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<h2> Chapter 3.XVII.—How Panurge spoke to the Sibyl of Panzoust. </h2>
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<p>Their voyage was three days journeying. On the third whereof was shown
unto them the house of the vaticinatress standing on the knap or top of a
hill, under a large and spacious walnut-tree. Without great difficulty
they entered into that straw-thatched cottage, scurvily built, naughtily
movabled, and all besmoked. It matters not, quoth Epistemon; Heraclitus,
the grand Scotist and tenebrous darksome philosopher, was nothing
astonished at his introit into such a coarse and paltry habitation; for he
did usually show forth unto his sectators and disciples that the gods made
as cheerfully their residence in these mean homely mansions as in sumptuous
magnific palaces, replenished with all manner of delight, pomp, and
pleasure. I withal do really believe that the dwelling-place of the so
famous and renowned Hecate was just such another petty cell as this is,
when she made a feast therein to the valiant Theseus; and that of no other
better structure was the cot or cabin of Hyreus, or Oenopion, wherein
Jupiter, Neptune, and Mercury were not ashamed, all three together, to
harbour and sojourn a whole night, and there to take a full and hearty
repast; for the payment of the shot they thankfully pissed Orion. They
finding the ancient woman at a corner of her own chimney, Epistemon said,
She is indeed a true sibyl, and the lively portrait of one represented by
the Grei kaminoi of Homer. The old hag was in a pitiful bad plight and
condition in matter of the outward state and complexion of her body, the
ragged and tattered equipage of her person in the point of accoutrement,
and beggarly poor provision of fare for her diet and entertainment;
for she was ill apparelled, worse nourished, toothless, blear-eyed,
crook-shouldered, snotty, her nose still dropping, and herself still
drooping, faint, and pithless; whilst in this woefully wretched case she was
making ready for her dinner porridge of wrinkled green coleworts, with a bit
skin of yellow bacon, mixed with a twice-before-cooked sort of waterish,
unsavoury broth, extracted out of bare and hollow bones. Epistemon said,
By the cross of a groat, we are to blame, nor shall we get from her any
response at all, for we have not brought along with us the branch of gold.
I have, quoth Panurge, provided pretty well for that, for here I have it
within my bag, in the substance of a gold ring, accompanied with some fair
pieces of small money. No sooner were these words spoken, when Panurge
coming up towards her, after the ceremonial performance of a profound and
humble salutation, presented her with six neat's tongues dried in the smoke,
a great butter-pot full of fresh cheese, a borachio furnished with good
beverage, and a ram's cod stored with single pence, newly coined. At last
he, with a low courtesy, put on her medical finger a pretty handsome golden
ring, whereinto was right artificially enchased a precious toadstone of
Beausse. This done, in few words and very succinctly, did he set open and
expose unto her the motive reason of his coming, most civilly and
courteously entreating her that she might be pleased to vouchsafe to give
him an ample and plenary intelligence concerning the future good luck of his
intended marriage.</p>
<p>The old trot for a while remained silent, pensive, and grinning like a dog;
then, after she had set her withered breech upon the bottom of a bushel,
she took into her hands three old spindles, which when she had turned and
whirled betwixt her fingers very diversely and after several fashions, she
pried more narrowly into, by the trial of their points, the sharpest
whereof she retained in her hand, and threw the other two under a stone
trough. After this she took a pair of yarn windles, which she nine times
unintermittedly veered and frisked about; then at the ninth revolution or
turn, without touching them any more, maturely perpending the manner of
their motion, she very demurely waited on their repose and cessation from
any further stirring. In sequel whereof she pulled off one of her wooden
pattens, put her apron over her head, as a priest uses to do his amice when
he is going to sing mass, and with a kind of antique, gaudy, party-coloured
string knit it under her neck. Being thus covered and muffled, she whiffed
off a lusty good draught out of the borachio, took three several pence
forth of the ramcod fob, put them into so many walnut-shells, which she set
down upon the bottom of a feather-pot, and then, after she had given them
three whisks of a broom besom athwart the chimney, casting into the fire
half a bavin of long heather, together with a branch of dry laurel, she
observed with a very hush and coy silence in what form they did burn, and
saw that, although they were in a flame, they made no kind of noise or
crackling din. Hereupon she gave a most hideous and horribly dreadful
shout, muttering betwixt her teeth some few barbarous words of a strange
termination.</p>
<p>This so terrified Panurge that he forthwith said to Epistemon, The devil
mince me into a gallimaufry if I do not tremble for fear! I do not think
but that I am now enchanted; for she uttereth not her voice in the terms of
any Christian language. O look, I pray you, how she seemeth unto me to be
by three full spans higher than she was when she began to hood herself with
her apron. What meaneth this restless wagging of her slouchy chaps? What
can be the signification of the uneven shrugging of her hulchy shoulders?
To what end doth she quaver with her lips, like a monkey in the
dismembering of a lobster? My ears through horror glow; ah! how they
tingle! I think I hear the shrieking of Proserpina; the devils are
breaking loose to be all here. O the foul, ugly, and deformed beasts! Let
us run away! By the hook of God, I am like to die for fear! I do not love
the devils; they vex me, and are unpleasant fellows. Now let us fly, and
betake us to our heels. Farewell, gammer; thanks and gramercy for your
goods! I will not marry; no, believe me, I will not. I fairly quit my
interest therein, and totally abandon and renounce it from this time
forward, even as much as at present. With this, as he endeavoured to make
an escape out of the room, the old crone did anticipate his flight and make
him stop. The way how she prevented him was this: whilst in her hand she
held the spindle, she flung out to a back-yard close by her lodge, where,
after she had peeled off the barks of an old sycamore three several times,
she very summarily, upon eight leaves which dropped from thence, wrote with
the spindle-point some curt and briefly-couched verses, which she threw
into the air, then said unto them, Search after them if you will; find them
if you can; the fatal destinies of your marriage are written in them.</p>
<p>No sooner had she done thus speaking than she did withdraw herself unto her
lurking-hole, where on the upper seat of the porch she tucked up her gown,
her coats, and smock, as high as her armpits, and gave them a full
inspection of the nockandroe; which being perceived by Panurge, he said to
Epistemon, God's bodikins, I see the sibyl's hole! She suddenly then
bolted the gate behind her, and was never since seen any more. They
jointly ran in haste after the fallen and dispersed leaves, and gathered
them at last, though not without great labour and toil, for the wind had
scattered them amongst the thorn-bushes of the valley. When they had
ranged them each after other in their due places, they found out their
sentence, as it is metrified in this octastich:</p>
<p>Thy fame upheld<br/>
(Properly, as corrected by Ozell:<br/>
Thy fame will be shell'd<br/>
By her, I trow.),<br/>
Even so, so:<br/>
And she with child<br/>
Of thee: No.<br/>
Thy good end<br/>
Suck she shall,<br/>
And flay thee, friend,<br/>
But not all.<br/></p>
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