neck so round, or whiter breasts, Flemish breasts full of that good milk that makes men.”
“Full?” said she, “not yet, Traveller in a hurry.”
“Wait,” repeated Ulenspiegel. “Must I have no teeth left to eat you raw with, darling? You do not answer, you smile with your eyes clear brown and your lips red as cherries.”
The girl, looking craftily at him, replied:
“Why dost thou love me so quickly? What is thy trade? Art thou beggar, art thou rich?”
“A beggar,” said he, “am I, and rich at the same time, if you give me your darling self.”
“That is not what I want to know. Dost thou go to mass? Art thou a good Christian? Where dost thou dwell? Wouldst thou dare to say that thou art a Beggar, a true blue Beggar resisting the proclamations and the Inquisition?”
The ashes of Claes beat upon Ulenspiegel’s breast.
“I am a Beggar,” said he, “I would fain see dead and eaten by worms the oppressors of the Low Countries. Thou lookest on me confounded and astonied. This fire of love that burns for thee, darling, is the fire of youth. God lighted it; it flames as the sun shines, until it dieth down. But the fire of vengeance that broodeth in my heart, God lit that as well. It will be the sword, the fire, the rope, conflagration, devastation, war, and ruin to the murderers.”