flea; into Epicurean and Democratical atoms, or, more
Magistronostralistically, into those sly intentions of the mind, which in
the schools are called second notions,--I'll catch him in the nick, and
take him napping. And would you know what I would do unto him? Even that
which to his father Coelum Saturn did--Seneca foretold it of me, and
Lactantius hath confirmed it--what the goddess Rhea did to Athis. I would
make him two stone lighter, rid him of his Cyprian cymbals, and cut so
close and neatly by the breech, that there shall not remain thereof so much
as one--, so cleanly would I shave him, and disable him for ever from being
Pope, for Testiculos non habet. Hold there, said Pantagruel; ho, soft and
fair, my lad! Enough of that,--cast up, turn over the leaves, and try your
fortune for the second time. Then did he fall upon this ensuing verse:

Membra quatit, gelidusque coit formidine sanguis.

His joints and members quake, he becomes pale,
And sudden fear doth his cold blood congeal.

This importeth, quoth Pantagruel, that she will soundly bang your back and
belly. Clean and quite contrary, answered Panurge; it is of me that he
prognosticates, in saying that I will beat her like a tiger if she vex me.
Sir Martin Wagstaff will perform that office, and in default of a cudgel,
the devil gulp him, if I should not eat her up quick, as Candaul the Lydian
king did his wife, whom he ravened and devoured.

You are very stout, says Pantagruel, and courageous; Hercules himself durst
hardly adventure to scuffle with you in this your raging fury. Nor is it
strange; for the Jan is worth two, and two in fight against Hercules are
too too strong. Am I a Jan? quoth Panurge. No, no, answered Pantagruel.
My mind was only running upon the lurch and tricktrack. Thereafter did he
hit, at the third opening of the book, upon this verse:

Foemineo praedae, et spoliorum ardebat amore.

After the spoil and pillage, as in fire,
He burnt with a strong feminine desire.

This portendeth, quoth Pantagruel, that she will steal your goods, and rob
you. Hence this, according to these three drawn lots, will be your future
destiny, I clearly see it,--you will be a cuckold, you will be beaten, and
you will be robbed. Nay, it is quite otherwise, quoth Panurge; for it is
certain that this verse presageth that she will love me with a perfect
liking. Nor did the satyr-writing poet lie in proof hereof, when he
affirmed that