The Legend of Ulenspiegel by Charles de Coster Book V Chapter 3

Seeing that he was allowed to say what he pleased, the monk lifted up his nose on board the ship; and the sailors and soldiers, to make him the more ready and eager to preach, slandered Madame the Virgin, Messieurs the Saints, and the pious practices of the Holy Roman Church.
Then, becoming enraged, he vomited out a flood of abuse against them.
“Aye!” he cried, “aye, here am I then in the den of the Beggars! Yea, these are indeed those accursed devourers of the land! Yea. And they say that the Inquisitor, that holy man, has burned too many of them! Nay: there is still some of the filthy vermin left. Aye, on these goodly and gallant ships of our Lord the King, once so clean and well scoured, now can be seen the vermin of the Beggars, aye, the stinking vermin. Aye, they are vermin, foul, stinking, infamous vermin, the singing captain, the cook with his belly filled with impiety, and all of them with their blasphemous crescents. When the king will have his ships scoured with the suds of artillery, it will need more than a hundred thousand florins’ worth of powder and cannon shot to clear away this filthy, beastly stinking infection. Aye, ye were all born in Madame Lucifer’s alcove, condemned to dwell with Satanas between walls of vermin, under curtains of vermin, on mattresses of vermin. Yea, and there it was that in their infamous loves they begat and conceived the Beggars. Aye, and I spit upon you.”
At this word the Beggars said to him:
“Why do we keep here this idle rascal, who is good for nothing but to spew up insults? Let us hang him rather.”
And they set about doing it.
The monk, seeing the rope ready, the ladder propped against the mast, and that they were about to bind his hands, said woefully:
“Have pity upon me, Messieurs the Beggars, it is the demon of anger that speaks in my heart and not your humble captive, a poor monk that hath but one only neck in this world: gracious lords, have mercy: shut my mouth if ye will with a choke-pear; ’tis a bitter fruit, but hang me not.”
But they, without giving heed, and despite his furious struggles, were dragging him towards the ladder. He cried then so shrill and loud that Lamme said to Ulenspiegel, who was with him and tending him in the cook’s galley:
“My son! my son! they have stolen a pig from the stable, and they are making off. Oh, the robbers! if I could but rise!”
Ulenspiegel went up and saw nothing but the monk. And he, catching sight of Ulenspiegel, fell upon his knees, with his hands outstretched to him.
“Messire Captain,” said he, “captain of the valiant Beggars, redoubtable on land and on sea, your soldiers are fain to hang me because I have transgressed with my tongue: ’tis an unjust punishment, Messire Captain, for so must all advocates, procurators, preachers, and women, be given a hempen collar, and the world would be unpeopled; Messire, save me from the rope. I shall pray for you; you will never be damned: grant me pardon. The devil of prating carried me away and made me speak without ceasing: ’tis a mighty misfortune. My poor bile soured then and made me say a thousand things I never think. Grace, Messire Captain, and you, Messieurs, intercede for me.”
Suddenly Lamme appeared on the deck in his shirt and said:
“Captain and friends, ’twas not the pig but the monk that was squealing; I am overjoyed. Ulenspiegel, my son, I have conceived a high design with regard to His Paternity; give him his life, but leave him not at liberty, else will he do some ill trick upon the ship: rather have a cage built for him on the deck, a strait cage well opened and airy, where he can do no more than sit down and sleep; such a one as they make for capons; let me feed him, and let him be hanged if he does not eat as much as I will.”
“Let him be hanged if he will not eat,” said Ulenspiegel and the Beggars.
“What dost thou mean to do with me, big man?” said the monk.
“Thou shalt see,” replied Lamme.
And Ulenspiegel did as Lamme wished, and the monk was put in a cage, and all could contemplate him at their leisure.
Lamme had gone down into his galley; Ulenspiegel followed and heard him disputing with Nele:
“I will not lie down,” he was saying, “no, I will not lie down to have others groping and fumbling with my sauces; no, I will not stay in my bed, like a calf!”
“Do not be angry, Lamme,” said Nele, “or your wound will reopen and you will die.”
“Well,” said he, “I will die: I am tired of living without my wife. Is it not enough for me to have lost her, without your trying furthermore to prevent me, me the master cook of this place, from myself keeping watch over the soup? Know ye not that there is a health inherent in the steam of sauces and fricassees? They even nourish my spirit and armour me against misfortunes.”
“Lamme,” said Nele, “thou must needs hearken to our counsel and let thyself be healed by us.”
“I am fain to let myself be healed,” said Lamme: “but rather than another should enter here, some ignorant good-for-naught, a frowsy, ulcerous, blear-eyed, dropping nosed fellow, and come to king it as master cook in my place, and paddle with his filthy fingers in my sauces, I would rather kill him with my wooden ladle, which would be iron for that task.”
“All the same,” said Ulenspiegel, “thou must have an assistant; thou art sick…”
“An assistant for me,” said Lamme, “for me, an assistant! Art thou then stuffed with naught but ingratitude, as a sausage is full of minced meat? An assistant, my son, and ’tis thou that dost say so to me, thy friend, who have nourished thee so long time and so succulently! Now will my wound reopen. False friend, who then would dress thy food like me? What would ye do, ye two, if I were not there to give thee, chief-captain, and thee, Nele, some dainty stew or other?”
“We will work ourselves in the galley,” said Ulenspiegel.
“Cooking,” said Lamme: “thou art good to eat of it, to smell it, to sniff it up, but to perform it, no: poor friend and chief-captain, saving your respect, I could make thee eat leather wallets cut up into ribbons, and thou wouldst take it for toughish tripe: leave me, my son, to be still the master cook of here, else I shall dry up, like a lathstick.”
“Remain master cook then,” said Ulenspiegel; “if thou dost not heal, I will shut up the galley and we shall eat naught save biscuits.”
“Ah! my son,” said Lamme, weeping for joy, “thou art good and kind as Notre Dame herself.”