“Blessed be God, that restoreth my friend Ulenspiegel to me! Something to drink, baesine!”
Ulenspiegel, pulling out his purse, said:
“Bring to drink till this is at an end.”
And he made the carolus clink.
“Glory to God!” said Lamme, craftily taking the purse in his hands; “it is I that pay and not you; this purse is mine.”
Ulenspiegel wished to get back his purse from him by force, but Lamme held on tenaciously. As they were fighting, the one to keep it, the other to get it back, Lamme speaking disjointedly, said in low tones to Ulenspiegel:
“Listen: ... catchpolls within ... four ... little room with three girls ... two outside for you, for me ... would have gone out ... prevented.... The brocade girl a spy ... a spy, Stevenyne!”
While they were struggling, Ulenspiegel, listening with all his ears, cried out:
“Give back my purse, rascal!”
“You shall never get it,” said Lamme.