ter John Le
Maire there personate the Pope in such fashion that he made all the poor
kings and popes of this world kiss his feet, and, taking great state upon
him, gave them his benediction, saying, Get the pardons, rogues, get the
pardons; they are good cheap. I absolve you of bread and pottage, and
dispense with you to be never good for anything. Then, calling Caillet and
Triboulet to him, he spoke these words, My lords the cardinals, despatch
their bulls, to wit, to each of them a blow with a cudgel upon the reins.
Which accordingly was forthwith performed. I heard Master Francis Villon
ask Xerxes, How much the mess of mustard? A farthing, said Xerxes. To
which the said Villon answered, The pox take thee for a villain! As much of
square-eared wheat is not worth half that price, and now thou offerest to
enhance the price of victuals. With this he pissed in his pot, as the
mustard-makers of Paris used to do. I saw the trained bowman of the bathing
tub, known by the name of the Francarcher de Baignolet, who, being one of
the trustees of the Inquisition, when he saw Perce-Forest making water
against a wall in which was painted the fire of St. Anthony, declared him
heretic, and would have caused him to be burnt alive had it not been for
Morgant, who, for his proficiat and other small fees, gave him nine tuns of
beer.

Well, said Pantagruel, reserve all these fair stories for another time,
only tell us how the usurers are there handled. I saw them, said
Epistemon, all very busily employed in seeking of rusty pins and old nails
in the kennels of the streets, as you see poor wretched rogues do in this
world. But the quintal, or hundredweight, of this old ironware is there
valued but at the price of a cantle of bread, and yet they have but a very
bad despatch and riddance in the sale of it. Thus the poor misers are
sometimes three whole weeks without eating one morsel or crumb of bread,
and yet work both day and night, looking for the fair to come.
Nevertheless, of all this labour, toil, and misery, they reckon nothing, so
cursedly active they are in the prosecution of that their base calling, in
hopes, at the end of the year, to earn some scurvy penny by it.

Come, said Pantagruel, let us now make ourselves merry one bout, and drink,
my lads, I beseech you, for it is very good drinking all this month. Then
did they uncase their flagons by heaps and dozens, and with their
leaguer-provision made excellent good chee