a man might here drink easily without stooping.
I am apt to believe one might. Helm a-lee, hoh,
cried the pilot. Helm a-lee; a hand or two at
the helm; about ships with her; helm a-lee, helm a-lee.
Stand off from the leech of the sail. Hoh! belay,
here make fast below; hoh, helm a-lee, lash sure the
helm a-lee, and let her drive. Is it come to
that? said Pantagruel; our good Saviour then help
us. Let her lie under the sea, cried James Brahier,
our chief mate; let her drive. To prayers, to
prayers; let all think on their souls, and fall to
prayers; nor hope to escape but by a miracle.
Let us, said Panurge, make some good pious kind of
vow; alas, alas, alas! bou, bou, be, be, be, bous,
bous, bous, oho, oho, oho, oho, let us make a pilgrim;
come, come, let every man club his penny towards it,
come on. Here, here, on this side, said Friar
John, in the devil’s name. Let her drive,
for the Lord’s sake unhang the rudder; hoh,
let her drive, let her drive, and let us drink, I
say, of the best and most cheering; d’ye hear,
steward? produce, exhibit; for, d’ye see this,
and all the rest will as well go to the devil out
of hand. A pox on that wind-broker Aeolus, with
his fluster-blusters. Sirrah, page, bring me
here my drawer (for so he called his breviary); stay
a little here; haul, friend, thus. Odzoons, here
is a deal of hail and thunder to no purpose.
Hold fast above, I pray you. When have we All-saints
day? I believe it is the unholy holiday of all
the devil’s crew. Alas! said Panurge, Friar
John damns himself here as black as buttermilk for
the nonce. Oh, what a good friend I lose in him.
Alas, alas! this is another gats-bout than last year’s.
We are falling out of Scylla into Charybdis.
Oho! I drown. Confiteor; one poor word
or two by way of testament, Friar John, my ghostly
father; good Mr. Abstractor, my crony, my Achates,
Xenomanes, my all. Alas! I drown; two words
of testament here upon this ladder.
A continuation of the storm, with a short discourse
on the subject of making testaments at sea.
To make one’s last will, said Epistemon, at
this time that we ought to bestir ourselves and help
our seamen, on the penalty of being drowned, seems
to me as idle and ridiculous a maggot as that of some
of Caesar’s men, who, at their coming into the
Gauls, were mightily busied in making wills and codicils;
bemoaned their fortune and the absence of their spouses
and friends at Rome, when it was absolutely necessary
for them to run to their arms and use their utmost
strength against Ariovistus their enemy.
This also is to be as silly as that jolt-headed loblolly
of a carter, who, having laid his waggon fast in a
slough, down on his marrow-bones was calling on the
strong-backed deity, Hercules, might and main, to help
him at a dead lift, but all the while forgot to goad
on his oxen and lay his shoulder to the wheels, as
it behoved him; as if a Lord have mercy upon us alone
would have got his cart out of the mire.