The history of the valorous and vvitty-knight-errant, Don-Quixote, of the Mancha tr. out of the Spanish.

THE Delightfull-Historie of the most ingenious Knight, DON QUIXOTE of the Mancha. (Book 1)

The first Part. (Book 1)

CHAP. I.

Wherein is rehearsed the Calling, and Exercise, of the Renowned Gentleman, Don-Quixote of the Mancha.

THere lived not long since in a certain Vilage of the Mancha (the hame whereof I purposely omit) a Gentleman of their calling that use to pile up in their Halls old Launces, Halbards, Morri∣ons, and such other Armours and Weapons. He was besides Master of an ancient Target, a Lean Stallion, and a swift Gray∣hound. His pot consisted daily of somewhat more Beef then Mutton, a Galli mawfry each night, Collops and Eggs on Saturdayes, Lentils on Fridayes, and now and then a lean Pigeon on Sundayes, did consume three parts of his Rents; the rest and remnant thereof was spent on a Jerkin of fine Puke, a pair of Velvet hose, with Pantofles of the same for the Holy-dayes, and one Sute of the finest Vesture; for therewithall he honoured and see out his person on the work dayes. He had in his house a woman servant of about fourty yeers old, and a Neece not yet twenty, and a man that served him both in field and at home and could saddle his Horse, and likewise manage a pruning hook. The Master himself was about fifty yeers old, of a strong complexion, dry flesh, and a wi∣thered face: He was an early riser, and a great friend of hunting. Some affirm that his surname was Qixada or Quesada (for in this there is some varience among the Authors that write his life) although it may be gathered by very probable conjectures, that he was called Quixanall Yet all this concerns our Historicall Relation but lit∣tle•• Let it then suffice, that in the Narration thereof we will not vary a jot from the truth.

You shall therefore wit, that this Gentleman above named, the spirts that he was idle (which was the longer part of the year) did apply himself wholly to the reading of

Books of Knight-hood, and that with such gusts and delights, as he almost wholly neglected the exercise of hunting; yea, and the very administration of his houshould affairs: and his curiosity and folly came to that passe, that he made away many Acres of arable Land to buy him books of that kinde, and therefore he brought to his house as many as ever he could get of that Subject: And among them all, none pleased him better then those which famous Felician of Silva composed. For the smoothness of his Prose, with now and then some intricate sentence meddled, seemed to him peerlesse; and principally when he did read the courtings, or Letters of challenge that Knights sent to Ladies, or one to another; where, in many places he found written, The rea∣son of the unreasonablenesse, which against my reason is wrought, doth so weaken my reason, as withall reason I doe justly complain on your Beauty. And also when he read the high Heavens, which with your Divinity doe fortifie you divinely with the Starrs, and make you deserveresse of the Deserts which your Greatnesse deserves, &c. With these and other such passages, the poor Gentleman grew distracted, and was breaking his brains day and night, to understand and unbowell their sense. An endlesse labour; foreven Aristotle himself would not understand them, though he were again resuscitated only for that purpose. He did not like so much the unproportionate blows that Don Belianie gave and took in fight; for, as he imagined, were the Surge∣ons never so cunning that cured them, yet was it impossible but that the Patient his Face and all his Body must remain full of scars and tokens: yet did he praise notwith∣standing in the Author of that History, the conclusion of his book, with the promise of the endlesse adventure; and many times he himself had a desire to take pen and finish it exactly, as it is there promised; and would doubtlesly have performed it, and that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with happy successe, if other more urgent and continuall thoughts had not di∣sturbed him.

Many times did he fall at varience with the Curate of his Village (who was a learned man, graduated in Ciguenca) touching who was the better Knight, Palmerin of Eng∣land, or Amadis de Gaule: But Mr. Nicholas the Barber of the same Town would affirm, that none of both arrived in worth to the Knight of the Sun; and if any one Knight might paragon with him, it was infallibly Don Galaor, Amadis de Gaule's brother, whose nature might fitly be accommodated to any thing; For he was not so coy and whyning a Knight as his brother, and that in matters of Valour, he did not bate him an Ace.

In resolution, he plunged himself so deeply in his reading of these books, as he spent many times in the Lecture of them whole dayes and nights; and in the end, through his little sleep and much reading, he dryed up his brains in such sort, as he lost wholy his Judgement. His fantasie was filled with those things that he read, of Enchantments, Quairels, Battels, Challenges, Wounds, Wooings, Loves, Tempests, and other im∣possible follies. And these toyes did so firmly possesse his imagination with an infal∣lible opinion, that all that Machina of dreamed inventions which he read, was true, as he accounted no History in the World to be so certain and sincere as they were. He was wont to say, that the Gid Ruydiaz (A famous Captain of the Spanish Nation.) was a very good Knight, but not to be compared to the Knight of the burning Sword, which with one thwart blow cut asunder two fierce and mighty Gyants. He agreed better with Bernarde del Carpio, because he flew the enchanted Rowland in Roncesuales. He likewise liked of the shift Hercules used when he smothered Antean, the son of the earth, between his arms. He praised the Gyant Margant marvelously, because, though he was of that Monstrom Progenie, who are commonly all of them proud and rude, yet he only was affable and courteous. But he agreed best of all with Reinauld of Mount Alban; and most of all then, when he saw him fallie out of his Castle to Rob as many as ever he could meet: And when moreover he Rob'd the Idoll of Mahome's made of God, as his History recounts, and would be content to give his old woman; yea, and his Neece also, for a good oportunity on the Traytor Galalon, that he might Lamb-skin and trample him into Powder.

Finally, his wit being wholy extinguished; he fell into one of the strangest conceits

that ever mad-man stumbled on in this World, to wit, It seemed unto him very re∣quisite and behoovefull, as well for the augmentation of his Honour, as also for the benefit of the Common-wealth, that he himself should becom a Knight Errant, and goe throughout the World, with his Horse and Armor to seek Adventures, and practise in person all that he had read was used by Knights of yoare; revenging all kinde of in¦juries, and offering him-self to occasions and dangers: which being once happily atchieved, might gain him eternall renown. The poor soul did already figure himself crowned, through the valour of his Arm, at least Emperor of Trapesonda; and led thus by these soothing thoughts, and borne away with the exceeding delight he found in them, he hastened all that he might, to effect his urging desires.

And first of all he caused certain old rusty Arms to bee scowred, that belonged to his great Grand-father, and lay many ages neglected and forgotten, in a by-corner of his house; he trim'd them and dressed them the best he mought, and then perceived a great defect they had; for they wanted an helmet, and had only a plain morrion; but he by his industry supplied that want, and framed with certain Papers pasted together, a Beaver for his Morrion. True it is, that to make tryall whether his pasted Beaver was strong enough, and might abide the adventure of a blow; he out with his sword and gave it a blow or two, and with the very first did quite undoe his whole weeks labour: the facility wherewithall it was dissolved liked him nothing; wherefore to assure him self better the next time from the like danger, he made it anew, placing certain Iron bars within it, in so artificiall manner, as he rested at once satisfied, both with his inven∣tion, and also the solidity of the work; and without making a second tryall, he deputed and held it in estimation of a most excellent Beaver. Then did he presently visit his Horse, who (though he had more quarters then pence in a sixpence, through leannesse, and more faults then Gonellas) having nothing on him but skin and bone; yet he thought that neither Alexanders Bucephalus, nor the Cid his horse Balie••a, were in any respect equall to him. He spent four dayes devising him a name: for (as he reasoned to himself) it was not fit that so famous a Knights horse, and chiefly being so good a beast, should want a known name; and therefore he endeavoured to give him such a one, as should both declare what sometime he had been, before he pertained to a Knight Errant, and also what at present he was: for it stood greatly with reason, seeing his Lord and Master changed his estate and vocation, that he should alter likewise his de∣nomination, and get a new one, that were famous and altisonant, as becomed the new order and exercise which he now professed: and therefore after many other names which he framed, blotted out, rejected, added, undid, and turned again to frame in his memory and imagination, he finally concluded to name him Rozinante, (A horse of la∣bor or carriage, in Spanish, is called Rozin, and the word Ante signifies Before; so that Rozinante is a horse that sometime was of carriage.) A name in his opinion lofty, full, and significant, of what he had been when he was a plain Jade, before he was exalted to his new dignitie; being, as he thought, the best carriage Beast of the World. The name being thus given to his Horse, and so to his minde, he resolved to give himself a name also; and in that thought he laboured other eight dayes; and in conclusion, called himself Don-Quixote; whence (as is said) the Authors of this most true History de∣duce, that he was undoubtedly named Quixada, and not Quesada, as others would have it. And remembring that the valorous Amadis was not satisfied only with the dry name of Amadis, but added thereunto the name of his Kingdome and Countrey, to render his own more redoubted, terming himself Amadis de Gaula; so he, like a good Knight, would add to his own, that also of his Province, and call himself Don Quixote of the Mancha, wherewith it appeared, that he very lively declared his Linage and Countrey, which he did honour, by taking it for his surname.

His Armour being scowred, his Morrion transformed into an Helmet, his Horse na∣med, and himself confirmed with a new name also; he forthwith bethought himself, that now he wanted nothing but a Lady, on whom he might bestow his service and affe∣ction; for the Knight Errant that is lovelesse, resembles a Tree that wants leaves and fruit, or a body without a soul: and therefore he was wont to say, If I should for

my sinns, or by good hap, encounter there abroad with some Gyant (as Knights Er∣rant doe ordinarily) and that I should overthrow him with one blow to the ground, or cut him with a stroak in two halves, or finally overcome, or make him yield to me, would it not be very expedient to have some Lady, to whom I might present him? And that he entring in her presence, doe kneel before my sweet Lady, and say unto her with an humble and submissive voice; Madam, I am the Gyant Caraculiambro, Lord of the Island called Malindran••a, whom the never-too-much-praised Knight Don-Quixote de la Mancha hath overcome in single Combat; and hath commanded to present my self to your greatnesse, that it may please your highnesse to dispose of me according unto your liking! O •• how glad was our Knight when he had made this discourse to himself, but chiefly when he had found out one whom he might call his Lady? For as it is imagined, there dwelled in the next Village unto his Mannor, a young handsome wench, with whom he was sometime in Love, although, as is under∣stood, she never knew or took notice thereof. She was called Aldonsa Lorenso, and her he thought fittest to intitle with the name of Lady of his thoughts, and searching a name for her that should not vary much from her own, and yet should draw and a∣verre somewhat to that of a Princesse or great Lady, he called her D••lcinea del Toboso (for there she was borne) a name in his conceit harmonious, strange, and significant, like to all the others that he had given to his things.

CHAP. II.

Of the first Sally that Don-Quixote made to seek Adventures.

THings being thus ordered, he would defer the execution of his de∣signes no longer, being spur'd on the more vehemently, by the want which he esteemed his delayes wrought in the World, according to the wrongs that he resolved to right, the harmes he meant to re∣dresse, the excesses he would amend, the abuses that he would better, and the debts he would satisfie. And therefore without acquainting any living creature with his intentions he, unseen of any, upon a certain Morning, somewhat before the day (being one of the warmest of Iuly) Armed himself Cap a pie, mounted on Rozinante, laced on his ill-contrived Helmet, imbraced his Target, took his Launce, and by a Postern door of his base-Court issued out to the Field, marveilous jocund and content to see with what facility he had commenced his good desires. But scarce had he sallied to the Fields, when he was suddainly assaulted by a terrible thought, and such a one as did well nigh overthrow his former good purposes; which was, he remembred he was not yet dub'd Knight; and therefore by the Laws of Knighthood, neither could nor ought to Combat with any Knight. And though he were one, yet ought he to weare white Armour like a new Knight, without any device in his shield untill he did win it by force of Arms.

