Emblem 32

TranscriptionAI-generated

Wat nieus, wat wonders, lieve vrient, Dat u voor al geweten dient; Siet Spitsaert die soo moedigh tradt, Het trotste ventje van de stadt, Het fierste quantje datmen vint, Dat is tot onse Trijn gesint, Tot onse Trijn dat ronde kloen Daer heeft hy wonder mee te doen, Tot onse Trijn dat plompe stuck Daer in stelt hy sijn gants geluck; Hy vleyt, hy kust, hy streelt de meyt, Sy is sijn lust, gelijck hy seyt, Sy is de kroon van sijne jeugt, Sy is sijn troost, sijn gantsche vreugt, Hy kan niet leven sonder haer, En dat is sonder twijffel waer; Want Spitsaert is te wonder kael, Sijn keucken al te bijster schrael, Soo dat hy niet ter werelt heeft Als dat hy nu van hope leeft: Het is met hem also gestelt Dat hy nu waegt sijn leste gelt, Want daer van is hy moy gekleet, En wonder prachtigh uyt-gereet; Soo hy nu mist een rijcke bruyt Soo isset met den joncker uyt. Nu onse Trijn is wonder rijck, Men vinter weynigh haers gelijck; Haer vader was die groote boer, Die staegh op alle marten voer Met eygen boter, eygen kaes, En daerom hiet hy rijcke Faes; En nademael hy lestmael sterf Soo beurde Trijn alleen het erf, Vermits sy was een eenigh kint, En daerom wertse nu gemint, En daerom wertse nu ter tijt Van menigh steedtsche quant gevrijt; Want schoon al isse bijster plomp, Al isse maer een rouwe klomp, Noch krijghtse vryers uyter stadt, Meer als oyt steedtsche vrijster hadt; Sy is soo rijck, ons lieve Trijn, Dat sy oock schoone schijnt te zijn, Haer gelt dat heeft soo grooten kracht Dat niemant op haer seylen acht. Het wijt-vermaerde Venus-kint Is nu niet, als het plach, gesint, Het let op gelt, en niet op eer, Ten draegt voortaen geen boge meer, Ten draegt geen torts, of gulde schicht, Maer slechts alleen een gout-gewicht, En dan een stock-beurs boven dat, En daer mee looptet door de stadt, En daer mee vliegtet door het velt; Siet wat de vryers heden quelt! Wat wilt ghy, vrient, in dit geval, Wat wilt ghy dat ick seggen sal? ,, Siet om de minne van den smeer ,, Soo lickt de kat den kandeleer.

TranslationAI-generated

What news, what wonders, dear friend, that you above all ought to know; look at Spitsaert who strutted so boldly, the proudest little fellow in town, the most dashing gallant one can find — he has set his mind on our Trijn. On our Trijn, that round ball of yarn, he has wondrous business; on our Trijn, that clumsy lump, he stakes his whole happiness. He flatters, he kisses, he caresses the girl; she is his delight, as he says, she is the crown of his youth, she is his comfort, his whole joy; he cannot live without her — and that, without doubt, is true: for Spitsaert is wondrously bare, his kitchen all too dreadfully meagre, so that he has nothing in the world except that he now lives on hope. Things stand so with him that he now risks his last money, for with it he is handsomely clothed and wonderfully splendidly turned out; if he now misses a rich bride, then it is all over with the young gentleman. Now our Trijn is wondrously rich; one finds few like her. Her father was that great farmer who always drove to all the markets with his own butter, his own cheese, and therefore he was called rich Faes; and since he died lately, Trijn alone inherited the estate, as she was an only child, and therefore she is now loved, and therefore she is now courted by many a town gallant; for although she is dreadfully clumsy, although she is but a rough clog, still she gets suitors from the town, more than ever a town girl had. She is so rich, our dear Trijn, that she even seems beautiful; her money has such great power that nobody notices her faults. The far-famed child of Venus is no longer minded as it used to be: it looks to money and not to honour, it carries a bow no more, it carries no torch or golden arrow, but only a gold-weight, and then a purse on a stick besides, and with these it runs through the town, and with these it flies across the field. See what torments suitors nowadays! What would you have, friend, in this case; what would you have me say? ‘See, for the love of the grease, so the cat licks the candlestick.’