“Married,” said they; “but your wife has over much: a man of your corpulence. Give us a little. Faithful woman, ’tis well and good; a faithful man, he is a capon. God keep you! you must choose, or we shall whip you in our turn.”
“I will do no such thing,” said Lamme.
“Choose,” said they.
“No,” said he.
“Will you have me?” said a pretty, fair girl: “See, I am gentle, and I love whoever loves me.”
“Let me alone,” said Lamme.
“Will you have me?” said a delicious girl, who had black hair, eyes and complexion all brown, and in everything else made to perfection by the angels.
“I don’t like gingerbread,” said Lamme.
“And what of me, would you not take me?” said a tall girl, who had a brow almost covered by her hair, heavy eyebrows joined together, big drowned eyes, lips thick as eels and all red, and red, too, of face, neck, and shoulders.
“I don’t like,” said Lamme, “burnt bricks.”