“Ulenspiegel has eyes shining like a swan about to die.”
“Suppose they were given to the pigs to eat?” said the Stevenyne.
“That would be a feast of lanterns; drink up!” said Ulenspiegel.
“Would you like,” said the Stevenyne, “when you are on the scaffold, to have your tongue thrust through with a red-hot iron?”
“It would be the better of that for whistling; drink up,” answered Ulenspiegel.
“You would talk less if you were hanged,” said the Stevenyne, “and your darling might come to look at you.”
“Aye,” said Ulenspiegel, “but I should weigh heavier, and would fall on your lovely muzzle: drink up!”
“What would you say if you were beaten with cudgels, branded on the forehead and on the shoulder?”
“I would say they had made a mistake in the meat,” replied Ulenspiegel, “and that instead of roasting the sow Stevenyne, they had scalded the young porker Ulenspiegel: drink up!”
“Since you do not like any of these,” said the Stevenyne, “you shall be taken on to the king’s ships, and there condemned to be torn asunder by four galleys.”