What damned cozening, gulling, and coney-catching have we here! Do you see this madge-howlet?
By Minerva, we are all beshit.

Odsoons, said Aedituus, speak softly, I tell you.

It is no madge-howlet, no she-thing on my honest word; but a male, and a noble bird.
May we not hear the pope-hawk sing?
asked Pantagruel.

I dare not promise that, returned Aedituus; for he only sings and eats at his own hours.

So don't I, quoth Panurge; poor pilgarlic is fain to make everybody's time his own; if they have time, I find time.