These thoughts did make him stagger in his purposes; but his follies prevailing more then any other reason, he purposed to cause himself to be Knighted by the first he met, to the imitation of many others that did the same, as he had read in the books which distracted him. As touching white Armour, he resolved with the first oportunity, to scower his own so well, that they should rest whiter then Ermines: And thus he pacified his minde and prosecuted his Journey, without chusing any other way then that which his horse pleased, believing that therein consisted the vigor of Knightly adven∣tures. Our burnish'd Adventurer travelling thus onward, did parle with himself in this manner:

Who doubts in the ensuing Ages, when the true History of my famous Acts shall come to light, but that the wise man who shall write it, will begin it,

when he comes to declare this my first Sally so early in the morning, after this manner? Scarce had the ruddy Apollo spread over the face of the vast and spacious earth the golden twists of his beautyfull hairs; and scarce had the little enameld Birds with their naked tongues saluted with sweet and mellistuous [Mellodious] harmony, the arri∣vall of Ros••e Aurora; when abandoning her jealous husbands soft Couch, she shews her self to mortall wights through the gates and windows of the Manchegall Orizon, [His Countrey the Mancha.] When the famous Knight Don-Quixote of the Man∣cha, abandoning the slothfull plumes, did mount upon his renowned Horse Rozinante, and began to travell through the ancient and known Fields of Moh••••••l, (as indeed he did) and following still on with his discourse, he said: O! happy the age, and for∣tunate the time, wherein my famous feats shall be revealed, feats worthy to be graven in Brasse, carved in Marble, and delivered with most curious Art in Tables, for a future instruction and memory. And, thou wise Enchanter, whosoever thou beest, whom it shall concern to be the Chronicler of this strange History, I desire thee not to forget my good horse Rozinante, mine eternall and inseparable Companion in all my Journies and Courses. And then, as if he were verily enamoured, he said, O Prin∣cesse Dulcinea, Lady of this captive heart, much wrong hast thou done me by dis∣missing me, and reproaching me with the rigorous Decree and Commandement, Not to appear before thy beauty: I pray thee, sweet Lady, deign to remember thee of this poor subjected heart, that for thy Love suffers so many tortures.

And with these words he inserted a thousand other ravings, all after the very same manner that his books taught him, imitating as neer as he could, their very phrase and language, and did ride there withall so slow a pace, and the Sun did mount so swiftly, and with so great heat, as it was sufficient to melt his brains if he had had any left.

He travelled almost all that day without encountring any thing worthy the reci∣tall, which made him to fret for anger: for he desired to encounter presently some one, upon whom he might make tryall of his invincible strength. Some Authors write, that his first adventure was that of the L••picean straits; others, that of the Winde-mills: But what I could only finde out in this affair, and which I have found written in the Annals of the Mancha is, that he travelled all that day long, and at night both he and his Horse were tyred, and marvellously prest by hunger, and looking about him on every side, to see whether he could discover any Castle or Sheep-fold, wherein he might retire himself for that night, and remedy his wants; he perceived an Inn neer unto the high-way, wherein he travelled, which was as welcome a sight to him as if he had seen a Star that did addresse him to the Porch, if not to the Palace of his redemption. Then spurring his horse, he hyed all he might towards it, and arrived much about night fall. There stood by chance at the Inn door, two young women Adventurers likewise, which travelled toward Sivill with certain Carriers, and did by chance take up their lodging in that Inn the same evening; and for as much as our Knight Errant esteemed all which hee thought, saw, or imagined, was done or did really passe in the very same form, as he had read the like in his books; forthwith as soon as he espied the Vent, he feigned to himself that it was a Castle with four Turrets, whereof the Pinacles were of glistring silver, without omitting the draw-Bridge, deep Fosse, and other adherents be∣longing to the like places: And approaching by little and little to the Vent, when he drew neer to it, checking Rozin••nte with the bridle, he rested a while to see whether any Dwarf would mount on the battlements to give warning with the sound of a Trumpet, how some Knight did approach the Castle: but seeing they staid so long, and also that Rozinante kept a colle to goe to his Stable, he went to the Inn door, and there beheld the two loose Baggages that stood at it, whom he presently supposed to be two beau∣tifull Damze••s or lovely Ladies, that did solace themselves before the Castle gates. And in this space it befell by chance, that a certain Swine heard as he gathered together his Hogs, blew the horne, whereat they are wont to come together; and instantly Don-Quixote imagined, it was what he desired, to wit, some Dwarf who gave notice of his arrivall; and therefore with marveilous satisfaction of minde he approached to the Inn and Ladies; who beholding one Armed in that manner to draw so neer, with his

Launce and Target, they made much haste, being greatly affrighted, to get to their lodging. But Don-Quixote perceiving their fear by their flight, lifting up his pasted Beaver, and discovering his withered and dusty countenance, did accost them with gen∣tle demeanor and grave words in this manner:

Let not your Ladyships flie, nor fear any outrage; for to the order of Knighthood which I doe professe, it toucheth nor appertaineth not to wrong any body, and least of all such worthy Damzels as your presences denote you to be.

The wenches looked on him very earnestly, and did search with their eyes for the visage, which his ill-fashioned Beaver did conceal: but when they heard themselves termed damzels, a thing so far from their profession, they could not contain ther laughter, which was so loud, as Don-Quixote waxed ashamed thereat; and therefore said to them;

Modesty is a comely ornament of the beautifull, and the excessive laughter that springs from a light occasion must be reputed great folly: But I doe not object this unto you to make you the more ashamed, or that you should take it in ill part; for my desire is none other then to doe you all the honour and service I may.

This he spake unto them in such uncouth words, as they could not understand him, which was an occasion, joyned with his own uncomelinesse, to increase their laughter and his wrath, which would have passed the bounds of reason, if the Inn-Keeper had not come out at the instant; being a man who by reason of his exceeding fatnesse must needs have been of a very peaceable condition, who beholding that counterfeit figure, all Armed in so unsutable Armour as were his Bridle, Launce, Target, and Corslet, was very neer to have kept the Damzels company in the pleasant shewes of this merriment: but fearing in effect the Machina and bulk contrived of so various furnitures, he determined to speak him fairly; and therefore began to him in this manner: If your Worship (Sir Knight) doe seek for Lodging, you may chalk your self a Bed (for there is none in this Inn) wherein you shall finde all other things in abun∣dance. Don-Quixote noting the lowlinesse of the Constable of that Fortresse (for such the Inn and Inn-keeper seemed unto him) answered, Any thing, Sir Constable, may serve me; for mine Arms are mine ornaments, and Battels mine ease, &c. The Host thought he had called him a Castellano or Constable, [Here the Spanish is Castellano; that is in the Spanish tongue, either a Constable of a Castle or one born in Castile.] because he esteemed him to be one of the sincere and honest men of Castile, whereas he was indeed an Andaluzian, and of the Commark of S. Lucars, no lesse thievish then Cacus, nor less malicious and crafty then a Student or Page: and therefore he answered him thus: If that be so, your Bed must be hard Rocks, & your sleep a perpetuall Watching; and being such, you may boldly alight, and shall finde certainly here occasion & oportunity to hold you waking this twelvemonth more, for one night: and saying so, laid hold on Don-Quixote's stirrop, who did forthwith alight, though it was with great difficulty & pain (as one that had not eaten all the day one crum) and then he requested his Host to have speciall care of his horse, saying, He was one of the best pieces that ever eate bread. The Inn-keeper viewed and reviewed him, to whom he did not seem half so good as Don-Quixote valued him; and setting him up in the Stable, he turned to see what his Ghuest would command, who was a disarming by both the Damzels (which were by this time recon∣ciled to him) who, though they had taken off his breast-plate and back parts; yet knew they not how, nor could any wise undoe his Gorget, nor take off his conterfeit Beaver, which hee had fastened on with green Ribbands; and by reason the knots were so in∣tricate, it was requisite they should be cut, whereunto he would not in any wise agree; and therefore remained all the night with his Helmet on, and was the strangest and plea∣santest figure thereby that one might behold. And as he was a disarming (imagining those light wenches that holp him, to be certain principall Ladies and Dames of that Castle) he said unto them with a very good grace, Never was any Knight so well atten∣ded on, and served by Ladies as was Don-Quixote; when he departed from his Vil∣lage Damzels attended on him, and Princesses on his Horse. O Rozinante! for (La∣dies) that is the name of my Horse, and Don-Quixote de la Mancha is mine own. For although I meant at the first not to have discovered my self, untill the Acts done in your service and benefit should manifest me; yet the necessity of accommodating to our

present purpose, the old Romance of Sir Launcelot, hath been an occasion that you should know my name before the right season: But the time will come wherein your Ladyships may command me, and I obey, and then the valour of mine arme shall discover the desire I have to doe you service.

The wenches being unaccustomed to hear so Rhetoricall terms, answered never a word to him, but only demanded, whether he would eat any thing? That I would re∣plied Don-Quixote, for as much as I think the taking of a little meat would be very be∣hoovefull for me. It chanced by hap to be on Friday, and therefore there was no other meat in the Inn, then a few pieces of a Fish called in Castile Abadexo, in Andaluzia, Bacallao, and in some places Curadillo, and in others Truchuela, and is but poor-Iohn.

They demanded of him therefore, whether he would eat thereof? giving it the name, used in that place, of Truchuela, or little Trout; for there was no other Fish in all the Inn to present unto him but such. Why then (quoth Don-Quixote) bring it in; for if there be many little Trouts, they may serve me instead of a great one; i•• being all one to me, to be paid my money (if I were to receive any) in eight single Realls, or to be paid the same in one Reall of eight. And moreover those little Trouts are perhaps like unto Veal, which is much more delicate flesh then Beef; or the Kid which is better then the Goat; but be it what it list, let it be brought in presently; for the labour and weight of arms cannot be well borne without the well supplying of the Guts. Then was there straight laid a Table at the Inn door, that he might take the air; and the Host brought him a portion of evill-watered, and worse boyled poor-John, and a loaf as black and hoary as his Harnesse: But the onely sport was to behold him eat: for by reason his Helmet was on, and his Beaver lifted, he could put nothing into his mouth himself, if others did not help him to finde the way; and therefore one of those Ladies served his turn in that: but it was altogether impossible to give him drink after that manner, and would have remained so for ever, if the Inn-keeper had not boared a Cane, and setting the one end in his mouth, powred down the wine at the o∣ther: all which he suffered most patiently, because he would not break the Ribbands of his Helmet. And as he sate at Supper, there arrived by chance a Sow-gelder, who as soon as he came to the Inn, did sound four or five times a whistle of Canes, the which did confirm Don-Quixote, that he was in some famous Castle, where he was served with Musick, and that the poor-John was Trouts; the Bread of the finest Flower; the Whores, Ladies; and the Inn-keeper, Constable of the Castle; Wherefore he ac∣counted his resolution and departure from his own house very well imployed. But that which did most afflict him, was, that he was not yet dubbed Knight, for as much as he was fully perswaded, that he could not lawfully enterprize, or follow any adven∣ture, untill he received the order of Knight-hoood.

CHAP. III.

Wherein is recounted the pleasant manner observed in the Knight∣ing of Don-Quixote.

