such as was worn at that day by professional mendicants, together with a
large wooden bowl, which also formed part of their regular appurtenances.
Brederode immediately hung the wallet around his neck, filled the bowl
with wine, lifted it with both hands, and drained it at a draught.
"Long live the beggars!" he cried, as he wiped his beard and set the
bowl down. "Vivent les gueulx." Then for the first time, from the lips
of those reckless nobles rose the famous, cry, which was so often to ring
over land and sea, amid blazing cities, on blood-stained decks, through
the smoke and carnage of many a stricken field. The humor of Brederode
was hailed with deafening shouts of applause. The Count then threw the
wallet around the neck of his nearest neighbor, and handed him the wooden
bawl. Each guest, in turn, donned the mendicant's knapsack. Pushing
aside his golden goblet, each filled the beggars' bowl to the brim, and
drained it to the beggars' health. Roars of laughter, and shouts of
"Vivent les gueulx" shook the walls of the stately mansion, as they were
doomed never to shake again. The shibboleth was invented. The
conjuration which they had been anxiously seeking was found. Their
enemies had provided them with a spell, which was to prove, in after
days, potent enough to start a spirit from palace or hovel, forest or
wave, as the deeds of the "wild beggars," the "wood beggars," and the
"beggars of the sea" taught Philip at last to understand the nation which
he had driven to madness.

When the wallet and bowl had made the circuit of the table, they were
suspended to a pillar in the hall. Each of the company in succession
then threw some salt into his goblet, and, placing himself under these
symbols of the brotherhood, repeated a jingling distich, produced
impromptu for the occasion.

By this salt, by this bread, by this wallet we swear,