undly bang your back and
belly. Clean and quite contrary, answered Panurge; it is of me that he
prognosticates, in saying that I will beat her like a tiger if she vex me.
Sir Martin Wagstaff will perform that office, and in default of a cudgel,
the devil gulp him, if I should not eat her up quick, as Candaul the Lydian
king did his wife, whom he ravened and devoured.

You are very stout, says Pantagruel, and courageous; Hercules himself durst
hardly adventure to scuffle with you in this your raging fury. Nor is it
strange; for the Jan is worth two, and two in fight against Hercules are
too too strong. Am I a Jan? quoth Panurge. No, no, answered Pantagruel.
My mind was only running upon the lurch and tricktrack. Thereafter did he
hit, at the third opening of the book, upon this verse:

Foemineo praedae, et spoliorum ardebat amore.

After the spoil and pillage, as in fire,
He burnt with a strong feminine desire.

This portendeth, quoth Pantagruel, that she will steal your goods, and rob
you. Hence this, according to these three drawn lots, will be your future
destiny, I clearly see it,--you will be a cuckold, you will be beaten, and
you will be robbed. Nay, it is quite otherwise, quoth Panurge; for it is
certain that this verse presageth that she will love me with a perfect
liking. Nor did the satyr-writing poet lie in proof hereof, when he
affirmed that a woman, burning with extreme affection, takes sometimes
pleasure to steal from her sweetheart. And what, I pray you? A glove, a
point, or some such trifling toy of no importance, to make him keep a
gentle kind of stirring in the research and quest thereof. In like manner,
these small scolding debates and petty brabbling contentions, which
frequently we see spring up and for a certain space boil very hot betwixt a
couple of high-spirited lovers, are nothing else but recreative diversions
for their refreshment, spurs to and incentives of a more fervent amity than
ever. As, for example, we do sometimes see cutlers with hammers maul their
finest whetstones, therewith to sharpen their iron tools the better. And
therefore do I think that these three lots make much for my advantage;
which, if not, I from their sentence totally appeal. There is no
appellation, quoth Pantagruel, from the decrees of fate or destiny, of lot
or chance; as is recorded by our ancient lawyers, witness Baldus, Lib. ult.
Cap. de Leg. The reason hereof is, Fortune doth not acknowled