“Thy mirror,” he would say, “is stark youth with proud codpiece.”
And the darling would go away also, but not without giving him florins one or two.
To the fat, blear-eyed monk who would ask to see his present and future self, Ulenspiegel would answer:
“Thou art a ham cupboard, and so thou shalt be a still room for cervoise ale; for salt calleth upon drinking, is not this true, great belly? Give me a patard for not having lied.”
“My son,” the monk would reply, “we never carry money.”
“’Tis then the money carries thee,” would Ulenspiegel answer, “for I know thou dost put it between two soles under thy feet. Give me thy sandal.”
But the monk:
“My son, ’tis the property of the Convent; I will none the less take from it, if I must, two patards for thy trouble.”
The monk gave them. Ulenspiegel received them graciously.
Thus showed he their mirror to the folk of Damme, of Bruges, of Blankenberghe, nay, even as far away as Ostend.