How Panurge and the rest rhymed with poetic1 fury.
What a pox ails2 the fellow? quoth Friar John. Stark3 staring mad, or bewitched, o’ my word! Do but hear the chiming dotterel gabble in rhyme. What o’ devil has he swallowed? His eyes roll in his loggerhead just for the world like a dying goat’s. Will the addle-pated wight have the grace to sheer off? Will he rid us of his damned company, to go shite out his nasty rhyming balderdash in some bog-house? Will nobody be so kind as to cram4 some dog’s-bur down the poor cur’s gullet? or will he, monk5-like, run his fist up to the elbow into his throat to his very maw, to scour6 and clear his flanks? Will he take a hair of the same dog?
Pantagruel chid7 Friar John, and said:
Bold monk, forbear! this, I’ll assure ye,
Proceeds all from poetic fury;
Warmed by the god, inspired with wine,
His human soul is made divine.
For without jest,
His hallowed breast,
Could have no rest
Till he’d expressed
Some thoughts at least
Of his great guest.
Then straight he flies
Above the skies,
With prophecies,
And since divinely he’s inspired,
Adore the soul by wine acquired,
And let the tosspot be admired.
How, quoth the friar, the fit rhyming is upon you too? Is’t come to that? Then we are all peppered, or the devil pepper me. What will I not give to have Gargantua see us while we are in this maggotty crambo-vein! Now may I be cursed with living on that damned empty food, if I can tell whether I shall scape the catching11 distemper. The devil a bit do I understand which way to go about it; however, the spirit of fustian12 possesses us all, I find. Well, by St. John, I’ll poetize, since everybody does; I find it coming. Stay, and pray pardon me if I don’t rhyme in crimson13; ’tis my first essay.
Thou, who canst water turn to wine,
Transform my bum14, by power divine,
Into a lantern, that may light
My neighbour in the darkest night.
Panurge then proceeds in his rapture15, and says:
From Pythian Tripos ne’er were heard
More truths, nor more to be revered16.
I think from Delphos to this spring
Some wizard brought that conjuring17 thing.
Had honest Plutarch here been toping,
He then so long had ne’er been groping
To find, according to his wishes,
Why oracles18 are mute as fishes
At Delphos. Now the reason’s clear;
No more at Delphos they’re, but here.
Here is the tripos, out of which
Is spoke19 the doom20 of poor and rich.
For Athenaeus does relate
This Bottle is the Womb of Fate;
Prolific21 of mysterious wine,
And big with prescience divine,
It brings the truth with pleasure forth22;
Besides you ha’t a pennyworth.
So, Friar John, I must exhort23 you
To wait a word that may import you,
And to inquire, while here we tarry,
If it shall be your luck to marry.
Friar John answers him in a rage, and says:
How, marry! By St. Bennet’s boot,
And his gambadoes, I’ll never do’t.
No man that knows me e’er shall judge
I mean to make myself a drudge24;
Or that pilgarlic e’er will dote
I’ll ne’er my liberty betray
All for a little leapfrog play;
Like monkey or like mastiff-dog.
No, I’d not have, upon my life,
Great Alexander for my wife,
Nor Pompey, nor his dad-in-law,
Who did each other clapperclaw.
Not the best he that wears a head
Shall win me to his truckle-bed.
Panurge, pulling off his gaberdine and mystical accoutrements, replied:
Wherefore thou shalt, thou filthy27 beast,
Be damned twelve fathoms28 deep at least;
While I shall reign29 in Paradise,
Whence on thy loggerhead I’ll piss.
Now when that dreadful hour is come,
That thou in hell receiv’st thy doom,
E’en there, I know, thou’lt play some trick,
And Proserpine shan’t scape a prick30
Of the long pin within thy breeches.
But when thou’rt using these capriches,
And caterwauling in her cavern31,
Send Pluto32 to the farthest tavern33
For the best wine that’s to be had,
Lest he should see, and run horn-mad.
She’s kind, and ever did admire
A well-fed monk or well-hung friar.
Go to, quoth Friar John, thou old noddy, thou doddipolled ninny, go to the devil thou’rt prating34 of. I’ve done with rhyming; the rheum gripes me at the gullet. Let’s talk of paying and going; come.
1 poetic | |
adj.富有诗意的,有诗人气质的,善于抒情的 | |
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2 ails | |
v.生病( ail的第三人称单数 );感到不舒服;处境困难;境况不佳 | |
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3 stark | |
adj.荒凉的;严酷的;完全的;adv.完全地 | |
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4 cram | |
v.填塞,塞满,临时抱佛脚,为考试而学习 | |
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5 monk | |
n.和尚,僧侣,修道士 | |
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6 scour | |
v.搜索;擦,洗,腹泻,冲刷 | |
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7 chid | |
v.责骂,责备( chide的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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8 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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9 mortifies | |
v.使受辱( mortify的第三人称单数 );伤害(人的感情);克制;抑制(肉体、情感等) | |
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10 miseries | |
n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 );痛苦的事;穷困;常发牢骚的人 | |
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11 catching | |
adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住 | |
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12 fustian | |
n.浮夸的;厚粗棉布 | |
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13 crimson | |
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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14 bum | |
n.臀部;流浪汉,乞丐;vt.乞求,乞讨 | |
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15 rapture | |
n.狂喜;全神贯注;着迷;v.使狂喜 | |
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16 revered | |
v.崇敬,尊崇,敬畏( revere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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17 conjuring | |
n.魔术 | |
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18 oracles | |
神示所( oracle的名词复数 ); 神谕; 圣贤; 哲人 | |
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19 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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20 doom | |
n.厄运,劫数;v.注定,命定 | |
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21 prolific | |
adj.丰富的,大量的;多产的,富有创造力的 | |
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22 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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23 exhort | |
v.规劝,告诫 | |
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24 drudge | |
n.劳碌的人;v.做苦工,操劳 | |
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25 paltry | |
adj.无价值的,微不足道的 | |
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26 clog | |
vt.塞满,阻塞;n.[常pl.]木屐 | |
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27 filthy | |
adj.卑劣的;恶劣的,肮脏的 | |
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28 fathoms | |
英寻( fathom的名词复数 ) | |
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29 reign | |
n.统治时期,统治,支配,盛行;v.占优势 | |
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30 prick | |
v.刺伤,刺痛,刺孔;n.刺伤,刺痛 | |
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31 cavern | |
n.洞穴,大山洞 | |
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32 Pluto | |
n.冥王星 | |
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33 tavern | |
n.小旅馆,客栈;小酒店 | |
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34 prating | |
v.(古时用语)唠叨,啰唆( prate的现在分词 ) | |
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