Pantagruel. Do not speak of it then, answered Panurge, and I will tell it
you. I see that the sine quo nons, kallibistris, or contrapunctums of the
women of this country are better cheap than stones. Of them should the
walls be built, ranging them in good symmetry by the rules of architecture,
and placing the largest in the first ranks, then sloping downwards
ridge-wise, like the back of an ass. The middle-sized ones must be ranked
next, and last of all the least and smallest. This done, there must be a
fine little interlacing of them, like points of diamonds, as is to be seen
in the great tower of Bourges, with a like number of the nudinnudos,
nilnisistandos, and stiff bracmards, that dwell in amongst the claustral
codpieces. What devil were able to overthrow such walls? There is no metal
like it to resist blows, in so far that, if culverin-shot should come to
graze upon it, you would incontinently see distil from thence the blessed
fruit of the great pox as small as rain. Beware, in the name of the devils,
and hold off. Furthermore, no thunderbolt or lightning would fall upon it.
For why? They are all either blest or consecrated. I see but one
inconveniency in it. Ho, ho, ha, ha, ha! said Pantagruel, and what is that?
It is, that the flies would be so liquorish of them that you would wonder,
and would quickly gather there together, and there leave their ordure and
excretions, and so all the work would be spoiled. But see how that might be
remedied: they must be wiped and made rid of the flies with fair foxtails,
or great good viedazes, which are ass-pizzles, of Provence. And to this
purpose I will tell you, as we go to supper, a brave example set down by
Frater Lubinus, Libro de compotationibus mendicantium.

In the time that the beasts did speak, which is not yet three days since, a
poor lion, walking through the forest of Bieure, and saying his own little
private devotions, passed under a tree where there was a roguish collier
gotten up to cut down wood, who, seeing the lion, cast his hatchet at him
and wounded him enormously in one of his legs; whereupon the lion halting,
he so long toiled and turmoiled himself in roaming up and down the forest
to find help, that at last he met with a carpenter, who willingly looked
upon his wound, cleansed it as well as he could, and filled it with moss,
telling him that he must wipe his wound well that the flies might not do
their excrements in it, whilst he should