AND being thus tossed in minde, he made a short beggerly supper; which being finished, he called for his Horse, and shutting the Stable door very fast, he laid himself down upon his knees in it before him, saying, I will never rise from the place where I am valourous Knight, untill your courtesie shall grant unto me a Boone that I mean to demand of you, the which will redound unto your renown, and also to the profit of all humane kinde. The Inn-keeper seeing his ghest at his feet, and hearing him speak those words, remained confounded beholding him, not knowing

what he might doe or say, and did studie and labour to make him arise: But all was in vain, untill he must have promised unto him, that he would grant him any gift that he sought at his hands. I did never expect lesse (replied Don-Quixote) from your magnificence, my Lord: And therefore I say unto you that the boon which I demand. of you, and that hath been granted unto me by your liberality, is, that to morrow in the morning you will dubb me Knight, and this night I will watch mine Armour in the Chappell of your Castle, and in the morning, as I have said, the rest of my desires shall be accomplished, that I may goe in due manner throughout the four parts of the World, to seek Adventures, to the benefit of the needy, as is the duty of Knight-hood, and of Knights Errant, as I am; whose desires are wholy inclined and dedica∣ted to such achievements. The Host, who, as we noted before, was a great giber, and had before gathered some arguments of the defect of wit in his ghest, did wholy now perswade himself that his suspicions were true, when he heard him speak in that manner: and that he might have an occasion of laughter, he resolved to feed his humor that night, and therefore answered him, that he had very great reason in that which he desired and sought, and that such projects were proper and naturall to Knigh••s of the garbe and worth he seemed to be of: And that he himself likewise in his youthfull years had followed that honourable exercise, going through divers parts of the World to seek Adventures, without either omitting the dangers of Malaga, [Percheles] the Isles of Riaran, the compasse of Sivill, the [Azuguezo] Quick-silver∣house of Segovia, the Olive-field of Valencia, the Circuit of Granada, the Wharf of S. Lucor, the Potro or Cowlt of Cordova, [The Potron of Cordova is a certain Foun∣tain wherein stands a Pegasus, and to that fountain resort a number of cunny-catching fel∣lowes, as Duke Humfrey at Paules] and the little Taverns of Toledo; and many other places, wherein he practised the dexteritie of his hands, doing many wrongs, sollici∣ting many widowes, undoing certain maydens, and deceiving many Pupils, and final∣ly making himself known and famous in all the Tribunals and Courts almost of all Spain, and that at last hee had retired himselfe to that his Castle, where hee was sustai∣ned with his own and other mens goods, entertaining in it all Knights Errant, of what∣soever quality and condition they were; only for the great affection hee bore towards them, and to the end they might divide with him part of their winnings in recompence of his good-will; hee added besides, that there was no Chappell in his Castle, wherein hee might watch his Armes, for hee had broken it down to build it up a new: But not∣withstanding hee knew very well, that in a case of necessitie they might lawfully bee watched in any other place, and therefore hee might watch them that night in the base Court of the Castle; for in the morning, an't pleased God, the Ceremonies requisite should bee done in such sort as hee should remaine a dubbed Knight, in so good fashion as in all the World hee could not bee bettered. Hee demanded of Don-Quixote whe∣ther hee had any money? who answered that hee had not a blanck, for hee had never read in any History of Knights Errant, that any one of them ever carried any money. To this his Host replyed, that hee was deceived; for admit that Histories made no men∣tion thereof, because the Authors of them deemed it not necessary to expresse a thing so manifest and needfull to bee carried as was money and clean shyrts, it was not therfore to bee credited that they had none; and therefore hee should hold for most certain and manifest, That all the Knights Errant, with the story of whose Acts so many Bookes are replenished and heaped, had their purses well lined for that which might befall, and did moreover cary with them a little Casket of oyntments and salves, to cure the wounds which they received, for they had not the commodity of a Surgeon to cure them, every time that they fought abroad in the fields and desarts, if they had not by chance some wise Enchanter to their friend, who would presently succour them, bring∣ing unto them, in some Cloud, through the Ayre, some Damzell or Dwarfe, with a Viol of water of so great virtue, as tasting one drop thereof, they remained as whole of their sores and wounds, as if they had never received any: But when they had not that benefit, the Knights of times past held it for a very commendable and secure course that their Squires should bee provided of money and other necessary things, as Lynt and

Oyntments for to cure themselves; and when it befell that the like Knights had no Squires to attend upon them (which hapned but very seldom) then would they them∣selves cary all this provision behind them on their Horses, in some sleight and subtle Wallets, which could scarce be perceived, as a thing of very great consequence. For, if it were not upon such an occasion, the cariage of Wallets was not very tollerable a∣mong Knights Errant. And in this respect hee did advise him, seeing hee might yet command him, as one that by receiving the Order of Knighthood at his hands, should very shortly become his God-childe, that hee should not travell from thence forward without money and other the preventions he had then given unto him; and hee should perceive himselfe how behoovefull they would prove unto him, when hee least expe∣cted it.

Don Quixote promised to accomplish all that hee had counselled him to doe, with all punctualitie; and so Order was forthwith given how hee should watch his Armes in a great yard that lay neere unto one side of the Inne: Wherefore Don-Quixote gathe∣ring all his Armes together, laid them on a Cistern that stood neer unto a Well: And buckling on his Target hee laid hold on his Launce, and walked up and down before the Cisterne very demurely, and when hee began to walke, the night likewise began to lock up the splendor of the day. The In-keeper, in the mean season, recounted to all the rest that lodged in the Inne, the folly of his Guest, the watching of his Armes, and the Knighthood which hee expected to receive. They all admired very much at so strange a kinde of folly, and went out to behold him from a far off, and saw that som∣times he pranced too and fro with a quiet gesture, other times, leaning upon his Launce, he looked upon his Armor, without beholding any other thing save his Armes for a good space.

The night being shut up at last wholly, but with such cleerenesse of the Moone, as it might well compare with his brightnesse that lent her her splendor; every thing which our new Knight did, was easily perceived by all the beholders. In this season one of the Carriers that lodged in the Inne resolved to water his Mules, and for that purpose it was necessarie to remove Don-Quixotes Armour that lay on the Cistern; who see∣ing him approach, said unto him with a loud voice: O thou! whosoever thou beest, bold Knight, that commest to touch the Armour of the most valorous Adventurer that ever gyrded sword, looke well what thou dost, and touch them not, if thou meanest not to leave thy life in payment of thy presumption. The Carrier made no account of those words (but it were better hee had, for it would have redounded to his benefit) but rather laying hold on the leatherings, threw the Armour a pretty way off from him which being perceived by Don-Quixote, hee lifted up his eyes towards heaven, and ad∣dressing his thoughts (as it seemed) to his

Lady Dulcinea, hee said; Assist mee deere Lady in this first dangerous affront and adventure offered to this breast, that is enthralled to thee, and let not thy favor and protection faile mee in this my first Traunce.

And uttering these and other such words, hee let slip his Target, and lift∣ing up his Launce with both hands, hee paid the Carrier so round a knock therewithall on the Pate, as hee overthrew him to the ground in so evill taki••g, as if hee had secon∣ded it with another, hee should not have needed any Surgeon to cure him. This done hee gathered up his Armour again, and laying them where they had-beene before, hee walked after up and downe by them, with as much quietnesse as hee did at the first.

But very soone after, another Carrier without knowing what had hapned (for his companion lay yet in a Trance on the ground) came also to give his Mules water, and coming to take away the Armes, that hee might free the Cistern of incumbrances, and take water the easier: Don-Quixote saying nothing, nor imploring favor of his Mis∣tris or any other, let slip again his Target, and lifting his Launce, without breaking of it in peeces, made more then three of the second Carriers noddle; for hee broke it in foure places. All the People of the Inne, and amongst them the Host likewise repay∣red at this time to the noyse: which Don-Quixote perceiving, imbracing his Targe••, and laying hand on his sword, hee said:

O Lady of all Beauty, Courage and Vigour

of my weakened heart, it is now high time that thou doe convert the eyes of thy greatnesse to this thy captive Knight, who doth expect so marveilous great an Adven∣ture.

Saying thus, hee recovered as hee thought so great courage, that if all the Ca∣riers of the world had assayled him, hee would not goe one step backward. The woun∣ded mens fellowes, seeing them so evill dight, from a far off began to raine stones on Don-Quixote, who did defend himself the best hee might with his Target, and durst not depart from the Cistern, lest hee should seeme to abandon his Armes. The Inkeep∣er cryed to them to let him alone; for hee had already informed them that hee was mad, and for such a one would scape scot free although hee had slain them all. Don-Quixote likewise cryed out louder, terming them all disloyall men and traytors, and that the Lord of the Castle was a treacherous and bad Knight, seeing that hee consented that Knights Errant should be so basely used; and that if hee had not yet received the

Order of Knighthood, hee would make him understand his treason, but of you base and rascally Kenell (quoth he) I make no reckoning at all: throw at mee, ap∣proach, draw neere, and doe mee all the hurt you may, for you shall ere long re∣ceive the reward you shall carie for this your madnesse and outrage:

Which words hee spoke with such great spirit and boldnesse, as hee stroke a terrible feare into all those that assaulted him: and therefore moved both by it, and the Inkeepers perswasi∣ons, they left oft throwing stones at him, and hee permitted them to carry away the wounded men, and returned to the guard of his Armes, with as great quietnes and gra∣vity, as he did at the beginning.

The Inkeeper did not like very much these tricks of his Guest, and therefore hee de∣termined to abbreviate, and give him the unfortunate Order of Knighthood forthwith, before some other disaster befell: and with this resolution coming unto him, hee excu∣sed himself of the insolencies those base fellowes had used to him, without his privity or consent, but their rashnesse, as hee said, remained well chastized: Hee added how he had already told unto him, that there was no Chappel in his Castle, and that for what yet rested unperfected of their intention, it was not necessarie, because the chiefe point of remayning Knighted consisted chiefly in blowes of the neck and shoulders, as hee had read in the ceremoniall Booke of the Order, and that, that might bee given in the very midst of the fields; and that hee had already accomplished the obligation of watching his Armes, which with only two houres watch might bee fullfilled; how much more after having watched foure, as hee had done. All this Don-Quixote belee∣ved, and therefore answered, That hee was most ready to obey him, and requested him to conclude with all the brevity possible: for if hee saw himselfe Knighted, and were once again assaulted, hee meant not to leave one person alive in all the Castle, ex∣cept those which the Constable should command, whom he would spare for his sake.

The Constable being thus advertised, and fearfull that hee would put this his delibe∣ration in execution, brought out a Booke presently, wherein hee was wont to write downe the accounts of the straw and Barly which hee delivered from time to time, to such Carriers as lodged in his Inne, for their Beasts: and with a But of a candle which a boy held lighted in his hand before him, accompanied by the two Damzels above mentioned, hee came to Don-Quixote, whom hee commanded to kneele upon his knees and reading in his Manual (as it seemed some devout Orison) hee held up his hand in the midst of the Lecture, and gave him a good blow on the neck, and after that gave him another trim thwack over the shoulders with his own sword (alwaies murmuring somthing between the teeth, as if hee prayed) this being done, hee com∣manded one of the Ladies to gyrd on his sword, which shee did with a singular good grace and dexteritie, which was much, the matter being of it self so ridiculous, as it wanted but little to make a man burst with laughter at every passage of the Ceremonies: but the prowesse which they had already beheld in the new Knight, did lymit and con∣tain their delight: At the gyrding on of his sword, the good Lady said, God make you a fortunate Knight, and give you good successe in all your debates. Don-Quixote deman∣ded then how shee was called, that hee might thence forward know to whom hee was so much obleged for the favor received? and shee answered with great buxomnesse

that shee was named Tolosa, and was a Butchers daughter of Toledo, that dwelt in Sancho Benegas street, and that shee would ever honour him as her Lord, Don-Quixote replied, requesting her, for his sake, to call her selfe from thence forth the Lady Tolosa which shee promised to perform. The other Lady buckled on his Spur, with whom he had the very like conference, and asking her name, shee told him shee was called Mo∣linera, and was daughter to an honest Miller of Antequera: her likewise our Knight intreated to call her selfe the Lady Molinera, proferring her new services and favours. The new and never seen before Ceremonies being thus speedily finished, as it seemed with a gallop, Don-Quixote could not rest untill hee was mounted on horseback, that hee might goe to seeke Adventures; wherefore causing Rozinante to bee instantly sad∣led, hee leaped on him, and imbracing his Hoste, hee said unto him such strange things, gratifying the favor hee had done him in dubbing him Knight, as it is impossible to hit upon the manner of recounting them right. The Inkeeper that hee might bee quickly rid of him, did answere his words with others no lesse ••hetoricall, but was in his speech somwhat breefer; and without demanding of him any thing for his lodging, hee suffe∣red him to depart in a fortunate houre.

CHAP. IV.

Of that which befell to our Knight, after hee had departed from the Inne.

