This so terrified Panurge that he forthwith said to Epistemon, The devil mince me into a gallimaufry if I do not tremble for fear!  I do not think but that I am now enchanted; for she uttereth not her voice in the terms of any Christian language.  O look, I pray you, how she seemeth unto me to be by three full spans higher than she was when she began to hood herself with her apron.  What meaneth this restless wagging of her slouchy chaps?  What can be the signification of the uneven shrugging of her hulchy shoulders?  To what end doth she quaver with her lips, like a monkey in the dismembering of a lobster?  My ears through horror glow; ah! how they tingle!  I think I hear the shrieking of Proserpina; the devils are breaking loose to be all here.  O the foul, ugly, and deformed beasts!  Let us run away!  By the hook of God, I am like to die for fear!  I do not love the devils; they vex me, and are unpleasant fellows.  Now let us fly, and betake us to our heels.  Farewell, gammer; thanks and gramercy for your goods!  I will not marry; no, believe me, I will not.  I fairly quit my interest therein, and totally abandon and renounce it from this time forward, even as much as at present.  With this, as he endeavoured to make an escape out of the room, the old crone did anticipate his flight and make him stop.  The way how she prevented him was this:  whilst in her hand she held the spindle, she flung out to a back-yard close by her lodge, where, after she had peeled off the barks of an old sycamore three several times, she very summarily, upon eight leaves which dropped from thence, wrote with the spindle-point some curt and briefly-couched verses, which she threw into the air, then said unto them, Search after them if you will; find them if you can; the fatal destinies of your marriage are written in them.

No sooner had she done thus speaking than she did withdraw herself unto her lurking-hole, where on the upper seat of the porch she tucked up her gown, her coats, and smock, as high as her armpits, and gave them a full inspection of the nockandroe; which being perceived by Panurge, he said to Epistemon, God’s bodikins, I see the sibyl’s hole!  She suddenly then bolted the gate behind her, and was never since seen any more.  They jointly ran in haste after the fallen and dispersed leaves, and gathered them at last, though not without great labour and toil, for the wind had scattered them amongst the thorn-bushes of the valley.  When they had ranged them each after other in their due places, they found out their sentence, as it is metrified in this octastich: 

  Thy fame upheld
  (Properly, as corrected by Ozell: 
  Thy fame will be shell’d
    By her, I trow.),
    Even so, so: 
  And she with child
    Of thee:  No. 
  Thy good end
    Suck she shall,
  And flay thee, friend,
    But not all.

Chapter 3.XVIII.