n did the droll
answer him thus:

'Albarildim gotfano dechmin brin alabo dordio falbroth ringuam albaras.
Nin portzadikin almucatin milko prin alelmin en thoth dalheben ensouim;
kuthim al dum alkatim nim broth dechoth porth min michais im endoth, pruch
dalmaisoulum hol moth danfrihim lupaldas in voldemoth. Nin hur diavosth
mnarbotim dalgousch palfrapin duch im scoth pruch galeth dal chinon, min
foulchrich al conin brutathen doth dal prin.' Do you understand none of
this? said Pantagruel to the company. I believe, said Epistemon, that this
is the language of the Antipodes, and such a hard one that the devil
himself knows not what to make of it. Then said Pantagruel, Gossip, I know
not if the walls do comprehend the meaning of your words, but none of us
here doth so much as understand one syllable of them. Then said my blade
again:

'Signor mio, voi vedete per essempio, che la cornamusa non suona mai,
s'ella non ha il ventre pieno. Cosi io parimente non vi saprei contare le
mie fortune, se prima il tribulato ventre non ha la solita refettione. Al
quale e adviso che le mani et li denti habbiano perso il loro ordine
naturale et del tutto annichilati.' To which Epistemon answered, As much
of the one as of the other, and nothing of either. Then said Panurge:

'Lord, if you be so virtuous of intelligence as you be naturally relieved
to the body, you should have pity of me. For nature hath made us equal,
but fortune hath some exalted and others deprived; nevertheless is virtue
often deprived and the virtuous men despised; for before the last end none
is good.' (The following is the passage as it stands in the first edition.
Urquhart seems to have rendered Rabelais' indifferent English into worse
Scotch, and this, with probably the use of contractions in his MS., or 'the
oddness' of handwriting which he owns to in his Logopandecteision (p.419,
Mait. Club. Edit.), has led to a chaotic jumble, which it is nearly
impossible to reduce to order.--Instead of any attempt to do so, it is here
given verbatim: 'Lard gestholb besua virtuisbe intelligence: ass yi body
scalbisbe natural reloth cholb suld osme pety have; for natur hass visse
equaly maide bot fortune sum exaiti hesse andoyis deprevit: non yeless
iviss mou virtiuss deprevit, and virtuiss men decreviss for anen ye
ladeniss non quid.' Here is a morsel for critical ingenuity to fix its
teeth in.--M.) Yet less, said Pantagruel. Then said my jolly Panurge:

'Jona