AVRORA began to display her beauties about the time that Don-Quixote issued out of the Inne, so content, lively and jocund to be∣hold himself Knighted, as his very horse gyrts were ready to burst for joy: but calling to memory the Counsels that his Hoste had given him, touching the most needfull implements that hee was ever to ca∣ry about him, of money and clean shirts, hee determined to returne to his House, and to provide himself of them, and also of a Squire: making account to entertain a certain labourer, his neighbour, who was poore and had children, but yet one very fit for this purpose and Squirely function, belonging to Knighthood. With this determination hee turned Rozinante towards the way of his owne Village, who knowing, in a manner, his will, began to trot on with so good a pace, as hee seemed not to touch the ground. Hee had not travelled far, when he thought that hee heard certain weake and delicate cries, like to those of one that complained, to issue out from the thickest of a Wood that stood on the right hand. And scarce had hee heard them when hee said:

I render infinite thanks to heaven for the favour it doth mee, by proferring mee so soone occasion wherein I may accomplish the duty of my professi∣on, and gather the fruits of my good desires: these Plaints doubtlesly bee of some di∣stressed man or woman, who needeth my favour and ayd.

Then turning the reynes, hee guided Rozinante towards the place from whence hee thought the complaints sally∣ed; and within a few paces after he had entred into the thicket, hee saw a Mare tyed unto an Holme Oake, and to another was tyed a young youth all naked from the mid∣dle upward, of about the age of fifteen yeeres, and was hee that cried so pittifully: and not without cause, for a certain Countryman of comly personage did whip him with a gyrdle, and accompanied every blow with a reprehension and counsell, for hee said; The tongue must peace, and the Eyes bee warie: and the boy answered I will never do it again, good Master; for the passion of God, I will never doe it again. And I pro∣mise to have more care of your things from henceforth.

But Don-Quixote viewing all that passed, said with an angry voice:

Discourteous

Knight, it is very uncomly to see thee deale thus with one that cannot defend himself, mount therfore on horseback and take thy Launce (for the Farmer had also a Launce leaning to the very same tree whereunto his Mare was tyed) for I will make thee know that it is the use of Cowards to doe that which thou doest.

The other behold∣ing such an Antick to hover over him, all laden with Armes, and brandishing of his Launce towards his face, made full account that hee should bee slaine, and therefore hee answered with very milde and submissive words saying, Sir Knight, the boy which I chastise is mine own servant, and keepeth for mee a slock of sheep in this Commarke; who is grown so neglignet, as hee loseth one of them every other day, and because I correct him for his carelessenesse and knavery, hee sayes I doe it through covetousnesse and pinching, as meaning to defraud him of his wages; but before God, and in Con∣science hee belies me.

What? the Lie in my presence rascally Clown? quoth Don-Quixote, by the Sun that shines on us, I am about to run thee through and through with my Launce base Carle; pay him instantly without more replying, or else by that God which doth mannage our sublunar affairs, I will conclude thee, and annihilate thee in moment; loose him forthwith.

The Countreyman hanging downe of his head, made no reply, but loosed his servant; of whom Don-Quixote demanded how much did his Master owe unto him? hee said nine Moneths hire, at seven Reals a Moneth. Don-Quixote made then the account, and found that all amounted to sixty one Reals, and therefore commanded the Farmer to pay the money presently, if hee meaned not to die for it. The fearfull Countryman answered, That by the Trance wherein hee was then, and by the Oath hee had made (which was none at all, for hee swoar not) that hee ought not so much; for there should bee deducted out of the ac∣counts three paire of shoes hee had given unto him, and a Reall for twice letting him blood, being sick. All is well, quoth Don-Quixote, but let the price of the shoes and letting blood, goe for the blowes which thou hast given him without any desert; for if hee have broken the leather of those shoes thou hast bestowed on him, thou hast likewise torne the skin of his body; and if the Barbe•• tooke away his blood being sick, thou hast taken it out, hee beeing in health; so as in that respect hee owes thee nothing. The dammage is Sir Knight, replyed the boyes Master, that I have no money here about me. Let Andrew come with mee to my house, and I will pay him his wages, one Reall up∣on another. I goe with him, quoth the boy, evill befall me•• then. No Sir, I never meant it; for as soone as ••ver hee were alone, hee would fley mee like S. Bartholomew. Hee will not dare to doe it, quoth Don-Quixote, for my command is sufficient to make him respect mee, and so that hee will sweare to mee to observe it, by the Order of Knighthood which hee hath received, I will set him free, and assure thee of the pay∣ment. Good Sir, quoth the youth, marke well what you say, for this man my Ma∣ster, is no Knight, nor did ever receive any Order of Knighthood, for hee is Iohn Hal∣dudo the rich man, a dweller of Qui••tanar. That makes no matter, quoth Don-Qui∣xote, for there may bee Knights of the Haldudos: and what is more, every one is son of his workes. That's true, quoth Andrew, but of what workes can this my Master be sonne? seeing hee denies mee my wages, and my sweat and labour? I doe not deny thy wages, friend Andrew, quoth his Master; doe mee but the pleasure to come with mee, and I sweare by all the Orders of Knighthood that are in the World, to pay thee as I have said, one Reall upon another, yea and those also perfumed.

For the per∣fuming I thanke thee, quoth Don-Quixote, give it him in Reals, and with that I will rest satisfied; and see that thou fullfillest it as thou hast sworn: if not, I sweare a∣gaine to thee by the same Oath to return and search thee, and chastise thee, and I will finde thee out, though thou shouldst hide thy self better then a Lizard; and if thou desirest to note who commands thee this, that thou maist remaine more firmly oblie∣ged to accomplish it, know that I am the valorous Don-Quixote of the Mancha, the righter of wrongs and undoer of injuries, and so farewell: and doe not forget what thou hast promised and sworn, on paine of the paines already pronounced.

And saying these words, hee spurred Rozinante, and in short space was got far off from them. The Countryman pursued him with his eye, and perceiving that hee was past the wood,

and quite out of sight, hee returned to his man Andrew, and said to him, come to me childe, for I will pay thee what I owe thee; as that righter of wrongs hath left mee commanded. That I sweare, quoth Andrew, and you shall deale discreetly in fullfil∣ling that good Knights commandement, who I pray God may live a thousand yeeres; for seeing hee is so valorous and so just a judge, I sweare by Rocque, that if you pay mee not, hee shall return and execute what hee promised. I also doe sweare the same, quoth the Farmer, but in respect of the great affection I beare unto thee, I will aug∣ment the debt, to increase the payment; and catching the youth by the arme, hee tyed him again to the Oake, where hee gave him so many blowes as hee left him for dead; call now master Andrew (quoth hee) for the righter of wrongs, and thou shalt see that hee cannot undoe this, although I beleeve it is not yet ended to bee done; for I have yet a desire to flea thee alive, as thou didst thy selfe feare: Notwithstanding all these threats, hee untied him at last, and gave him leave to goe seeke out his Judge, to the end hee might execute the Sentence pronounced. Andrew departed somewhat discontent, swearing to search for the valorous Don-Quixote of the Mancha, and re∣count unto him, word for word, all that had past, and that hee should pay the abuse with usury: but for all his threats hee departed weeping, and his Master remayned behinde laughing; and in this manner the valorous Don-Quixote redressed that wrong.

Who glad above measure for his successe, accounting himself to have given a most noble beginning to his feats of Armes, did travell towards his Village, with very great satisfaction of himself, and said in a low tune these words following:

Well maist thou call thy self happy above all other women of the earth, O! above all Beauties beautifull Dulcinea of Toboso, since thy good fortune was such, to hold subject and prostrate to thy will and desire, so valiant and renowned a Knight as is, and ever shall bee, Don-Quixote of the Mancha, who as all the world knowes, received the Order of Knighthood but yesterday, and hath destroyed to day the greatest outrage and wrong that want of reason could forme, or cruelty commit. To day did he take away the whip out of that pittilesse enemies hand, which did so c••uelly scourge with∣out occasion the delicate Infant.

In this discourse hee came to a way that divided it self into foure, and presently these thwarting crosse wayes represented themselves unto his imagination, which oft times held Knights Errant in suspence which way they should take, and that hee might imi∣tate them; hee stood still a while, and after hee had bethought himself well, hee let slip the reines to Rozinante, subjecting his will to that of his horse, who presently pursued his first Designe, which was to return home unto his own slable: and having travelled some two miles, Don-Quixote discovered a great troup of People, who as it was after known, were certain Merchants of Tol••do, that rode towards M•••••••• to buy silkest they were six in number, & came with their Quitaso•••• [a thing made like a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and is used by Travellers to keepe away the 〈◊〉〈◊〉] or shadowes of the 〈◊〉〈◊〉, foure serving•• men on horseback, and three La••quies•• Scarce had Don-Quixote perceived them, when hee straight imagined them to bee a new•• Adventure: and because hee would 〈◊〉〈◊〉 as much as was possible the passages which hee read in this bookes, hee represented this to himself to bee just such an Adventure as hee purposed to 〈◊〉〈◊〉. And 〈◊〉〈◊〉 comely gesture hardinesse, set••ing himself well in the stirdops, hee set his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 into his rest, and imbraced his Targe••, and placing himself in the midst of the way, hee stood awayting when those Knights Errant should arive; 〈◊〉〈◊〉 now hee judged and tooke them for such: and when they were so neere as they might heare and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 him, he li••••ed up his voice and said:

Let all the world stund and passe no further, if all the world will not confesse, that there is not in all the world a more beautifull 〈◊〉〈◊〉 then the Empresse of the Mancha, the peerelesse D••loin•••• of Toboso.

The Merchants stayed at these words to behold the marvellous and ridiculous shape of him that spoke them, and by his fashion and them joyned, did incontinently gather his folly and di∣straction, and notwithstanding would leisurely behold to what tended that confession which hee exacted of them; and therefore one of them who was somewhat given to gi∣bing,

and was withall very discreet, said unto him, Sir Knight, wee doe not know that good Lady of whom you speake: shew her therefore to us, and if shee bee so beautifull as you affirm, wee will willingly and without any compulsion confesse the truth which you now demand of us. If I did shew her to you, replied Don-Quixote, what masterie were it then for you to acknowledge a truth so notorious? The conse∣quence of mine affaires consists in this, that without beholding her, you doe beleeve, confesse, affirm, sweare and defend it; which if you refuse to perform, I challenge you all to Battell, proud and unreasonable folke, and whether you come one by one (as the order of Knighthood requires) or all at once, as is the custome and dishono∣rable practise of men of your broode, here will I expect and await you all, trusting in the reason which I have on my side, Sir Knight, replied the Merchant, I request you in all these Princes names, as many as wee bee here, that to the end wee may not bur∣then our Consciences, confessing a thing which wee never beheld nor heard, and chief∣ly being so prejudiciall to the Empresses and Queenes of the Kingdomes of Alcarria and Estremadura, you will please to shew us some portraiture of that Lady, although it be no biger then a grain of Wheat: for by one threed we may judge of the whole olew, and we will with this favor rest secure and satisfied, and you likewise remain con∣tent and appaid. And I doe believe moreover, that we are already so inclined to your side, that although her picture shewed her to bee blinde of the one eye, and at the other that she ran fire and brimstone; yet would we notwithstanding, to please you, say in her favour all that you listed. There drops not base Scoundrels, quoth Don-Quixote, all inflamed with choller; there drops not, I say, from her that which thou say'st, but Amber and Civet among bombase: and she is not blinde of an eye, or crook-back'd; but is straighter then a spindle of Guadarama•• but all of you together shall pay for the great blasphemy thou hast spoken against so immense a beauty, as is that of my Mistrisse. And saying so, he abased his La••••ce against him that had answered, with such furie and anger, as if good fortune had not so ordained it, that Rozinante should stumble, and fall in the mid'st of the Carriere, it had gone very ill with the bold Merchant. Rozinante fell in fine, and his Master reeled over a good peece of the field; and though hee at∣tempted to rise, yet was he never able, he was so encombred by his Launce, Target, Sp••••, Helmet, and his weighty old A••••ur. And in the mean while that he strived to arise, and could not, he cried, Flie not cowardly Folk, abide base people, abide; for I lye not here through mine own fault, but through the defect of my horse.

