“May God have you both in his joy, my children,” said the provost, “and live soberly. For it is from intemperance that many evils come upon us in this vale of tears. Go in peace.”
And he blessed them.
And he sucked another marrow bone in soup, and drank another great draught of wine.
Ulenspiegel and Pompilius went out from him.
“This scurvy fellow,” said Ulenspiegel, “would not have given you a single drop of his wine to drink. It will be blessed bread to steal more from him still. But what ails you that you are shivering?”
“My shoes are full of water,” said Pompilius.
“Water dries quickly, my son,” said Ulenspiegel. “But be merry, to-night there will be flagon music in the Ketel-straat. And we will fill up the three night watchmen, who will watch the town with snores.”
Which was done.
However, they were close to Saint Martin’s day: the church was adorned for the feast. Ulenspiegel and Pompilius went in by night, shut the doors close, lit all the wax candles, took a viol and bagpipe, and began to play on these instruments all they might. And the candles flared like suns. But that was not all. Their task being done, they went to the provost, whom they found afoot, in spite of the late hour, munching a thrush, drinking Rhenish wine and opening both eyes to see the church windows lit up.
“Messire Provost,” said Ulenspiegel to him, “would you know who eats your meats and drinks your wines?”