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

THE Delightfull History of the most witty Knight DON-QUIXOTE of the Mancha. (Book 3)

The Third Part. (Book 3)

CHAP. I.

Wherein is rehearsed the unfortunate-Adventure hapned to Don-Quixote, by encountring with certaine Yanguesian Car∣riers.

THE wise Cyd Hamete Venengeli recounteth, that as soone as Don-Quixote had taken leave of the Goatheards, his Hostes, the night before, and of all those that were present at the buri∣all of the Sheep-heard Crysostome; hee and his Squire did pre∣sently enter into the same Wood, into which they had seen the beautifull Sheepheardesse Marcela enter before; And having travelled in it about the space of two houres without finding of her, they arived in fine to a pleasant Meadow, inriched with a∣bundance of flourishing grasse, neere unto which runnes a de∣lightfull and refreshing streame, which did invite, yea constraine them thereby to passe over the heat of the day, which did then beginne to enter with great fervor and vehe∣mency. Don-Quixote and Sancho alighted, and leaving the Asse and Rozinante to the spaciousnesse of these Plaines, to feede on the plenty of grasse that was there, they ran∣sackt their Wallet, where without any ceremonie the master and man did eate with good accord and fellowship, what they found therein. Sancho had neglected to tie Ro∣zinante sure, that hee knew him to bee so sober and little wanton, as all the Mares of the Pasture of Cordova could not make him to think the least sinister thought. But For∣tune did ordain, or rather the Devill who sleeps not at all houres, that a Troope of Gali∣cian Mares, belonging to certain Yanguesian Carriers, did feed up and down in the same Valley: which Carriers are wont, with their beasts, to passe over the heates in places situated neere unto grasse and water. And that wherein Don-Quixote hapned to bee, was very fit for their purpose. It therefore befell that Rozinante tooke a certain desire to sollace himself with the Lady Mares, and therefore as soone as hee had smelt them, abandoning his naturall pace and custome, without taking leave of his Master, hee be∣gen a little swift trot, and went to communicate his necessities to them. But they, who as it seemed, had more desire to feede then to sollace them, entertained him with their heeles and teeth, in such sort, as they broke all his gyrts, and left him in his naked hayre, having overthrown the Saddle. But that which surely grieved him most was, that the Carriers perceiving the violence that was offered by him to their Mares, repai∣red

