has a greater proportion of impertinence. He has been vastly lavish
of erudition, of smut, and insipid raillery. An agreeable tale of
two pages is purchased at the expense of whole volumes of nonsense.
There are but few persons, and those of a grotesque taste, who
pretend to understand and to esteem this work; for, as to the rest
of the nation, they laugh at the pleasant and diverting touches
which are found in Rabelais and despise his book. He is looked upon
as the prince of buffoons. The readers are vexed to think that a