op-rake, and God he knows how I did smell my shoulder of
mutton.

When I was come down into the street, I found everybody come to put out the
fire with store of water, and seeing me so half-roasted, they did naturally
pity my case, and threw all their water upon me, which, by a most joyful
refreshing of me, did me very much good. Then did they present me with
some victuals, but I could not eat much, because they gave me nothing to
drink but water after their fashion. Other hurt they did me none, only one
little villainous Turkey knobbreasted rogue came thiefteously to snatch
away some of my lardons, but I gave him such a sturdy thump and sound rap
on the fingers with all the weight of my javelin, that he came no more the
second time. Shortly after this there came towards me a pretty young
Corinthian wench, who brought me a boxful of conserves, of round Mirabolan
plums, called emblicks, and looked upon my poor robin with an eye of great
compassion, as it was flea-bitten and pinked with the sparkles of the fire
from whence it came, for it reached no farther in length, believe me, than
my knees. But note that this roasting cured me entirely of a sciatica,
whereunto I had been subject above seven years before, upon that side which
my roaster by falling asleep suffered to be burnt.

Now, whilst they were thus busy about me, the fire triumphed, never ask
how? For it took hold on above two thousand houses, which one of them
espying cried out, saying, By Mahoom's belly, all the city is on fire, and
we do nevertheless stand gazing here, without offering to make any relief.
Upon this everyone ran to save his own; for my part, I took my way towards
the gate. When I was got upon the knap of a little hillock not far off, I
turned me about as did Lot's wife, and, looking back, saw all the city
burning in a fair fire, whereat I was so glad that I had almost beshit
myself for joy. But God punished me well for it. How? said Pantagruel.
Thus, said Panurge; for when with pleasure I beheld this jolly fire,
jesting with myself, and saying--Ha! poor flies, ha! poor mice, you will
have a bad winter of it this year; the fire is in your reeks, it is in your
bed-straw--out come more than six, yea, more than thirteen hundred and
eleven dogs, great and small, altogether out of the town, flying away from
the fire. At the first approach they ran all upon me, being carried on by
the scent of my lecherous half-roasted flesh, and had even then