One of the Lacquies that came in the company, and seemed to be a man of none of the best intentions, hearing the poor overthrown Knight speak such insolent words, could not forbear them without returning him an answer on his ribbs; and with that intention approaching to him, he took his Launce, and after he had broken it in peeces, he gave Don Quixote so many blows with one of them, that in despite of his Armor he threshed him sike a shea•• of Wheat. His Masters cried to him, commanding him, not to beat him so much, but that he should leave him: But all would not serve, for the youth was angry, and would not leave off the play, until he had avoyded the rest of his ••holer. And therefore running for the other peeces of the broken Launce, he broak them all on the miserable fallen Knight; who, for all the tempest of blows that rained on him, did never shut his mouth, but threatned heaven and earth, and those [Malan∣••rines] Murtherers; for such they seemed to him. The Lacquie tyred himself••: last, and the Merchants followed on their way, carrying with them occasion enough of talk of the poor belaboured Knight; who, when he saw himself alone, turned again to make tryall whether he might arise: but if he could not doe it when he was whole and sound, how was it possible he being so bruised and almost destroyed? And yet he ac∣counted himself very happie, preswading himself that his disgrace was proper and inci∣dent to Knights Errant, and did attribute all to the fault of his horse, and could in no wise get up, all his body was so [Bramado] bruised and loaden with blows.

CHAP. V.

Wherein is prosecuted the former Narration of our Knights mis∣fortunes.

BUt seeing in effect that he could not stir himself, he resolved to have recourse to his ordinary remedy, which was to think on some passage of his Histories; and in the instant his folly presented to his memory that of Valdovinos, and the Marquesse of Mantua, then when Car∣loto had left him wounded in the Mountain. A History known by children, not hidden to youg men, much celebrated, yea, and believed by many old men; and is yet for all that no more authenticall then are Mahomets Miracles. This History, as it seemed to him, was most fit for the trance wherein he was; and therefore he began, with signes of great pain, to tumble up and down, and pronounce with a languishing breath the same that they feign the wounded Knight to have said in the wood:

Where art thou Lady deer! that griev'st not at my smart? Or thou do'st it not know; or thou disloyall art.

And after this manner he did prosecute the old song, untill these verses that say: O noble Marquesse of Mantua, my carnall Lord and Vncle. And it befell by chance, that at the very same time there past by the place where he lay a man of his own Village, who was his neighbour, and returned after having carried a loaf of wheat to the Mill; who be∣holding a man stretched on the ground, he came over to him, and demanded what hee was, and what was it that caused him to complain so dolefully? Don-Quixote did verily belive that it was his Uncle, the Marquesse of Mantua; and so gave him no other answer, but only followed on in the repetition of his old Romance, wherein he gave him account of his misfortune, and of the love the Emperours son bore to his Spouse, all in the very same manner that the Ballad recounts it. The laborer remained much astonished, hearing those follies. And taking off his Vizard, which with the Lacquies blows was broken all to peeces, he wiped his face that was full of dust•• and scarce had he done it when he knew him, to whom he said; Master Quixada (for so he was probably called when he had his wits, before he left the state of a staid Yeoman, to become a wandring Knight) who hath used you after this mannner? But he continu∣ed his Romance, answering out of it, to every question that was put to him. Which the good man perceiving, disarmed him the best he could, to see whether he had any wound, but he could see no blood, or any token on him of hurt. Afterward he endeavoured to raise him from the ground, which he did at the last with much adoe; and mounted him on his Asse, as a Beast of easiest carriage. He gathered then together all his Arms, and left not behinde so much as the splinters of the Launce, and tied them altogether upon Rozinante, whom he took by the bridle, and the Asse by his halter, and led them both in that equipage fair and easily towards his Village, being very pensative to hear the follies that Don-Quixote spoak. And Don-Quixote was no lesse melancholy, who was so beaten and bruised, as he could hardly hold himself upon the Asse; and ever and anon he breathed forth such grievons sighs, as he seemed to fix them in Heaven; which moved his neighbour to intreat him again to declare unto him the cause of his grief. And it seems none other, but that the very Devill himself did call to his memorie, Hi∣stories accommodated to his successes. For in that instant, wholy forgeting Valdovinos he remembred the Moor Abindaraez then, when the Constable of Antequera Rode∣rick Narvaez had taken him, and carried him prisoner to his Castle. So that when his

neighbour turned again to aske of him how hee did, and what ailed him; he answered the very same words and speech that Captive Abencerrase said to Narvaez, just as hee had read them in Diana of Montemayor, where the History is written; applying it so properly to his purpose, that the labourer grew almost mad for anger to heare that Machina of follies; by which hee collected that his neighbour was distracted, and ther∣fore hee hied as fast as possible hee could to the Village, that so hee might free himself from the vexation that Don-Quixotes idle and prolixe discourse gave unto him. At the end whereof the Knight said, Don Rodericke of Narvaez: You shall understand that this beautifull Xarifa, of whom I spoak, is now the faire Dulcinea of Toboso; for whom I have done, I doe, and will doe such famous acts of Knighthood as ever have beene, are, and shall be seen in all the World. To this his neighbour answered, doe not you perceive Sir, sinner that I am, how I am neyther Don Roderick de Narvaez, nor the Marquesse of Mantua, but Peter Alonso your neighbour; nor are you Val∣dovinos, nor Abindaraez, but the honourable yeoman Master Quixada. I know ve∣ry well who I am quoth Don-Quixote, and also I know that I may not only bee those whom I have named, but also all the twelve Peeres of France, yea and the nine wor∣thies; since mine Acts shall surpasse all those that ever they did together, or every one of them apart.

With these and such other discourses they arived at last at their Village about Sun-set, but the labourer awayted untill it waxed somwhat darke, because folke should not view the Knight so simply mounted. And when hee saw his time he entred into the Towne, and went to Don-Quixotes house, which hee found full of confusion. There was the Curate & the Barbar of the Village, both of them Don-Quixotes great friends: to whom the old woman of the house said in a lamentable manner; What doe you think Master Licentiate Pere Perez (for so the Curate was called) of my Masters misfortune? These six dayes neyther hee nor his horse have appeared, nor the Target, Launce or Armour, unfortunate woman that I am, I doe suspect, and I am as sure it is true as that I shall die; how those accursed Books of Knighthood which hee hath, and is wont to reade ordinarily, have turned his judgement; for now I remember that I have heard him say often times, speaking to himself, that hee would become a Knight Errant, and goe seeke Adventures throughout the World. Let such Books bee recommended to Sathan and Barrabas, which have destroyed in this sort the most delicate understand∣ing of all the Mancha. His Niese affirmed the same, and did add, moreover you shall understand good Master Nicholus (for so hight the Barbar) that it many times befell my Uncle to continue the Lecture of those unhappy Books of disventures two dayes and two nights together. At the end of which, throwing the book away from him, he would lay hand on his Sword, and would fall a slashing of the walls, and when hee were wearied, hee would say that hee had slain foure Giants as great as foure Towres, and the sweat that dropped down, through the labour hee tooke, hee would say was blood that gushed out of those wounds which hee had received in the conflict, and then would hee quaffe off a great pot full of cold water, and straight hee did become whole and quiet; saying, that water was a most precious drinke, which the wise man Esquife, a great Enchanter or Sorcerer, and his friend, had brought unto him. But I am in the fault of all this, who never advertis'd you both of mine Uncles raving, to the end you might have redrest it ere it came to these termes, and burnt all those Excommunicate Books; for hee had many that deserved the Fire as much as if they were Hereticall. That doe I likewise affirme, quoth Master Curate, and in soothe to morrow shall not passe over us, without making a publique Processe against them, and condemn them to bee burned in the Fire, that they may not minister occasion again to such as may read them, to doe that which I feare my good friend hath done.

The Labourer and Don-Quixote stood hearing all that which was said, and then hee perfectly found the disease of his neighbour, and therefore he began to crie aloud; Open the doores to Lord Valdovinos, and to the Lord Marquesse of Mantua, who comes very sore wounded and hurt, and to the Lord Moore Abindaraez, whom the valorous Ro∣dericke of Narvaez Constable of Antequera brings as his Prisoner. All the houshould

ran out, hearing these cries, and some knowing their friend, the others their Master and Uncle, who had not yet alighted from the Asse, because he was not able, they ran to embrace him, but he forbad them, saying stand still and touch me not, for I returne very sore wounded and hurt, through default of my horse, carie me to my bed, and if it be possible send for the wise Viganda, that she may cure and looke to my hurt. See in an ill houre (quoth the old woman straight way) if my heart did not very well fore∣tell me on which foote my Master halted; come up in good time, for we shall know how to cure you well enough without sending for that Viganda you have mentioned; Accursed say I, once again, and a hundred times accursed may those bookes of Knight∣hood be, which have brought you to such a state: With that they bore him up to his bed, and searching for his wounds could not finde any, and then hee said all was but bruising, by reason of a great fall hee had with his horse Rozinante, as hee fought with ten Giants, the most unmeasurable and boldest that might bee found in a great part of the Earth. Hearken quoth the Curate, wee have also Giants in the dance: by mine honesty I will burne them all before to morrow at night. Then did they aske a thousand questions of Don-Quixote, but hee would answere to none of them, and only reque∣sted them to give him some meate and suffer him to sleep, seeing rest was most behoove∣full for him. All which was done, and the Curate informed himself at large of the la∣boring man, in what sort hee had found Don-Quixote, which hee recounted to him, and also the follies hee said, both at his finding and bringing to Towne; which did kin∣dle more earnestly the Licentiates desire to doe what hee had resolved the next day; which was to call his friend the Barber M. Nicholas, with whom hee came to Don-Qui∣xotes House.

CHAP. VI.

Of the pleasant and curious search made, by the Curate and the Barbar of Don-Quixotes Library.

WHO slept yet soundly. The Curate sought for the keyes of the Libra∣ry, the only authors of his harme; which the Gentlemans Niese gave unto him very willingly: All of them entred into it, and a∣mong the rest the old woman, wherein they found more then a hun∣dred great Volumes, and those very well bound, beside the small ones. And as soone as the old woman had seene them, shee depar∣ted very hastily out of the chamber, and eftsoones returned with as great speed, with a holy-water pot and a sprinkler in her hand, and said; Hold Master Licentiate and sprinkle this chamber all about, lest there should lurke in it some one Inchanter of ••he many which these bookes contain, and cry quittance with us for the penalties wee meane to inflict on these Bookes, by banishing them out of this world. The simplicitie of the good old woman caused the Licentiat to laugh: who comman∣ded the Barber to fetch him down the Books from their shelves, one by one, that hee might peruse their Arguments; for it might happen some to bee found, which in no fort deserved to bee chastised with Fire. No, replyed the Niese, no; you ought not to pardon any of them, seeing they have all beene offenders; it is better you throw them all into the base Court, and there make a pile of them, and then set them a Fire; if not, they may bee carried into the yard, and there make a bon-fire of them, and the smoak will offend no body; the old woman said as much, both of them thirsted so much for the death of these Innocents, but the Curate would not condiscend thereto, untill he had first read the Titles, at the lest, of every booke.

The first that Master Nicholas put into his hands, was that of Amadis of Gaule; which the Curate perusing a while, this comes not to mee first of all others without

some mystery: for as I have heard told, this is the first Book of Knighthood that ever was printed in Spain, and all the others have had their beginning and originall from this; and therefore methinks that we must condemn him to the fire, without all remission, as the Dogmatizer and head of so bad a Sect. Not so, fie quoth the Barber, for I have heard that it is the very best contrived book of all those of that kinde; and therefore he is to be pardoned, as the only compleat one of his profession. That is true replied the Curate, and for that reason we doe give him his life for this time. Let us see that other which lyes next unto him. It is, quoth the Barber, The [Las S••rgas pag. 73.] Adventure of Splandian Amadis of Gaules lawfully begotten son: Yet on mine ho∣nesty, replyed the Curate, his fathers goodnesse shall nothing avail him, take this book old Masters and open the window, throw it down into the yard, and let it lay the foun∣dation of our heap for the fire we mean to make. She did what was commanded with great alacrity, and so the good Splandian fled into the yard, to expect with all patience the fire, which he was threatned to abide. Forward quoth the Curate. This that comes now, said the Barber, is Amadis of Greece; and as I conjecture, all those that lye on this side are of the same linage of Amadis. Then let them goe all to the yard, quoth the Curate, in exchange of burning Queen Pintiquinestra, and the Sheepheard Darinel, with his Eglogues, and the subtle and intricate Discourses of the Author, which are able ••o intangle the father that ingendred me, if he went in form of a Knight Errant. I am of the same opinion, quoth the Barber: And I also, said the Niese. Then since it is so, quoth the old wife, let them come, and to the yard with them all. They were ren∣dred all up unto her, which were many in number: wherefore, to save a labour of go∣ing up and down the stairs, she threw them out at the window.

