a sow in the Isle of Candia, if Agathocles the Babylonian be not a liar,
and more rammishly lascivious than a buck; whence it is that he is said by
others to have been suckled and fed with the milk of the Amalthaean goat.
By the virtue of Acheron, he justled, bulled, and lastauriated in one day
the third part of the world, beasts and people, floods and mountains; that
was Europa. For this grand subagitatory achievement the Ammonians caused
draw, delineate, and paint him in the figure and shape of a ram ramming,
and horned ram. But I know well enough how to shield and preserve myself
from that horned champion. He will not, trust me, have to deal in my
person with a sottish, dunsical Amphitryon, nor with a silly witless Argus,
for all his hundred spectacles, nor yet with the cowardly meacock Acrisius,
the simple goose-cap Lycus of Thebes, the doting blockhead Agenor, the
phlegmatic pea-goose Aesop, rough-footed Lycaon, the luskish misshapen
Corytus of Tuscany, nor with the large-backed and strong-reined Atlas. Let
him alter, change, transform, and metamorphose himself into a hundred
various shapes and figures, into a swan, a bull, a satyr, a shower of gold,
or into a cuckoo, as he did when he unmaidened his sister Juno; into an
eagle, ram, or dove, as when he was enamoured of the virgin Phthia, who
then dwelt in the Aegean territory; into fire, a serpent, yea, even into a
flea; into Epicurean and Democratical atoms, or, more
Magistronostralistically, into those sly intentions of the mind, which in
the schools are called second notions,--I'll catch him in the nick, and
take him napping. And would you know what I would do unto him? Even that
which to his father Coelum Saturn did--Seneca foretold it of me, and
Lactantius hath confirmed it--what the goddess Rhea did to Athis. I would
make him two stone lighter, rid him of his Cyprian cymbals, and cut so
close and neatly by the breech, that there shall not remain thereof so much
as one--, so cleanly would I shave him, and disable him for ever from being
Pope, for Testiculos non habet. Hold there, said Pantagruel; ho, soft and
fair, my lad! Enough of that,--cast up, turn over the leaves, and try your
fortune for the second time. Then did he fall upon this ensuing verse:

Membra quatit, gelidusque coit formidine sanguis.

His joints and members quake, he becomes pale,
And sudden fear doth his cold blood congeal.

This importeth, quoth Pantagruel, that she will so