Going into the house of the Écoutête, they see the son they sought in the company of a big monk with a noble belly, who was preaching wrathfully to him, fain to make him return to the bosom of our Mother Holy Church. But the lad would by no means consent thereto. He departed with Ulenspiegel. Meanwhile Lamme, seizing the monk by the cowl, made him walk before him in the streets of Antwerp, saying:
“Thou art worth a hundred florins ransom: pack up and march on. Why dost thou hang back? Hast thou lead in thy sandals? March, bag of lard, victual press, soup belly!”
“I march, Master Beggar, I march; but saving the respect due to your arquebuse, you are as big in the belly as myself, a paunchy, vasty fellow.”
Then Lamme, pushing him on:
“Dost thou dare indeed, foul monk,” said he, “to liken thy cloistral, useless, lazy grease to my Fleming fat honourably sustained and fed by toils, fatigues, and battles? Run, or I shall make thee go like a dog, and that with the spur at the end of my boot-sole.”
But the monk could not run, and he was all out of breath, and Lamme the same. And so they came to the ship.
XXI
Having taken Rammekens, Gertruydenberg, Alckmaer, the Beggars came back to Flushing.
Nele, now hale and cured, was waiting for Ulenspiegel at the harbour.