presently to their succours, with clubs and truncheons, and did so belabour him, as they farely laid him along. Now in this season Don-Quixote and Sancho (which be∣held the bombasting of Rozinante) approached breathlesse, and Don-Quixote said to Sancho, for as much as I can perceive friend Sancho these men are no Knights, but base rascally people of vile quality: I say it, because thou mayst help mee to take due re∣venge for the outrage which they have done before our face to Rozinante. What a divel quoth Sancho, what revenge should wee take, if these bee more then twenty, and wee but two, and peradventure but one and a half. I am worth a hundred, replied Don-Quixote, and without making any longer discourse, hee set hand to his sword, and flew upon the Yanguesians, and Sancho Panca moved by his Lords example did the like: when with the first blow Don-Quixote piercing a buffe coate that one of them wore, wounded him grievously in the shoulder. The Yanguesians seeing themselves so rudely handled by two men only, they being so many, ran to the stakes and truncheons of their Carriage, and hemming in their Adversaries in the midst of them. they laid on them with admirable speede and vehemency. True it is that at the second Peale they struck Sancho downe to the ground, and the like hapned to Don-Quixote, his dexterity and courage being nothing availeable in that traunce; and his fate so ordayning hee fell just at his Coursers feete, who had not yet gotten up; by which wee may ponder the fury wherewithall truncheons batter, being placed in wrathfull and rusticall fists. The Carriers perceiving the evill they had committed, trussing up their loading with all possible speede, followed on their way, leaving both the Adventurers in a bad fashion, and a worse talent. The first that came to himself was Sancho Panca, who seeing his Lord neere unto him, said with a weake and pittifull voice, Sir Don-Quixote! O Sir Don-Quixote! what wouldst thou have brother Sancho, replied the Knight, with the like efeminate and dolefull tune? I would, quoth Sancho have of your worship, a draught or two of the liquor of Feoblas, if you have any of it at hand, perhaps it is good to cure broken bones, as well as it helps wounds, What would wee want, unhappy that I am replied Don-Quixote, if I had it here, but I sweare unto these Sancho Panca, by the faith of a Knight errant, that before two daies passe (if fortune dispose not otherwise) I will have it in my power, or it shall hardly escape my hands. I pray you, quoth San∣cho, within how many dayes think you shall wee bee able to stirre our feete? I can say of my selfe, quoth the crushed Knight, that I cannot set a certain term to the dayes of our recovery, but I am in the fault of all; for I should not have drawn my Sword a∣gainst men that are not Knights, as well as I am, and therefore I beleeve that the God of Battels hath permitted that this punishment should bee given unto mee, in paine of transgressing the lawes of Knighthood. Wherefore brother Sancho, it is requisite that thou beest advertized of that which I shall say unto thee now, for it importeth both our goods very much, and is, that when thou beholdest that the like rascally Rabble doe us any wrong, doe not wait till I set hand to my Sword against them; for I will not doe it in any sort: But draw thou thine and chastise them at thy pleasure; and if any Knights shall come to their assistance and succour, I shall know then how to defend thee, and offend them with all my force, for thou hast by this perceived by a thousand signes and experiences, how far the valour of this mine invincible Arme extendeth it self (so arrogant remained the poore Knight, through the victory hee had gotten of the hardy Biscaine.) But this advice of his Lord seemed not so good to Sancho Panca, as that hee would omit to answere unto him, saying, Sir, I am a peaceable, quiet and so∣ber man, and can dissemble any injury, for I have wife and children to maintaine and bring up; wherefore let this likewise bee an advice to you (seeing it cannot be a com∣mandement) that I will not set hand to my Sword in any wise, bee it against Clowne or Knight; and that from this time forward, I doe pardon, before God, all the wrongs that they have done, or shall doe unto mee, whether they were, bee, or shall bee done by high or low person, rich or poore, Gentleman or Churle, without excep∣ting any state or condition. Which being heard by his Lord, hee said; I could wish to have breath enough, that I might answere thee with a little more case, or that the griefe which I feele in this rib were asswaged ever so little, that I might Panca make thee un∣derstand

the errour wherein thou art. Come here poor fool, if the gale of fortune hi∣therto so contrarie, doe turn in our favour swelling the sayles of our desire in such sort as we may securely and without any hindrance arrive at the Haven of any of those Islands, which I have promised unto thee; what would become of thee, if I conquering it, did make thee Lord thereof, seeing thou wouldest disable thy self in respect thou are not a Knight, nor desirest to be one, nor wouldest have valour or will to revenge thine injuries, or to defend thy Lordships? For thou must understand, that in the King∣domes and Provinces newly conquered, the minds of the Inhabitants are never so throughly appeased or weded to the affection of their new Lord, that it is not to be feared, that they will worke some noveltie to alter things again, and turn, as men say, afresh to trie Fortune. And it is therefore requisite that the new possessor have under∣standing to Govern, and valour to offend, and defend himself in any Adventure what∣soever. In this last that hath befaln us, quoth Sancho, I would I had ••ad that under∣standing and valour of which you speak; but I vow unto you, by the faith of a poor man, that I am now fitter for plaisters then discourses. I pray you try whether you can arise, and we will help Rozinante, although he deserves it not; for he was the prin∣cipall cause of all these troubles; I would never have believed the like before of Rozi∣nante, whom, I ever held to be as chaste and peaceable a person as my self. In fine, they say well, that one must have a long time to come to the knowledge of bodies; and that there's nothing in this life secure.

