_Scar._ How! are these two famous preachers, those scourgers of pride and immorality, got into the herd of the mitred hogs? by my troth, I always took them for credulous humble weathers, believers of what they preached; tho’ I know most priests seldom believe what they profess. _Furet._ Well, Mr. _Scarron_, tho’ you can see as far thro’ a mill-stone as any man, yet I find you are not infallible. _Scar._ Faith, a man sees as far thro’ a mill-stone, as a priest’s surplice, tho’ ’tis reckon’d the emblem of purity. But, Mons. _l’Abbé_, what _Montaigne_ said formerly of the women, I now say of the priests: _Ils envoyen leur conscience au bordel, & tiennent leur countenance en regle_: they send their conscience to the stews, and keep their countenance within rule. _Furet._ ’Tis even as true of one, as of the other, Mr. _Scarron_, and my following discourse will verify it. What virtue there is in a mitre, I know not, for I could never obtain one; I was thought too good a christian in the bottom; but before I had bad adieu to _Paris_, your innocent believing apostles were become too as rampant and fine coated hogs as any of the herd. The reverend father _le Bone_, bishop of _Perigueux_, has so bravely plaid the county boar, that there’s not a pretty nun in his diocese but has been with pig by him; as I have been credibly informed by persons of honour. _Scar._ Oh! the excellent apostle: I remember a story of him when he was bishop of _Agde_, which will not be unpleasant to you, if you can bear with a pun, and a poet’s making merry with several languages, a thing he can no more avoid than flattery. This worthy prelate not meeting with that plenty at _Agde_ his voluptuousness required, made his monarch this compliment: Sir, _Je suis né gueux, j’ay vecu gueux, benais s’il plait a votre majeste, je voux Perigueux_. _Furet._ Faith, a very comfortable reward for a very filthy pun; I have said forty pleasanter things to the king, and never could get beyond Mons. _l’Abbé_, which makes me believe there is a critical minute for a wit, as well as love: an excellent _Roman_ poet was sensible of it, when he said, _Hora libellorum decima est, Eupheme, meorum,_ _Temporat ambrosias cum tua cura dapes,_ _Est bonus æthereo laxatur nectare Cæsare._ There’s a _Latin_ quotation for you, to shew you I understand it; and that I have been an author as well as you. _Scar._ Believe me, Mons. _l’Abbé_, you’ll fare much the better for it here; and tho’ those gentlemen made us poor poets pass for scoundrels and impious ridiculers of piety in the other world, yet we have much the whip-hand of them in these quarters, therefore take comfort. Tell me pray how the pious _Julius Mascaron_ behaves himself at _Agen_, where he meets with greater plenty than he did at _Thute_.