Julius: Tell me once again, these Netherlanders
Purvey in open air their smokey wares?
Vincent: My knowledge is to you as to myself. Ask.
Julius: The law allows it?
Vincent: The law allows it
but on the whole the magistrate has some
objections to its easy use. The first--
A man who in a tavern or an inn
produces from his purse a pouch of weed
And from that pouch a reefer rolls, and smokes,
shall find himself in cuffs within the hour.
For at the hearth is where the Duke prefers
his subjects to enjoy a skunky puff.
But if a man shall walk amidst canals
and find a bar the Magistrate prefers
and hath warranted, then may he indulge.
Julius: In Dutch, they call them "Hash Bars" I am told.
Vincent: The law is as I said before: to buy
the herb is free from scrutiny by all
who bear the plated badge of Amsterdam.
To own and hold the herb in quantities
exceeding any limits of the mind--
it may be done, and freely so: And one
who is proprietor of such a place
may boldly and without offense make buds of any
who is Guildered, or with Francs, or is Crowned.
But this is the Duke's one and true concern:
His subjects must not walk past Westerkirk
with weed among their personal effects.
But to those who know the law and its mistakes
This matters not; the Dutch militia lack
Authority to peek into your purse.
Julius: To-morrow I shall sail to Hoek and make
My merry way to Amsterdam.
Vincent: And know'st thou what the French name cottage pie?
Julius: Say they not cottage pie, in their own tongue?
Vincent: But nay, their tongues, for speech and taste alike
Are strange to ours, with their own history:
Gaul knoweth not a cottage from a house.
Julius: What say they then, pray?
Vincent: Hachis Parmentier.
Julius: Hachis Parmentier! What name they cream?
Vincent: Cream is but cream, only they say la crème.
Julius: What do they name black pudding?
Vincent: I know not;
I visited no inn where't could be bought.
Vincent: But wait, for half my tale is yet untold.
Were I to ask thee how the Hollanders
do garnish their patatas, wouldst say thus:
"The sweet, luxurious sauce of fair Mahon,
with olive's oil and creamy yolk of egg,
well known as garnish meet for tubers"--aye?
Julius: Is it not so?
Vincent: God blind me if it were.
The Lowland-men, who must distracted be,
do grind up crimson nightshade and concoct
a loathsome sauce, _ketjap_ by name, which doth
no doubt inflame their fevered brains anew,
perpetuating their insanity.
Julius: God's truth! I can believe it not.
Vincent: Oh, aye,
and not a little do they thus employ;
but rather the patatas drown therewith.
Julius: 'Tis an abomination, by my faith.
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