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"And change Coc into Poc, nard into lin; and instead of Coquenard I shall have Poquelin." "'Tis wonderful," cried D'Artagnan, astounded. "Go on, my friend, I am listening to you with admiration." "This Coquelin sketched my arm on the glass." "I beg your pardon Poquelin." "What did I say, then?" "You said Coquelin." "Ah! true.
The Nonne Preste's Tale, likewise, which Dryden modernized with admirable humor, was of the class of fabliaux, and was suggested by a little poem in forty lines, Dou Coc et Werpil, by Marie de France, a Norman poetess of the 13th century. It belonged, like the early English poem of The Fox and the Wolf, to the popular animal saga of Reynard the Fox.
"Then you see, monsieur, that there is no use throwing us overboard just now, because we should drift away to the westward, and your late vessel and crew must be somewhere to the eastward," said I, as boldly as I could, though I had no little difficulty in getting out the words. "Ah! you von Jack-a-napes, you von poule littel fighting coc, I see," he remarked in an altered tone.
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