Having drunk many a flask of Meuse wine of the fashion of Burgundy and eaten much fish, they gossiped with the host, a Papist of the deepest dye, but as talkative as a magpie through the wine he had drunk and all the time winking an eye cunningly. Ulenspiegel, divining some mystery under this winking, made him drink more, so much that the host began to dance and burst out into laughter, then returning to the table:
“Good Catholics,” he said, “I drink to you.”
“To you we drink,” replied Lamme and Ulenspiegel.
“To the extinction of all plague, of rebellion and heresy.”
“We drink,” replied Lamme and Ulenspiegel, who kept replenishing the goblet the host could never allow to stay full.
“You are good fellows,” said he. “I drink to your Generosities; I make a profit on wine drunk. Where are your passes?”
“Here they are,” answered Ulenspiegel.
“Signed by the duke,” said the host. “I drink to the duke.”
“To the duke we drink,” replied Lamme and Ulenspiegel. The host, continuing:
“How do we catch rats, mice, and field mice? In rat-traps, snares, and mouse-traps. Who is the field mouse? ’Tis the great heretic Orange as hellfire. God is with us. They are coming. Hé! hé! Something to drink! Pour out, I am roasting, burning. To drink! Most goodly little reforming preachers.... I say little ... goodly little gallants, stout troopers, oak trees.... Drink! Will you not go with them to the great heretic’s camp? I have passes signed by him. Ye shall see their work.”