, quoth Panurge, we are a silly sort of grout-headed
lobcocks, an't please you; be so kind as to forgive us if we chance to
knock words out of joint. As for anything else, we are downright honest
fellows and true hearts.

We have not asked you this question without a cause, said they; for a great
number of others who have passed this way from your country of Touraine
seemed as mere jolt-headed doddipolls as ever were scored o'er the coxcomb,
yet spoke as correct as other folks. But there has been here from other
countries a pack of I know not what overweening self-conceited prigs, as
moody as so many mules and as stout as any Scotch lairds, and nothing would
serve these, forsooth, but they must wilfully wrangle and stand out against
us at their coming; and much they got by it after all. Troth, we e'en
fitted them and clawed 'em off with a vengeance, for all they looked so big
and so grum.

Pray tell me, does your time lie so heavy upon you in your world that you
do not know how to bestow it better than in thus impudently talking,
disputing, and writing of our sovereign lady? There was much need that
your Tully, the consul, should go and leave the care of his commonwealth to
busy himself idly about her; and after him your Diogenes Laertius, the
biographer, and your Theodorus Gaza, the philosopher, and your Argiropilus,
the emperor, and your Bessario, the cardinal, and your Politian, the
pedant, and your Budaeus, the judge, and your Lascaris, the ambassador, and
the devil and all of those you call lovers of wisdom; whose number, it
seems, was not thought great enough already, but lately your Scaliger,
Bigot, Chambrier, Francis Fleury, and I cannot tell how many such other
junior sneaking fly-blows must take upon 'em to increase it.

A squinsy gripe the cod's-headed changelings at the swallow and eke at the
cover-weasel; we shall make 'em--But the deuce take 'em! (They flatter the
devil here, and smoothify his name, quoth Panurge, between his teeth.) You
don't come here, continued the captain, to uphold 'em in their folly; you
have no commission from 'em to this effect; well then, we will talk no more
on't.

Aristotle, that first of men and peerless pattern of all philosophy, was
our sovereign lady's godfather, and wisely and properly gave her the name
of Entelechy. Her true name then is Entelechy, and may he be in tail
beshit, and entail a shit-a-bed faculty and nothing else on his family, who
dares call her by