Hold there, said Pantagruel; ho, soft and fair, my lad! Enough of that,--cast up, turn over the leaves, and try your fortune for the second time.

Then did he fall upon this ensuing verse: Membra quatit, gelidusque coit formidine sanguis.
His joints and members quake, he becomes pale, And sudden fear doth his cold blood congeal.
This importeth, quoth Pantagruel, that she will soundly bang your back and belly.

Clean and quite contrary, answered Panurge; it is of me that he prognosticates, in saying that I will beat her like a tiger if she vex me.
Sir Martin Wagstaff will perform that office, and in default of a cudgel, the devil gulp him, if I should not eat her up quick, as Candaul the Lydian king did his wife, whom he ravened and devoured.
You are very stout, says Pantagruel, and courageous; Hercules himself durst hardly adventure to scuffle with you in this your raging fury.

Nor is it strange; for the Jan is worth two, and two in fight against Hercules are too too strong.

Am I a Jan?
quoth Panurge.