What bundle is that, quoth the Curate? This is, answered Master Nicholas, Don Olivante of Laura. The authour of that booke, quoth the Curate composed likewise The Garden of flowers, and in good sooth I can scarce resolve which of the two works is truest, or to speake better, is lesse lying: onely this much I can determine; that this must goe to the yard, being a booke foolish and arrogant. This that followes is Flo∣rismarte of Hircania, quoth the Barber. Is Lord Florismarte there? then replyed the Curate; then by mine honesty he shall briefly make his arrest in the yard, in despight of his wonderfull birth and famous Adventures; for the drouth and harshnesse of his stile deserves no greater favour. To the yard with him, and this other (good Masters.) with a very good will, quoth old Mumpsimus; and streight way did execute his com∣mandement with no small gladnesse. This is Platyr (quoth the Barber.) It is an an∣cient book replyed the Curate, wherin I finde nothing meriting pardon; let him, with∣out any reply, keep company with the rest. Forthwith it was done. Then was another book opened, and they saw the title thereof to be The Knight of the Crosse. For the holy title which this book beareth, quoth the Curate, his ignorance might be pardoned: but it is a common saying, The Devill lurks behinde the Crosse: wherefore let it goe to the fire. The Barber taking another book, said; This is The Mirror of Knighthood. I know his worship well, quoth the Curate. There goes among those books, I see, the Lord Raynold of Montalban with his friends and companions, all of them greater Theeves then Cacus, [A Theefe that used to steal Cattell, and pull them backward, by the tayles, that none might trace them] and the twelve Peers of France, with the Historiogra∣pher Turpin. I am in truth about to condemn them only to exile, for as much as they contain some part of the famous Poet Matthew Boyardo his invention. Out of which the Christian Poet Lodovick Ariosto did likewise weave his work, which if I can finde among these, and that he speaks not his own native tongue, I'le use him with no respect; but if he talk in his own language, I will put him, for honours sake, on my head. If that be so, quoth the Barber, I have him at home in the Italian, but cannot understand him. Neither were it good you should understand him, replyed the Curate; and here we would willingly have excused the good Captain that translated it into Spanish, from that labour, or bringing it into Spain, if it had pleased himself. For he hath deprived it of much naturall worth in the translation; a fault incident to all those that presume to translate Verses out of one language into another: for, though they imploy all their

industry and wit therein, they can never arive to the height of that Primitive conceit, which they bring with them in their first byrth. I say therefore that this booke, and all the others that may bee found in this Library, to treate of French affaires, bee cast and deposited in some drie Vault, untill wee may determine with more deliberation, what wee should doe with them: alwaies excepting Bernardo del Carpio, which must bee there amongst the rest, and another called Roncesualles; for these two coming to my hands, shall bee rendred up to those of the old guardian, and from hers into the fires, without any remission. All which was confirmed by the Barbar, who did ratifie his Sentence, holding it for good and discreete, because hee knew the Curate to bee so ver∣tuous a man, and so great a friend of the truth, as he would say nothing contrary to it for all the goods of the world.

And then opening another booke, he saw it was Palmerin de Oliva, neere unto which stood another, intituled Palmerin of England: which the ••icenciat perceiving, said let Oliva be presently rent in pieces, and burned in such sort, that even the very ashes there∣of may not be found: and let Palmerin of England be preserved, as a thing rarely de∣lectable, and let such another box as that which Alexander found among Darius spoyls, and depured to keep Homers works, be made for it: for gossip this booke hath suffici∣ent authority for two reasons; the first, because of it self it is very good and excellent∣ly contrived; the other, for as much as the report runnes, that a certain discreet King of Portugal was the author thereof. All the Adventures of the Castle of Miraguarda, are excellent and artificiall. The discourses very cleere and courtly, observing ever∣more a decorum in him that speaks, with great propriety and conceit, therefore I say Master Nicholas, if you think good, this and Amadis de Gaule may bee preserved from the fire; and let all the rest without farther search or regard perish. In the devills name doe not so, gentle gossip (replyed the Barbar) for this which I hold now in my hand is the famous Don Belianis: What hee? quoth the Curate, the second, third and fourth part thereof have great neede of some Ruybarbe to purge his excessive choller, and wee must moreover take out of him all that of the Castell of Fame, and other im∣pertinencies of more consequence. Therefore wee give them a terminus Vltramarinus, and as they shall bee corrected, so will wee use Mercy or justice towards them; and in the meane space Gossip, you may keepe them at your house, but permit no man to read them. I am pleased, quoth the Barbar, and being unwilling to tyre himself any more by reading of Titles, hee bad the old woman to take all the great volumes, and throw them into the yard; the words were not spoken to a Mome or deaf person, but to one that had more desire to burn them then to weave a peace of Linnen, were it ne∣ver so great and fine; and therefore taking eight of them together, shee threw them all out of the window, and returning the second time, thinking to carry away a great ma∣ny at once, one of them fell at the Barbers feet, who desirous to know the Title, saw that it was the Historie of the famous Knight Tirante the white. Good God, quoth the Curate with a loud voice, is Tirante the white here? Give mee it Gossip, for I make account to find in it a Treasure of delight. and a copious Mine of pastime. Here is Don Quireleison of Montalban, a valiant Knight, and his brother Thomas of Montal∣ban, and the Knight Fonseca, and the combat which the valiant Detriante fought with Alano, and the witty conceits of the damzell Plazerdeminida, with the love and guiles of the widow Reposada, and of the Empresse enamoured on her Squire Ipolite. I say unto you gossip, that this booke is for the stile, one of the best of the world; in it Knights doe eate and drinke and sleepe, and die in their beds naturally, and make their testaments before their death; with many other things, which all other bookes of this subject doe want, yet notwithstanding, if I might bee Judge, the Author thereof de∣served, because hee purposely penned and writ so many follies, to bee sent to the Gal∣lies for all the dayes of his life. Carie it home and read it, and you shall see all that I have said thereof to bee true. I beleeve it very well, quoth the Barber. But what shall wee doe with these little bookes that remaine? These as I take, said the Curate are not bookes of Knighthood, but of Poetry; and opening one, hee perceived it was The Diana of Montemayor, and beleeving that all the rest were of that stampe, hee said,

these deserve not to bee burned with the rest, for they have not, nor can doe so much hurt as bookes of Knighthood, being all of them works full of understanding and con∣ceits, and doe not prejudice any other. O good Sir, quoth Don-Quixote his Niese, your reverence shall likewise doe well to have them also burned, lest that mine Uncle af∣ter h•••• bee cured of his Knightly disease, may fall, by reading of these, in an humor of becomming a Sheepheard, and so wander through the woods and fields, singing of Rounde layes; and playing on a Crowd; and what is more dangerous then to become a Poet? which is as some say, an incurable and infectious disease. This maiden saies true, quoth the Curate, and it will not bee amisse to remove this stumbling block and occasi∣on out of our friends way; and since wee begin with the Diana of Montemayor, I am of opinion that it bee not burned, but only that all that which treates of the wise Feli∣cia, and of the inchanted water bee taken away, and also all the longer verses, and let him remaine with his Proses, and the honour of being the best of that kinde. This that followes, quoth the Barber, is the Diana called the second, written by him of Sala∣manca, and this other is of the same name, whose Author is Gil Polo. Let that of Sala∣manca answered Master Parson, augment the number of the condemned in the yard, and that of Gil Polo bee kept as charity, as if it were Apollo his owne worke: and goe forward speedily good Gossip, for it growes late. This booke, quoth the Barber, ope∣ning of another is, The twelve bookes of the fortunes of Love, written by Anthony L••fra∣so, the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Poet. By the holy Orders which I have received, quoth the Curate; since Apollo was Apollo, and the Muses Muses, and Poets Poets, was never writ∣ten so delightful band extravagant a worke as this; and that in his way and vaine, it is the only one of all the bookes that have everissued of that kinde to view the light of the world, and hee that hath not read it may make account that hee hath never read matter of delight. Give it to men Gossip, for I doe prize more the finding of it, then I would the gift of a Ca••••ocke of the best sate in of Florence and so with great joy bee laid it a∣side, and the Barbar prosecuted, saying, these that follow bee, The Sheepheard of I••e∣••••, The Nymphs of Enares; and the Rec••••ing of the 〈◊〉〈◊〉. Then there is no more to bee done but to deliver them up to the secular arm of the old wife, and doe not de∣mand the reason, for that were never to make an end. This that comes is The Sheep∣heard of Filida. That is not a Sheepheard, quoth the Curate, but a very compleat Courtier, let it bee reserved as a precious jewell, This great one that followes, is, said the Barber intituled•• The Treasure of divers Poems; If they had not beene so many, re∣plyed the Curate, they would have beene more esteemed. It is necessary that this book bee carded and purged of certain base things, that lurke among his high conceits. Let Him bee kept, both because the Author is my very great friend, and in regard of other more Heroicall and lost in works hee hath written. This is, said the Barber, The ditty booke of Lopez Maldonad••. The Author of that worke is likewise my great friend, re∣plyed the Parson, and his lines pronounced by himselfe doe ravish the hearers, and such is the sweetnesse of his voice when hee sings them, as it doth enchant the eare. Hee is somwhat prolix in his Eglogues, but that which is good, is never superfluous; let him bee kept among the choysest. But what booke is that which lies next unto him? The Galatea of Michael Cervantes quoth the Barber. That Cervantes, said the Curate, is my old acquaintance this many a yeere, and I know hee is more practised in misfortunes then in verses: His booke hath some good invention in it, hee intends and propounds somwhat, but concludes nothing; therefore wee must expect the second Part, which hee hath promised, perhaps his amendment may obtaine him a generall remission, which until now is denied him; and whilest we expect the sight of his second work, keep this part closely imprisoned in your lodging. I am very well content to do so, good Gossip, said the Barber; and here there come three together, The Auracana of Don Alonso de Ercilla, The Austriada of Iohn Ruffo, one of the Magistrates of Cordova, and The Monserrato of Christopher de Virnes, a Valentian Poet. All these three books, quoth the Curate, are the best that are written in heroicall verse in the Castilian tongue, and may compare with the most famous of Italy: reserve them as the richest pawns that Spain enjoyeth of Poetry. The Curate with this grew weary to see so many books, and so

he would have all the rest burned at all adventures. But the Barber ere the Sentence was given had opened by chance one entituled The Tears of Angelica. I would have shed those tears my self, said the Curate, if I had wittingly caused such a book to bee burned; for the Author thereof, was one of the most famous Poets of the World, not only of Spain: And was most happy in the translation of certain Fables of Ovid.

CHAP. VII.

