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spring Some wizard brought that conjuring thing. Had honest Plutarch here been toping, He then so long had ne'er been groping To find, according to his wishes, Why oracles are mute as fishes At Delphos. Now the reason's clear; No more at Delphos they're, but here. Here is the tripos, out of which Is spoke the doom of poor and rich. For Athenaeus does relate This Bottle is the Womb of Fate; Prolific of mysterious wine, And big with prescience divine, It brings the truth with pleasure forth; Besides you ha't a pennyworth. So, Friar John, I must exhort you To wait a word that may import you, And to inquire, while here we tarry, If it shall be your luck to marry. Friar John answers him in a rage, and says: How, marry! By St. Bennet's boot, And his gambadoes, I'll never do't. No man that knows me e'er shall judge I mean to make myself a drudge; Or that pilgarlic e'er will dote Upon a paltry petticoat. I'll ne'er my liberty betray All for a little leapfrog play; And ever after wear a clog Like monkey or like mastiff-dog. No, I'd not have, upon my life, Great Alexander for my wife, Nor Pompey, nor his dad-in-law, Who did each other clapperclaw. Not the best he that wears a head Shall win me to his truckle-bed. Panurge, pulling off his gaberdine and mystical accoutrements, replied: Wherefore thou shalt, thou filthy beast, Be damned twelve fathoms deep at least; While I shall reign in Paradise, Whence on thy loggerhead I'll piss. Now when that dreadful hour is come, That thou in hell receiv'st thy doom, E'en there, I know, thou'lt play some trick, And Proserpine shan't scape a prick Of the long pin within thy breeches. But when thou'rt using these capriches, And caterwauling in her cavern, Send Pluto to the farthest tavern For the best wine that's to be had, Lest he should see, and run horn-mad. She's kind, and ever did admire A well-fed monk or well-hung friar. Go to, quoth Friar John, thou old noddy, thou doddipolled ninny, go to the devil thou'rt prating of. I've done with rhyming; the rheum gripes me at the gullet. Let's talk of paying and going; come. Chapter 5.XLVII. How we took our leave of Bacbuc, and left the Oracle of the Holy Bottle. Do not trouble yourself about anything here, said the priestess to the friar; if you be but satisfied, we are. Here below, in these circumc
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