“I take no stock in thy lantern nor in the Escurial,” replied the Count.
“Well, for my part,” answered Ulenspiegel, “it burns in me to give you a good advice.”
Then taking by the bridle the Count’s horse, rearing and kicking:
“Monseigneur,” said he, “think that now you dance well on your horse and that your head dances also very well upon your shoulders; but the king, they say, means to interrupt this fine dance, to leave you your body, but to take your head and make it dance in a land so far away that you will never be able to overtake it. Give me a florin, I have earned it.”
“The whip, if thou wilt not be off, evil newsmonger.”
“Monseigneur, I am Ulenspiegel, the son of Claes, that was burned alive for his belief and of Soetkin that died of sorrow. The ashes beating upon my breast tell me that Egmont, the gallant soldier, might with the gendarmerie in his command oppose the thrice-victorious troops of the Duke of Alba.”
“Begone,” replied Egmont, “I am no traitor.”
“Save the countries; you alone can save them,” said Ulenspiegel.
The Count would have beaten Ulenspiegel; but he had not waited for this and fled away, crying:
“Eat lanterns, eat lanterns, Messire Count. Save the countries.”