Of the second departure which our good Knight, Don-Quixote, made from his house, to seek Adventures,

WHile they were thus busied, Don-Quixote began to cry aloud, say∣ing, Here, here valourous Knights, here it is needfull that you shew the force of your valiant armes; for the Courtiers begin to bear away the best of the Tourney. The folk repairing to this rumour and noyse, was an occasion, that any farther speech and visitation of the books was omitted; and therefore it is to be suspected, that The Ca••••le•••• and Lyon of Spain, with the acts of the Emperor Charles the fifth, written by Don Luis de Avila, were burned, without being ever seen or heard; and perhaps if the Curate had seen them, they should not have pas'd under so rigorous a sentence. When they all arrived to Don-Quixote his Chamber he was risen already, out of his Bed, and continued still his out-cries, cutting and flashing on every side, being as b••••••dly awake, as if he never had slept. Wherefore, taking him in their arms, they returned him by main force into his Bed, and after he was somewhat quiet and setled, he said turning himself to the Curate, In good sooth Lord Archbishop Turpin, it is a great dishonor to us that are called the twelve Peers, to permit the Knights of the Court to bear thus away the glory of the Tournay without more adoe; seeing that we the Adventures have gained the prize thereof the three formost dayes. Hold your peace good Gossip, quoth the Curate, for fortune may be pleased to change the successe; & what is lost to day, may be wonn again to morrow: Look you to your health for the present; for you seem at least to be very much tyred, if besides, you be not sore wounded. Wounded, no, quoth Don-Quixote! but doubtless I am somewhat bruised: for that Bastard Don Rowland hath beaten me to powder with the stock of an Oake-tree; and all for envy, because he sees that I only dare oppose my self to his valour: But let me be never again called Ray∣nold of Montealban, if he pay not deerly for it, as soon as I rise from this Bed, in despite of all his inchantment. But I pray you call for my breakfast, for I know it will doe me much good, and have the revenge of this wrong to my charge. Presently meat was brought; and after he had eaten he fell a sleep, and they remained astonished at his wonderfull madnesse. That night the old woman burned all the books that she found in the house and yard; and some there were burned, that deserved, for their worthy∣nesse, to be kept up in everlasting Treasuries, if their fortunes and the lazinesse of the Searchers had permitted it. And so the proverb was verrified in them, That the Just payes sometimes for the Sinners. One of the remedies which the Curate and the Bar∣ber prescribed for that present, to help their friends Disease, was, that they should change his Chamber, and dam up his Study, to the end, that when he arose, he might not finde them: for perhaps by removing the cause, they might also take away the effects: And moreover, they bad them to say, that a certain Inchanter had carried them away, studie and all; which device was presently put in practise. And within two dayes after, Don-Quixote got up, and the first thing he did, was to goe and visit his books; and seeing he could not finde the Chamber in the same place where he had left it, hee

went up and down to finde it. Sometimes he came to the place where the door stood, and felt it with his hands, and then would turn his eyes up and down here and there to seek it, without speaking a word. But at last after deliberation, he asked of the old woman, the way to his books? She as one well-schooled before what she should an∣swer, said, What Study? or what nothing is this you look for? There is now no more Study nor books in this house; for the very Divell himself carried all away with him. It was not the Divell, said his Niese, but an Inchanter that came here one night upon a cloud, the day after you departed from hence; and alighting down from a Serpent, upon which he rode, he entred into the study, and what he did therein I know not; and within a while after he fled out at the roof of the house, and left all the house full of smoak: And when we accorded to see what he had done, we could neither see Book or Studie: only this much the old woman. And I doe remember very well, that the naughty old man at his departure said, with a loud voyce, that he for hidden enmity that he bore to the Lord of those books had done all the harme to the house that they might perceive when he were departed, and added that he was named the wise Muni∣aton Frestron, you would have said, quoth Don-Quixote. I know not, quoth the old woman, whether he height Frestron or Friton, but well I wot, that his name ended with Ton. That is true, quoth Don-Quixote, and he is a very wise Inchanter, and my great adversary, and looks on me with a sinister eye; for he knows by his Art and Science, that I shall in time fight a single combat with a Knight, his very great friend, and over∣come him in battell, without being able to be by him assisted, and therefore he labours to doe me all the hurt he may: and I have sent him word, that he strives in vain to divert or shun that, which is by heaven already decreed. Who doubts of that, quoth his Niese? But I pray you good Unkle say; what need have you to thrust your self into these difficulties and brabbles? were it not better to rest you quietly in your own house, then to wander through the world, searching bread of [Buscardo pan de Tra∣strigo p. 47.) blasted corn? without once considering, how many there goe to seek for wooll, that return again shorn themselves. O Niese! quoth Don-Quixote, how ill doest thou understand the matter? before I permit my self to be shorn, I will pill and pluck away the beards of as many as shall dare or imagine to touch but a hair only of me. To these words the woman would make no reply, because they saw his choler increase.

Fifteene dayes he remained quietly at home, without giving any argument of se∣conding his former vanities: in which time past many pleasant encounters betweene him and his two gossips, the Curate and Barber, upon that point which he defended, to wit, that the world needed nothing so much as Knights errant, and that the errati∣call Knighthood ought to be again renewed therein. Master Parson would contradict him sometimes, and other times yeeld unto that he urged; for had they not observed that manner of proceeding, it were impossible to bring him to any conformity. In this space Don-Quixote dealt with a certain labourer his neighbour, an honest man (if the ti∣tle of honesty may be given to the poore) but one of a very shallow wit; in resolution he said so much to him, and perswaded him so earnesty, and made him so large pro∣mises, as the poore fellow determined to goe away with him, and serve him as his Squire. Don-Quixote among many other things bad him to dispose himself willingly to depart with him; for now and then such an adventure might present it self, that in as short space as one would take up a couple of straws, an Island might be won, and he be left as Governor thereof. With these and such like promises Sancho Panca, for so he was called, left his wife and children, and agreed to be his Squire. Afterward Don-Quixote began to cast plots how to come by some money; which he atchieved by selling one thing, pawning another, and turning all up-side down. At last he got a pretty sum, and accommodating himself with a buckler which he had borrowed of a friend, and patching up his broken Beaver again as well he could: he advertised his Squire Sancho of the day and hour wherein he meant to depart, that he might likewise furnish him∣self with that which he thought needfull; but above all things he charged him to pro∣vide himself of a Wallet; which he promised to perform, and said that he meant also

to carry a very good Asse, which he had of his own, because he was not wont to travell much a foot. In that of the Asse Don-Quixote stood a while pensive, calling to minde whether ever he had read, that any Knight Errant carried his Squire Assishly mounted; but he could not remember any authority for it: yet notwithstanding he resolved that he might bring his beast, with intention to accomodate him more honourably, when occasion were offered, by dismounting the first-discourteous Knight they met, from his horse, and giving it to his Squire; he also furnished himself with Shirts, and as many other things as he might, according unto the Inn-keepers advise. All which being fi∣nished, Sancho Panca without bidding his wife and children farewell, or Don-Quixote his Niese and old servant, they both departed one night out of the Village unknown to any person living; and they travelled so farr that night, as they were sure in the morning not to be found, although they were pursued. Sancho Pancha rode on his beast like a Patriark with his Wallet and Bottle, and a marvellous longing to see him∣self Governour of the Island which his master had promised unto him.

Don-Quixote took by chance the same very course and way that he had done in his first voyage through the field of Montiel, wherein he travelled then with lesse vexation then the first; for by reason it was early, and the Sun beams stroke not directly down, but athwart; the heat did not trouble them much. And Sancho Pancha seeing the opor∣tunity good, said to his Master, I pray you have care good Sir Knight, that you forget not that Government of the Island which you have promised me, for I shall be able to Govern it, were it never so great. To which Don-Quixote replyed;

You must un∣derstand friend Sancho Pancha, that it was a custome very much used by ancient Knights Errant, to make their Squires Governours of the Islands and Kingdoms that they conquered; and I am resolved that so good a custome shall never be abolished by me; but rather I will passe and exceed them therein: for they sometimes, and as I take it, did for the greater part expect untill their Squires waxed aged, and after they were cloyed with service, and had suffered many bad dayes and worse nights; then did they bestow upon them some title of an Earl, or at least of a Marquesse of some Valley or Province, of more or lesse account. But if thou livest, and I withall; it may happen, that I may conquer such a Kingdome within six dayes, that hath other King∣domes adherent to it, which would fall out as just as it were cast in a mould for thy purpose, whom I would crown presently King of one of them. And doe not ac∣count this to be any great matter, for things and chances do happen to such Knights Adventurers as I am, by so unexpected and wonderfull wayes and means, as I might give thee very easily, a great deal more then I have promised.

After that manner, said Sancho Pancha, if I were a King through some miracle of those which you say, then should Iean Gutierez my wife become a Queen, and my children Princes. Who doubts of that, said Don-Quixote? That doe I, replyed Sancha Panca; for I am fully per∣swaded, that although God would rain Kingdomes down upon the earth, none of them would sit well on Mary Gutierez her head. For Sir, you must understand that shee's not worth a Dodkin for a Queen. To be a Countesse would agree with her better; and yet I pray God that she be able to discharge that calling. Commend thou the matter to God, quoth Don-Quixote, that he may give her that which is most conveni∣ent for her. But doe not thou abase thy minde so much, as to content thy self with lesse then at the least to be a Vice-Roy. I will not, good Sir, quoth Sancho, especially seeing I have so worthy a Lord and Master as your self, who knows how to give me all that may turn to my benefit, and that I shall be able to discharge in good sort.

CHAP. VIII.

Of the good successe Don-Quixote had, in the dreadfull and never imagined adventure of the Winde-mils, with other acci∣dents worthy to be recorded.

AS thus they discoursed, they discovered some thirty or forty Wind-mils, that are in that field; and as soone as Don- Quixote espied them, hee said to his Squire, Fortuue doth addresse our affaires better then wee our selves could desire; for behold there, friend Sancho Panca, how there appeares thirty or forty monstrous Giants, with whom I mean to fight, and deprive them all of their lives, with whose spoyles wee will begin to bee rich, for this is a good Warre, and a great service unto God, to take away so bad a seede from the face of the Earth. What Giants? quoth Sancho Panca, Those that thou seest there, quoth his Lord, with the long armes, and some there are of that race, whose armes are almost two leagues long, I pray you understand, quoth Sancho Panca, that those which appeare there, are no Giants but Windmills; and that which seemes in them to bee armes, are their Sayles, that are swinged about by the Winde, doe also make the Mill goe. It seemes well, quoth Don-Quixote, that thou art not yet acquainted with matter of Adventures: they are Gi∣ants, and if thou beest afraid, goe aside and pray whilst I enter into cruell and unequall battell with them: And saying so, hee spur'd his horse Rozinante, without taking heed to his Squire Sanchoes cryes, advertising him how they were doubtlesse Windmills that hee did assault, and no Giants; but hee went so fully perswaded that they were Giants as hee neither heard his Squires out-cries, nor did discern what they were, although hee drew very neere to them, but rather said as loud as hee could: Flie not ye Cowards and vile creatures, for it is only one Knight that assaults you. With this the winde in∣creased, and the Mill Sailes began to turne about, which Don-Quixote, espying, said, although thou movedst more armes then the Giant Briares, thou shalt stoope to mee, and after saying this, and commending himself most devoutly to his Lady Dulcinea, de∣siring her to succour him in that trance, covering himself well with his Buckler, and set∣ting his Launce on his rest, hee spurred on Rozinante, and encountred with the first Mill that was before him, and striking his Launce into the Sayle, the wind swinged it about with such furie, that it broke his Launce into shivers, carrying him and his Horse after it, and finally tumbled him a good way off from it on the field in very evill plight. Sancho Panca repayred presently to succour him as fast as his Asse could drive; and when hee arived. hee found him not able to stir, hee had gotten such a crush with Rozi∣nante. Good God, quoth Sancho, did I not foretell unto you that you should looke well what you did, for they were none other then Windmills, nor could any thinke o∣therwise, unlesse hee had also Windmills in his braines. Peace Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote, (for matters of Warre are more subject then any other thing to continuall change; how much more seeing I doe verily perswade my self, that the wise Freston who robbed my Studie and Bookes, hath transformed these Giants into Mills, to de∣prive mee of the glory of the Victory; such is the enmitie hee beares towards mee. But yet in fine, all his bad arts shall but little prevaile against the goodnesse of my Sword. God grant it, as hee may, said Sancho Panca, and then helpt him to arise, and present∣ly hee mounted on Rozinante, who was half shoulder-pitcht [Medio spaldado] by rough encounter; and discoursing upon that Adventure, they followed on the way which guided towards the passage or gate of Lapice (A passage through the Moun∣tains) for there as Don-Quixote avouched, it was not possible but to finde many Ad∣ventures, because it was a through-fare much frequented, and yet hee affirmed that he

