Ulenspiegel and Lamme, each mounted on an ass, which Simon Simonsen had given them, one of the faithfuls of the Prince of Orange, went everywhere, warning the burgesses of the black designs of the king of blood, and ever on the watch to discover news coming from Spain.
They sold vegetables, being clad like country folk, and haunted all the markets.
Coming back from the Brussels market, they saw in a stone house, on the Brick Quay, in a low chamber, a handsome dame clad in satin, high coloured, well bosomed, and with a lively eye.
She was saying to a fresh young cookmaid:
“Scour me this pan, I do not like rust sauce.”
Ulenspiegel put his nose in at the window.
“I,” said he, “I like every sauce, for a hungry belly is no great picker and chooser among fricassees.”
The dame turning round:
“Who,” said she, “is this fellow that interferes with my soup?”
“Alas! fair dame,” answered Ulenspiegel, “if you would only make it in my company, I would teach you travellers’ stews unknown to fair dames that sit at home.”