disparagement. 'Out upon you, you beggarly body! you clog, drug, drag!
You keep me from flying; I could get along better without you. Out
upon you, I say, you vile pantry, cellar, sink, sewer; abominable
body! what vile thing are you not? And think you, beggar! to have the
upper hand of me? Make a leg to that man if you dare, without my
permission. This smell is intolerable; but turn from it, if you can,
unless I give the word. Bolt this yam!--it is done. Carry me across
yon field!--off we go. Stop!--it's a dead halt. There, I've trained
you enough for to-day; now, sirrah, crouch down in the shade, and be
quiet.--I'm rested. So, here's for a stroll, and a reverie homeward:--
Up, carcass, and march.' So the carcass demurely rose and
paced, and the philosopher meditated. He was intent upon squaring the
circle; but bump he came against a bough. 'How now, clodhopping
bumpkin! you would take advantage of my reveries, would you? But I'll
be even with you;' and seizing a cudgel, he laid across his shoulders
with right good will. But one of his backhanded thwacks injured his
spinal cord; the philosopher dropped; but presently came to. 'Adzooks!
I'll bend or break you! Up, up, and I'll run you home for this.' But
wonderful to tell, his legs refused to budge; all sensation had left
them. But a huge wasp happening to sting his foot, not him, for he
felt it not, the leg incontinently sprang into the air, and of itself,
cut all manner of capers. Be still! Down with you!' But the leg
refused. 'My arms are still loyal,' thought Grando; and with them he
at last managed to confine his refractory member. But all commands,
volitions, and persuasions, were as naught to induce his limbs to
carry him home. It was a solitary place; and five days after, Grando
the philosopher was found dead under a tree."

"Ha, ha!" laughed Media, "Azzageddi is full as merry as ever."