Who durst affirm that after those mightie blows which you gave to that unfortunate Knight Errant, would succeede so in poste, and as it were in your pursuit this so furious a tempest of staves, that hath discharged it on our shoulders? Thine Sancho, replyed Don-Quixote, are perhaps accustomed to bear the like showers, but mine nursed be∣tween [Sinabafa••] Cottens and Hollands; it is most evident that they must feel the grief of this disgrace. And were it not that I imagine, (but why doe I say imagine?) I know certainly that all these incommodities are annex'd to the exercise of Armes, I would here dye for very wrath and displeasure. To this the Squire answered, Sir, seeing these disgraces are of the [Cosecha] essence of Knighthood, I pray you whether they succeed very often, or whether they have certain times limited wherein they befall? For me thinks within two Adventures more, we shall wholly remain dis••••abled for the third, if the Gods in mercy doe not succour us. Know friend Sancho, replyed Don-Quixote, That the life of Knights Errant is subject to a thousand dangers and misfortunes: And it is also as well in the next degree and power to make them Kings and Emperours, as experience hath shewn in sundry Knights, of whose Histories I have intire notice. And I could recount unto thee now (did the pain I suffer permit me) of some of them which have mounted to those high degrees which I have said, only by the valour of their Arm. And the very same men found them both before and after, in divers miseries and calamities. For the valorus Amadis of Gaule saw himself in the power of his mortall enemie Arcalaus the Inchanter, of whom the opinion runs infallible, that he gave unto him, being his prisoner, more then two hundred stripes with his horse bridle, after he had tyed him to a pillar in his base-Court. And there is moreover a secret Authour of no little credit, who sayes, That the Cavalier del Febo, being taken in a Gin, like unto a snatch, that slipt under his feet in a certain Castle, after the fall found himself in a deep Dungeon under the earth, bound hands and feet; and there they gave unto him a Glister of Snow-water and Sand, which brought him almost to the end of his life; And were it not that he was succoured in that great distresse, by a wise man his very great friend, it had gone ill with the poor Knight. So that I may very well passe among so many worthy persons; for the dangers and disgraces they suffered were greater then those which we doe now indure. For, Sancho, I would have thee to understand, That these wounds which are given to one, with those instruments that are in ones hand, by chance, doe not disgrace a man: And it is written in the Laws of single combat, in expresse terms, That if the Shoe-maker strike another with the Last which he hath in his hand, although it be certainly of wood; yet cannot it be said, That he who was stricken, had the Bastanado. I say this, to the end thou may'st not think,

although we remain bruised in this last conflict, that therefore we be disgraced; for the armes which those men bore, and wherewithall they laboured us, were none other then their pack-staves, and as far as I can remember, never a one of them had a tuck, sword or dagger. They gave mee no leisure, answered Sancho, to looke to them so neerely, for scarce had I laid hand on my Trunchant, when they blist my shoulders with their Pines, in such sort as they wholly deprived mee of my sight and the force of my feet to∣gether, striking mee down on the place where I yet lie straught, and where the pain of the disgrace received by our Cudgeling doth not so much pinch mee, as the grief of the blowes, which shall remaine as deeply imprinted in my memorie as they doe in my back. For all this thou shalt understand brother Panca, replied Don-Quixote, that there is no remembrance which time will not end, nor grief which death will not consume. What greater misfortune quoth Sancho can there bee then that which only expecteth time and death to end and consume it? If this our disgrace were of that kinde which might bee cured by a payre or two of Playsters, it would not bee so evill; but I begin to per∣ceive that all the salves of an Hospitall will not suffice to bring them to any good terms. Leave off Sancho, and gather strength out of weakenesse, said Don-Quixote, for so will I likewise doe, and let us see how doth Rozinante; for mee thinks that the lest part of this mishap hath not faln to his lot: You ought not to marvell at that, quoth San∣cho, seeing hee is likewise a Knight errant; that whereat I wonder is that mine Asse re∣maines there without payment, where wee are come away without Ribs. Fortune leaves alwaies one dore open in disasters, quoth Don-Quixote, whereby to remedie them. I say it, because that little beast may supply Rozinanties want, by carrying of mee from hence unto some Castle, wherein I may bee cured of my wounds. Nor doe I hold this kinde of riding dishonourable; for I remember to have read that the good old Silenus tutor of the merry God of laughter, when hee entred into the Citie of the hundred gates, rode very fairly mounted on a goodly Asse. It is like, quoth Sancho, that hee rode as you say upon an Asse; but there is great difference betwixt riding and being cast athwart upon one like a Sack of rubbish. To this Don-Quixote answered, The wounds that are received in Battell, doe rather give honour then deprive men of it. Wherefore friend Panca doe not reply any more unto mee, but as I have said, arise as well as thou canst, and lay mee as thou pleasest upon thy beast, and let us depart from hence before the night overtake us in these Desarts. Yet I have heard you say, quoth Panca, that it was an ordinary custome of Knights errant to sleepe in Downes and De∣sarts the most of the yeere, and that so to doe they hold for very good hap. That is, said Don-Quixote, when they have none other shift, or when they are in Love; and this is so true as that there hath been a Knight that hath dwelt on a Rock, exposed to the Sunne, and the Shadow, and other annoyances of Heaven, for the space of two yeeres, without his Ladies knowledge, and Amadis was one of that kind, when calling him∣self Beltinebros hee dwelt in the Poore Rock•• nor doe I know punctually eight yeeres or eight moneths, for I doe not remember the History well; let it suffice that there hee dwelt doing of penance, for some disgust which I know not, that his Lady Oriana did him. But leaving that apart Sancho, dispatch and away before some other disgrace happen, like that of Rozinante to the Asse. Even there lurks the Devill, quoth Sancho, and so breathing thirty sobs, and threescore sighes, and a hundred and twenty discon∣tents and execrations against him that had brought him there, hee arose, remayning bended in the midst of the way, like unto a Turkish bow, without being able to ad∣dresse himself; and notwithstanding all this difficulty, hee harnessed his Asse (who had been also somwhat distracted by the overmuch liberty of that day) and after he hoysted up Rozinante, who were he endowed with a tongue to complain, would certainly have borne his Lord and Sancho companie. In the end Sancho laid Don-Quixote on the Asse, and tied Rozinante unto him, and leading the Asse by the halter, travelled that way which hee deemed might conduct him soonest toward the high way. And fortune which guided his affaires from good to better, after hee had travelled a little league, discovered it unto him, neere unto which hee saw an Inne, which in despight of him, and for Don-Quixotes pleasure must needes bee a Castle, Sancho contended that it was

