to the subterranean goddess, which Virgil treats of so sublimely.  It is a true cornucopia of merriment and raillery.  If at any time it seem to you to be emptied to the very lees, yet shall it not for all that be drawn wholly dry.  Good hope remains there at the bottom, as in Pandora’s bottle; and not despair, as in the puncheon of the Danaids.  Remark well what I have said, and what manner of people they be whom I do invite; for, to the end that none be deceived, I, in imitation of Lucilius, who did protest that he wrote only to his own Tarentines and Consentines, have not pierced this vessel for any else but you honest men, who are drinkers of the first edition, and gouty blades of the highest degree.  The great dorophages, bribe-mongers, have on their hands occupation enough, and enough on the hooks for their venison.  There may they follow their prey; here is no garbage for them.  You pettifoggers, garblers, and masters of chicanery, speak not to me, I beseech you, in the name of, and for the reverence you bear to the four hips that engendered you and to the quickening peg which at that time conjoined them.  As for hypocrites, much less; although they were all of them unsound in body, pockified, scurvy, furnished with unquenchable thirst and insatiable eating. (And wherefore?) Because indeed they are not of good but of evil, and of that evil from which we daily pray to God to deliver us.  And albeit we see them sometimes counterfeit devotion, yet never did old ape make pretty moppet.  Hence, mastiffs; dogs in a doublet, get you behind; aloof, villains, out of my sunshine; curs, to the devil!  Do you jog hither, wagging your tails, to pant at my wine, and bepiss my barrel?  Look, here is the cudgel which Diogenes, in his last will, ordained to be set by him after his death, for beating away, crushing the reins, and breaking the backs of these bustuary hobgoblins and Cerberian hellhounds.  Pack you hence, therefore, you hypocrites, to your sheep-dogs; get you gone, you dissemblers, to the devil!  Hay!  What, are you there yet?  I renounce my part of Papimanie, if I snatch you, Grr, Grrr, Grrrrrr.  Avaunt, avaunt!  Will you not be gone?  May you never shit till you be soundly lashed with stirrup leather, never piss but by the strapado, nor be otherwise warmed than by the bastinado.

THE THIRD BOOK.

Chapter 3.I.

How Pantagruel transported a colony of Utopians into Dipsody.

Pantagruel, having wholly subdued the land of Dipsody, transported thereunto a colony of Utopians, to the number of 9,876,543,210 men, besides the women and little children, artificers of all trades, and professors of all sciences, to people, cultivate, and improve that country, which otherwise was ill inhabited, and in the greatest part thereof but a mere desert and wilderness; and did transport them (not) so much for the excessive multitude of men and women, which were