Long John to bed went to his bride,
  And laid a mallet by his side: 
  What means this mallet, John? saith she. 
  Why! ’tis to wedge thee home, quoth he. 
  Alas! cried she, the man’s a fool: 
  What need you use a wooden tool? 
  When lusty John does to me come,
  He never shoves but with his bum.

Nine Olympiads, and an intercalary year after (I have a rare member, I would say memory; but I often make blunders in the symbolization and colligance of those two words), I heard Adrian Villart, Gombert, Janequin, Arcadet, Claudin, Certon, Manchicourt, Auxerre, Villiers, Sandrin, Sohier, Hesdin, Morales, Passereau, Maille, Maillart, Jacotin, Heurteur, Verdelot, Carpentras, L’Heritier, Cadeac, Doublet, Vermont, Bouteiller, Lupi, Pagnier, Millet, Du Moulin, Alaire, Maraut, Morpain, Gendre, and other merry lovers of music, in a private garden, under some fine shady trees, round about a bulwark of flagons, gammons, pasties, with several coated quails, and laced mutton, waggishly singing: 

  Since tools without their hafts are useless lumber,
  And hatchets without helves are of that number;
  That one may go in t’other, and may match it,
  I’ll be the helve, and thou shalt be the hatchet.

Now would I know what kind of hatchet this bawling Tom wants?  This threw all the venerable gods and goddesses into a fit of laughter, like any microcosm of flies; and even set limping Vulcan a-hopping and jumping smoothly three or four times for the sake of his dear.  Come, come, said Jupiter to Mercury, run down immediately, and cast at the poor fellow’s feet three hatchets:  his own, another of gold, and a third of massy silver, all of one size; then having left it to his will to take his choice, if he take his own, and be satisfied with it, give him the other two; if he take another, chop his head off with his own; and henceforth serve me all those losers of hatchets after that manner.  Having said this, Jupiter, with an awkward turn of his head, like a jackanapes swallowing of pills, made so dreadful a phiz that all the vast Olympus quaked again.  Heaven’s foot messenger, thanks to his low-crowned narrow-brimmed hat, his plume of feathers, heel-pieces, and running stick with pigeon wings, flings himself out at heaven’s wicket, through the idle deserts of the air, and in a trice nimbly alights upon the earth, and throws at friend Tom’s feet the three hatchets, saying unto him:  Thou hast bawled long enough to be a-dry; thy prayers and request are granted by Jupiter:  see which of these three is thy hatchet, and take it away with thee.  Wellhung lifts up the golden hatchet, peeps upon it, and finds it very heavy; then staring on Mercury, cries, Codszouks, this is none of mine; I won’t ha’t:  the same he did with the silver one, and said, ’Tis not this neither, you may e’en take them again.  At last he takes up his own hatchet, examines the end of the helve, and finds his mark there; then, ravished with joy, like a fox that meets some straggling poultry, and sneering from the tip of the nose, he cried, By the mass, this is my hatchet, master god; if you will leave it me, I will sacrifice to you a very good and huge pot of milk brimful, covered with fine strawberries, next ides of May.