e Great mad, so enormously would he
abuse him when he had not well patched his breeches; for he used to pay his
skin with sound bastinadoes. I saw Epictetus there, most gallantly
apparelled after the French fashion, sitting under a pleasant arbour, with
store of handsome gentlewomen, frolicking, drinking, dancing, and making
good cheer, with abundance of crowns of the sun. Above the lattice were
written these verses for his device:

To leap and dance, to sport and play,
And drink good wine both white and brown,
Or nothing else do all the day
But tell bags full of many a crown.

When he saw me, he invited me to drink with him very courteously, and I
being willing to be entreated, we tippled and chopined together most
theologically. In the meantime came Cyrus to beg one farthing of him for
the honour of Mercury, therewith to buy a few onions for his supper. No,
no, said Epictetus, I do not use in my almsgiving to bestow farthings.
Hold, thou varlet, there's a crown for thee; be an honest man. Cyrus was
exceeding glad to have met with such a booty; but the other poor rogues,
the kings that are there below, as Alexander, Darius, and others, stole it
away from him by night. I saw Pathelin, the treasurer of Rhadamanthus,
who, in cheapening the pudding-pies that Pope Julius cried, asked him how
much a dozen. Three blanks, said the Pope. Nay, said Pathelin, three
blows with a cudgel. Lay them down here, you rascal, and go fetch more.
The poor Pope went away weeping, who, when he came to his master, the
pie-maker, told him that they had taken away his pudding-pies. Whereupon
his master gave him such a sound lash with an eel-skin, that his own would
have been worth nothing to make bag-pipe-bags of. I saw Master John Le
Maire there personate the Pope in such fashion that he made all the poor
kings and popes of this world kiss his feet, and, taking great state upon
him, gave them his benediction, saying, Get the pardons, rogues, get the
pardons; they are good cheap. I absolve you of bread and pottage, and
dispense with you to be never good for anything. Then, calling Caillet and
Triboulet to him, he spoke these words, My lords the cardinals, despatch
their bulls, to wit, to each of them a blow with a cudgel upon the reins.
Which accordingly was forthwith performed. I heard Master Francis Villon
ask Xerxes, How much the mess of mustard? A farthing, said Xerxes. To
which the said Villon answered, The pox