I’ll give you another example of Edward V., King of England.  Master Francis Villon, being banished France, fled to him, and got so far into his favour as to be privy to all his household affairs.  One day the king, being on his close-stool, showed Villon the arms of France, and said to him, Dost thou see what respect I have for thy French kings?  I have none of their arms anywhere but in this backside, near my close-stool.  Ods-life, said the buffoon, how wise, prudent, and careful of your health your highness is!  How carefully your learned doctor, Thomas Linacre, looks after you!  He saw that now you grow old you are inclined to be somewhat costive, and every day were fain to have an apothecary, I mean a suppository or clyster, thrust into your royal nockandroe; so he has, much to the purpose, induced you to place here the arms of France; for the very sight of them puts you into such a dreadful fright that you immediately let fly as much as would come from eighteen squattering bonasi of Paeonia.  And if they were painted in other parts of your house, by jingo, you would presently conskite yourself wherever you saw them.  Nay, had you but here a picture of the great oriflamme of France, ods-bodikins, your tripes and bowels would be in no small danger of dropping out at the orifice of your posteriors.  But henh, henh, atque iterum henh.

  A silly cockney am I not,
    As ever did from Paris come? 
  And with a rope and sliding knot
    My neck shall know what weighs my bum.

A cockney of short reach, I say, shallow of judgment and judging shallowly, to wonder that you should cause your points to be untrussed in your chamber before you come into this closet.  By’r lady, at first I thought your close-stool had stood behind the hangings of your bed; otherwise it seemed very odd to me you should untruss so far from the place of evacuation.  But now I find I was a gull, a wittol, a woodcock, a mere ninny, a dolt-head, a noddy, a changeling, a calf-lolly, a doddipoll.  You do wisely, by the mass, you do wisely; for had you not been ready to clap your hind face on the mustard-pot as soon as you came within sight of these arms—­mark ye me, cop’s body—­the bottom of your breeches had supplied the office of a close-stool.

Friar John, stopping the handle of his face with his left hand, did, with the forefinger of the right, point out Panurge’s shirt to Pantagruel, who, seeing him in this pickle, scared, appalled, shivering, raving, staring, berayed, and torn with the claws of the famous cat Rodilardus, could not choose but laugh, and said to him, Prithee what wouldst thou do with this cat?  With this cat? quoth Panurge; the devil scratch me if I did not think it had been a young soft-chinned devil, which, with this same stocking instead of mitten, I had snatched up in the great hutch of hell as thievishly as any sizar of Montague college could have done.  The devil take Tybert!  I feel it has all bepinked my poor hide, and drawn on it to the life I don’t know how many lobsters’ whiskers.  With this he threw his boar-cat down.