for every one, besides
the thiller. At the sight hereof the said midwives were much amazed, yet
some of them said, Lo, here is good provision, and indeed we need it; for
we drink but lazily, as if our tongues walked on crutches, and not lustily
like Lansman Dutches. Truly this is a good sign; there is nothing here but
what is fit for us; these are the spurs of wine, that set it a-going. As
they were tattling thus together after their own manner of chat, behold!
out comes Pantagruel all hairy like a bear, whereupon one of them, inspired
with a prophetical spirit, said, This will be a terrible fellow; he is born
with all his hair; he is undoubtedly to do wonderful things, and if he live
he shall have age.

Chapter 2.III.

Of the grief wherewith Gargantua was moved at the decease of his wife
Badebec.

When Pantagruel was born, there was none more astonished and perplexed than
was his father Gargantua; for of the one side seeing his wife Badebec dead,
and on the other side his son Pantagruel born, so fair and so great, he
knew not what to say nor what to do. And the doubt that troubled his brain
was to know whether he should cry for the death of his wife or laugh for
the joy of his son. He was hinc inde choked with sophistical arguments,
for he framed them very well in modo et figura, but he could not resolve
them, remaining pestered and entangled by this means, like a mouse caught
in a trap or kite snared in a gin. Shall I weep? said he. Yes, for why?
My so good wife is dead, who was the most this, the most that, that ever
was in the world. Never shall I see her, never shall I recover such
another; it is unto me an inestimable loss! O my good God, what had I done
that thou shouldest thus punish me? Why didst thou not take me away before
her, seeing for me to live without her is but to languish? Ah, Badebec,
Badebec, my minion, my dear heart, my sugar, my sweeting, my honey, my
little c-- (yet it had in circumference full six acres, three rods, five
poles, four yards, two foot, one inch and a half of good woodland measure),
my tender peggy, my codpiece darling, my bob and hit, my slipshoe-lovey,
never shall I see thee! Ah, poor Pantagruel, thou hast lost thy good
mother, thy sweet nurse, thy well-beloved lady! O false death, how
injurious and despiteful hast thou been to me! How malicious and
outrageous have I found thee in taking her from me, my well-beloved wife,
to whom immortality did of right belon