here will I make an end of my discourse thereon, when I shall have told you that the said animal being once satiated—­if it be possible that it can be contented or satisfied—­by that aliment which nature hath provided for it out of the epididymal storehouse of man, all its former and irregular and disordered motions are at an end, laid, and assuaged, all its vehement and unruly longings lulled, pacified, and quieted, and all the furious and raging lusts, appetites, and desires thereof appeased, calmed, and extinguished.  For this cause let it seem nothing strange unto you if we be in a perpetual danger of being cuckolds, that is to say, such of us as have not wherewithal fully to satisfy the appetite and expectation of that voracious animal.  Odds fish! quoth Panurge, have you no preventive cure in all your medicinal art for hindering one’s head to be horny-graffed at home whilst his feet are plodding abroad?  Yes, that I have, my gallant friend, answered Rondibilis, and that which is a sovereign remedy, whereof I frequently make use myself; and, that you may the better relish, it is set down and written in the book of a most famous author, whose renown is of a standing of two thousand years.  Hearken and take good heed.  You are, quoth Panurge, by cockshobby, a right honest man, and I love you with all my heart.  Eat a little of this quince-pie; it is very proper and convenient for the shutting up of the orifice of the ventricle of the stomach, because of a kind of astringent stypticity which is in that sort of fruit, and is helpful to the first concoction.  But what?  I think I speak Latin before clerks.  Stay till I give you somewhat to drink out of this Nestorian goblet.  Will you have another draught of white hippocras?  Be not afraid of the squinzy, no.  There is neither squinant, ginger, nor grains in it; only a little choice cinnamon, and some of the best refined sugar, with the delicious white wine of the growth of that vine which was set in the slips of the great sorbapple above the walnut-tree.

Chapter 3.XXXIII.

Rondibilis the physician’s cure of cuckoldry.

At that time, quoth Rondibilis, when Jupiter took a view of the state of his Olympic house and family, and that he had made the calendar of all the gods and goddesses, appointing unto the festival of every one of them its proper day and season, establishing certain fixed places and stations for the pronouncing of oracles and relief of travelling pilgrims, and ordaining victims, immolations, and sacrifices suitable and correspondent to the dignity and nature of the worshipped and adored deity—­Did not he do, asked Panurge, therein as Tintouille, the Bishop of Auxerre, is said once to have done?  This noble prelate loved entirely the pure liquor of the grape, as every honest and judicious man doth; therefore was it that he had an especial care and regard to the bud of the vine-tree as to the great-grandfather of Bacchus.  But