A fart for the money, said Panurge; have I not had above fifty thousand pounds' worth of sport?
Come now, let's be gone; the wind is fair.

Hark you me, my friend John; never did man do me a good turn, but I returned, or at least acknowledged it; no, I scorn to be ungrateful; I never was, nor ever will be.

Never did man do me an ill one without rueing the day that he did it, either in this world or the next.

I am not yet so much a fool neither.

Thou damn'st thyself like any old devil, quoth Friar John; it is written, Mihi vindictam, &c.