The Legend of Ulenspiegel by Charles de Coster Book V Chapter 4

And in any case he appeared to be healing.
Every Saturday the Beggars saw him measuring the monk’s waist girth with a long leather thong.
The first Saturday he said:
“Four feet.”
And measuring himself, he said:
“Four feet and a half.”
And he seemed melancholy.
But, speaking of the monk, on the eighth Saturday he was full of joy and said:
“Four feet and three quarters.”
And the monk, angry, when he took his measure, would say to him:
“What do you want with me, big man?”
But Lamme would put out his tongue at him without a word.
And seven times a day, the sailors and soldiers saw him come with a new dish, saying to the monk:
“Here be rich beans in Flemish butter: didst thou eat the like in thy monastery? Thou hast a goodly phiz; there is no starving on this ship. Dost thou not feel cushions of fat coming on thy back? Before long thou wilt have no need of a mattress to lie on.”
At the monk’s second meal:
“Here,” he would say, “there are koeke-bakken after the Brussels fashion; the French folk call them crêpes, for they wear crapes on their kerchiefs for a sign of mourning: these are not black, but fair of hue and golden browned in the oven: seest thou the butter streaming off them? So shall it be with thy belly.”
“I have no hunger,” the monk would say.
“Thou must needs eat,” was Lamme’s answer. “Dost thou deem that these are pancakes of buckwheat? ’tis pure wheat, my father, father in grease, fine flour of the wheat, my father with the four chins: already I see the fifth one coming, and my heart rejoices. Eat.”
“Leave me in peace, big man,” said the monk.
Lamme, becoming wrathful, would reply:
“I am the lord and disposer of thy life: dost thou prefer the rope to a good bowl of pea soup with sippets, such as I am about to fetch thee presently?”
And coming with the bowl:
“Pea soup,” quoth Lamme, “loves to be eaten in company: and therefore I have just added thereto knoedels of Germany, goodly dumplings of Corinth flour, cast all alive into boiling water: they are heavy, but make plenteous fat. Eat all thou canst; the more thou dost eat the greater my joy: do not feign disgust; breathe not so hard as if thou hadst over much: eat. Is it not better to eat than to be hanged? Let’s see thy thigh! it thickens also; two feet seven inches round about. Where is the ham that measureth as much?”
An hour after he came back to the monk:
“Come,” said he, “here are nine pigeons: they have been slaughtered for thee, these innocent beasts that wont to fly unfearing above the ships: disdain them not; I have put into their bellies a ball of butter, breadcrumbs, grated nutmeg, cloves pounded in a brass mortar shining like thy skin: Master Sun rejoices to be able to admire himself in a face as bright as thine, by reason of the grease, the good grease I have made for thee.”
At the fifth meal he would fetch him a waterzoey.
“What thinkest thou,” quoth he, “of this hodgepodge of fish? The sea carries thee and feedeth thee: she could do no more for the King’s Majesty. Aye, aye, I can see the fifth chin visibly a-coming a little more on the left side than on the right side: we must fatten up this side that is neglected, for God saith to us: ‘Be just to each.’ Where would justice be, if not in an equitable distributing of grease? I will bring thee for thy sixth repast mussels, those oysters of the poor, such as they never served thee in thy convent: ignorant folk boil them and eat them so; but that is but the prologue to the fricassee; they must next be stripped of their shells, and their gentle bodies put in a pan, then stewed delicately with celery, nutmeg, and cloves, and bind the sauce with beer and flour, and serve them with buttered toast. I have done them in this fashion for thee. Why do children owe so great a gratitude to their fathers and mothers? Because they have given them shelter and love, but beyond all things, food: thou oughtest then to love me as thy father and thy mother, and even as to them thou owest me the gratitude of thy stomach: roll not against me then such savage eyes.
“Presently I shall bring thee a soup of beer and flour, well sweetened with cinnamon a-plenty. Knowest thou for why? That thy fat may become translucent and shiver upon thy skin: such it is seen when thou movest. Now here is the curfew ringing: sleep in peace, taking no thought for the morrow, certain to find thy succulent repasts once more, and thy friend Lamme to give them thee without fail.”
“Begone and leave me to pray to God,” said the monk.
“Pray,” said Lamme, “pray with the cheerful music of snoring: beer and sleep will make grease for thee, goodly grease. For my part, I am glad of it.”
And Lamme went off to put himself in bed.
And the sailors and soldiers would say to him:
“Why, then, do you feed so richly this monk that wishes thee no good?”
“Let me alone,” said Lamme, “I am accomplishing a mighty work.”