O my jolly dapper boy, thou hast given us a gudgeon; I hope to see thee Pope before I die.

I think so, said he, myself; and then shall you be a puppy, and this gentle popinjay a perfect papelard, that is, dissembler.

Well, well, said the harbinger.
But, said Gargantua, guess how many stitches there are in my mother's smock.

Sixteen, quoth the harbinger.

You do not speak gospel, said Gargantua, for there is cent before, and cent behind, and you did not reckon them ill, considering the two under holes.