Law-cats, having
first destroyed and devoured their castles, lands, demesnes, possessions,
rents, and revenues, are still seeking to have their blood and soul in
another life. What an honest fellow was that same mumper who had
forewarned us of all these things, and bid us take notice of the mangers
above the racks!

But, said Panurge to the new-comers, how do you come by all this venison?
Methinks the great king has issued out a proclamation strictly inhibiting
the destroying of stags, does, wild boars, roebucks, or other royal game,
on pain of death. All this is true enough, answered one for the rest, but
the great king is so good and gracious, you must know, and these Furred
Law-cats so curst and cruel, so mad, and thirsting after Christian blood,
that we have less cause to fear in trespassing against that mighty
sovereign's commands than reason to hope to live if we do not continually
stop the mouths of these Furred Law-cats with such bribes and corruption.
Besides, added he, to-morrow Gripe-men-all marries a furred law-puss of his
to a high and mighty double-furred law-tybert. Formerly we used to call
them chop-hay; but alas! they are not such neat creatures now as to eat
any, or chew the cud. We call them chop-hares, chop-partridges,
chop-woodcocks, chop-pheasants, chop-pullets, chop-venison, chop-coneys,
chop-pigs, for they scorn to feed on coarser meat. A t--d for their chops,
cried Friar John, next year we'll have 'em called chop-dung, chop-stront,
chop-filth.

Would you take my advice? added he to the company. What is it? answered
we. Let's do two things, returned he. First, let us secure all this
venison and wild fowl--I mean, paying well for them; for my part, I am but
too much tired already with our salt meat, it heats my flanks so horribly.
In the next place, let's go back to the wicket, and destroy all these
devilish Furred Law-cats. For my part, quoth Panurge, I know better
things; catch me there, and hang me. No, I am somewhat more inclined to be
fearful than bold; I love to sleep in a whole skin.

Chapter 5.XV.

How Friar John talks of rooting out the Furred Law-cats.

Virtue of the frock, quoth Friar John, what kind of voyage are we making?
A shitten one, o' my word; the devil of anything we do but fizzling,
farting, funking, squattering, dozing, raving, and doing nothing.
Ods-belly, 'tisn't in my nature to lie idle; I mortally hate it. Unless I
am doing some heroic feat every foot