went very much grieved because hee wanted a Launce, and telling it to his Squire hee said, I remember how I have read that a certain Spanish Knight, called Diego Peres of Vargas, having broken his Sword in a Battell, tore off a great branch or stock from an Oake tree, and did such marvailes with it that day, and battered so many Moors, as he remained with the surname of Machuca, which signifies a stumpe, and as well hee as all his Progenie were ever after that day called Vargas and Machuca, I tell thee this, because I mean to tear another branch, such, or as good as that at least, from the first Oake, we shall encounter, and I mean to atchieve such Adventures therewithall, as thou wilt account thy self fortunate, for having merited to behold them, and be a witnesse of things almost incredible. In Gods name quoth Sancho, I doe believe every word you said: But I pray you sit right in your saddle; for you ride sideling, which pro∣ceeds, as I suppose, of the bruising you got by your fall. Thou sayest true, quoth Don-Quixote; And if I doe not complain of the grief, the reason is; because Knights Errant use not to complain of any wound, although their guts did issue out thereof. If it be so (quoth Sancho) I know not what to say; but God knows that I would be glad to hear you to complain when any thing grieves you. Of my self I dare affirm, that I must complain of the least grief that I have, if it be not likewise meant that the Squires of Knights Errants must not complain of any harm. Don-Quixote could not refrain laughter, hearing the simplicity of his Squire; and after shewed unto him, that hee might lawfully complain, both when he pleased, and as much as he listed, with desire, or without it; for he had never yet read any thing to the contrary, in the order of Knighthood. Then Sancho said unto him, that it was dinner time: To whom he answered, that he needed no repast; but if he had will to eat, he might begin when hee pleased. Sancho having obteined his licence, did accommodate himself on his Asse back, the best he might, taking out of his Wallet some Belly-munition; he rode after his Master tra∣velling and eating at once, and that with great leisure; and ever and anon he lifted up his bottle with such pleasure as the best fed Victualer of Malaga might envie his state; and whilest he rode multiplying of quaffs in that manner, he never remembred any of the promises his Master had made him; nor did he hold the fetch of Adventures to be a la∣bour, but rather a great recreation and ease, were they never so dangerous. In conclu∣sion they past over that night under certain Trees, from one of which Don-Quixote ••oar a withered branch, which might serve him in some sort for a Launce; and there∣fore he set thereon the iron of his own, which he had reserved when it was broken. All that night Don-Quixote slept not one wink, but thought upon his Lady Dulcinea, that he might conform himself to what he had read in his books of Adventures, when Knights passed over many nights without sleep in forrests and fields only entertained by memory of their Mistrisses. But Sancho spent not his time so vainly; for having his stomack well stuffed, and that not with Succory water, he carried smoothly away the whole night in one sleep: and if his Master had not called him up, neither the Sun∣beams which struck on his visage, nor the melody of the Birds, which were many, and did cheerfully welcome the approach of the new day, could have been able to awake him: At his arriving he gave one assay to the bottle, which he found to be somewhat more weak then it was the night before, whereat his heart was somewhat grieved; for he mistrusted that they took not a course to remedy that defect so soon as he wished: Nor could Don•• Quixote break his fast, who, as we have said, meant only to sustein himself with pleasant remembrances. Then did they return to their commenced way towards the Port of Lapice, which they discovered about three of the clock in the afternoon. Here (said Don-Quixote) as soon as he kend it, may we (friend Sancho) thrust our hands up to the very elbows in that which is called Adventures. But observe well this Caveat which I shall give thee, that although thou seest me in the greatest dangers of the World, thou must not set hand to thy sword in my defence, if thou doest not see that those which assault me be base and vile vulgar people; for in such a case thou mayst assist me. Marry if they be Knights thou may'st not doe so in any wise, nor is it per∣mitted by the laws of arms, that thou may'st help me, untill thou beest likewise dub'd knight thy self. I doe assure you Sir, quoth Sancho, that herein you shall be most pun∣ctually

obeyed: And therefore chiefly, in respect that I am of mine own nature a quiet and peaceable man, and a mortall enemy of thrusting my self into stirrs or quarrells: Yet it is true that touching the defence of mine own person, I will not be altogether so observant of those Laws, seeing that both divine and humane allow every man to defend himself from any one that would wrong him. I say no lesse, answered Don-Quixote, but in this of ayding me against any Knight, thou must set bounds to thy na∣turall impulses. I say I will doe so, quoth Sancho; and I will observe this commande∣ment as punctually, as that of keeping holy the Saboth day.

Whil'st thus they reasoned, there appeared in the way two Monks of S. Benets Or∣der, mounted on two Dromedaries; for the Mules whereon they rode were but little lesse. They wore masks with spectacles in them, to keep away the dust from their faces; and each of them besides boar their Umbrills; after them came a Coach, and four or five a horse-back accompanying it, and two Lacquies that ran hard by it. There came therein, as it was after known, a certain Biscaine Lady, which travelled towards Sivil, where her husband so journed at the present, and was going to the Indies, with an ho∣nourable charge: The Monks rode not with her although they travelled the same way. Scarce had Don-Quixote perceived them, when he said to his Squire; Either I am deceived, or else this will prove the most famous Adventure that ever hath been seen. For these two great black bulk, which appear there, are questionlesse Inchanters that steal, or carry away perforce, some Princesse in that Coach; and therefore I must with all my power undo that wrong. This wil be worse then the adventure of the Wind∣mills, quoth Sancho. Doe not you see Sir, that those are Fryers of S. Benets Order? & the Coach can be none other then of some travellers. Therefore listen to mine advice, and see well what you doe, lest the Devill deceive you. I have said already to thee Sancho, that thou art very ignorant in matter of Adventures. What I say is true, as now thou shalt see. And saying so, he spur'd on his horse, and placed himself just in the mid'st of the way, by which the Fryers came; and when they approached so neer, as he supposed they might hear him, he said with a loud voyce:

Divilish and wicked people, leave present∣ly those high Princesses which you violantly carry away with you in that Coach; or if you will not, prepare your selves to recive suddain death, as a just punishment of your bad works.

The Fryers held their horses, and were amazed both at the shape and words of Don-Quixote. To whom they answered, Sir Knight, we are neither divillish nor wicked, but religious men of S. Benets Order, that travell about our affairs; and wee know not whether or no there comes any Princesses forced in this Coach. With me fair words take no effect, quoth Don-Quixote. For I know you very well treache∣rous knaves; and then, without expecting their reply, he set spurs to Rozinante, and laying his Launce on the thigh, charged the first Fryer with such fury and rage, that if he had not suffered himself willingly to fall off his Mule, he would not only have over∣thrown him against his will; but likewise have slain, or at least wounded him very ill with the blow. The second religious man seeing how ill his companion was used made no words; but seting spurs to that Castell his Mule, did fly away through the field, as swift as the winde it self. Sancho Panca seeing the Monk overthrown, dismounted very speedily off his Asse, and ran over to him, and would have ransackt his habits. In this arrived the Monks two Lacquies, and demanded of him why he thus dispoyled the Fryer? Sancho reply'd, that it was his due by the Law of arms, as lawfull spoyles gained in battell by his Lord Don-Quixote. The Lacquies which understood not the jest, nor knew not what words of battell or spoyles meant, seeing that Don-Quixote was now out of the way speaking with those that came in the Coach, set both at once upon Sancho, and left him not a hair in his beard; but they pluck't, and did so trample him under their feet, as they left him stretched on the ground without either breath or feel∣ing. The Monk cutting off all delayes, mounted again on horse back, all affrighted, having scarce any drop of blood left in his face through fear. And being once up, he spur'd after his fellow, who expected him a good way off, staying to see the successe of that assault; and being unwilling to attend the end of that strange Adventure, they did prosecute their journey, blessing & crossing themselves as if the Divell did pursue them.

Don-Quixote, as is rehearsed, was in this season speaking to the Lady of the Coach, to whom he said,

Your beauty deer Lady, may dispose from henceforth of your person, as best yee liketh; for the pride of your Robbers lyes now prostrated on the ground, by this my invincible arme. And because you may not be troubled to know your de∣liverer his name, know that I am called Don-Quixote de la Mancha; a Knight Errant and Adventurer, and Captive to the Peerlesse and Bautifull Lady Dulcinea of To∣boso: and in reward of the benefit which you have received at my hands, I demand nothing else but that you return to Toboso; and there present your selves in my name before my Lady, and recount unto her, what I have done to obtain your Liberty.

To all these words which Don-Quixote said, a certain Biscaine Squire that accompanied the Coach, gave ear; who seeing that Don-Quixote suffered not the Coach to passe onward, but said that it must presently return back to Toboso, he drew neer to him, and laying hold on his Launce, he said in his bad Spanish and worse Basquish; Get thee away Knight in an ill hour; by the God that created me, if thou leave not the Coach, I will kill thee, as sure as I am a Biscaine. Don-Quixote understanding him, did an∣swer with great staidnesse; If thou wer'st a Knight [Cavallero in Spanish is taken as well for a Gentleman as for a Knight] as thou art not, I would by this have punished thy folly and presumption, crafty creature. The Biscaine replyed with great furie; Not I a Gentleman? I swear God thou lyest, as well as I am a Christian: If thou cast away thy Launce, and draw thy sword, [pag. 58.] thou shalt see the water as soon as thou shalt carrie away the Cat: A Biscaine by Land, and a Gentleman by Sea, a Gentleman in despight of the Devill; and thou lyest if other things thou sayest. Straight thou shalt see that, said Agrages, replyed Don-Quixote; and throwing his Lannce to the ground, he out with his Sword, and took his Buckler, and set on the Biscaine, with re∣solution to kill him. The Biscaine seeing him approach in that manner, although he desired to alight off his Mule, which was not to be trusted, being one of those naughty ones which are wont to be hired, yet had he no leisure to doe any other thing then to draw out his Sword: but it befell him happily to bee neer to the Coach, out of which he snatched a Cushion that served him for a Shield, and presently the one made upon the other like mortall enemies. Those that were present laboured all that they might, but in vain, to compound the matter between them; for the Biscaine swore in his bad Language, that if they hindred him from ending the Battell, he would put his Lady, and all the rest that dared to disturb him to the Sword.

The Lady astonished and fearfull of that which shee beheld, commanded the Coach∣man to goe a little out of the way, and face aloo••e, beholding the rigorous conflict. In the progresse whereof the Biscaine gave Don-Quixote over the Target a mighty blow on one of the shoulders, where if it had not found resistance in his armour, it would doubtlesly have cleft him down to the girdle. Don-Quixote feelling the waight of that unmeasurable blow, cried with a loude voice, saying,

O Dulcinea, Lady of my soule, the flower of all beauty, succour this thy Knight, who to set forth thy worth, findes himself in this dangerous trance.

The saying of these words, the griping fast of his Sword, the covering of himself wel with his Buckler, & the assayling of the Biscaine, was done all in one instant, resolving to venter all the successe of the battell on that one only blow. The Bicaine, who perceived him come in that manner, perceived by his dough∣tinesse his intention, and resolved to doe the like, and therefore expected him very well covered with his Cushion, not being able to manage his Mule as hee wished from one part to another, who was not able to goe a step, it was so wearied, as a beast never be∣fore used to the like toyes. Don-Quixote, as wee have said, came against the weary Bis∣caine, with his Sword lifted a loft, with a full resolution to part him in two, and all the beholders stood with great feare suspended to see the successe of those monstrous blows wherewithall they threatned one another. And the Lady of the Coach with her Gen∣tlewomen made a thousand Vowes and Offerings to all the devoute places of Spain, to the end that God might deliver the Squire and themselves out of that great danger wherein they were.

But it is to bee deplored how in this very point and terme, the Author of this Histo∣ry leaves this Battell depending, excusing himselfe that hee could find no more written of the Acts of Don-Quixote then those which hee hath already recounted. True it is that the second writer of this worke would not beleeve that so curious a History was drowned in the jawes of Oblivion, or that the wits of the Mancha were so little curi∣ous as not to reserve among their Treasuries or Records, some papers treating of this famous Knight; and therefore encouraged by this presumption, hee did not despaire to finde the end of this pleasant History; which Heaven being propicious to him, hee got at last, after the manner that shall bee recounted in the second Part.