an Inne, and his Lord that it was not; and their controversie indured so long, as they had leisure before they could decide it to arive at the lodging; into which Sancho with∣out farther verifying of the dispute, entred with all his loading.

CHAP. II.

Of that which hapned unto the ingenuous Knight, within the Inn, which hee supposed to bee a Castle.

THe Inn-keeper seeing Don-Quixote laid overthwart upon the Asse, de∣manded of Sancho what disease he had? Sancho answered, that it was nothing but a fall down from a Rock, and that his Ribs were thereby somewhat bruised. This Inn-keeper had a wife, not of the condi∣tion that those of that trade are wont to be; for she was of a cha∣ritable nature, and would grieve at the calamities of her neighbours, and did therefore presently occur to cure Don-Quixote, causing her daughter, a very comely young maiden, to assist her to cure her Guest. There like∣wise served in the Inn an Asturian wench, who was broad-faced, flat-pated, sadle∣nosed, blinde of one eye, and the other almost out, true it is, that the comelinesse of her body supplied all the other defects: She was not seven palmes long from her feet unto her head; and her shoulders, which did somewhat burden her, made her look oftner to the ground then she would willingly. This beautifull piece did assist the young maiden and both of them made a very bad bed for Don-Quixote in an old wide chamber, which gave manifest tokens of it self, that it had sometimes served many yeers only to keep chopt straw for horses: in which was also lodged a Carrier, whose bed was made a little way off from Don-Quixotes, which though it was made of Can∣vasse, and coverings of his Mules, was much better then the Knights, that only con∣tained four boards roughly plained, placed on two unequall tressels; A flock-Bed, which in the thinnest seemed rather a Quilt, full of pellets; and had not they shewn that they were wooll, through certain breaches made by antiquity on the Tick, a man would by the hardnesse rather take them to be stones; a pair of sheets made of the skins of Targets; a coverlet, whose threds if a man would number, he should not lose one only of the account.

In this ungracious bed did Don-Quixote lie, and presently the Hostesse and her daughter anoint him all over, and Maritornes (for so the Asturian wench was called) did hold the candle. The Hostesse at the plaistring of him, perceiving him to be so bruised in Sundry places, she said unto him, that those signes rather seemed to pro∣ceed of blows then of a fall. They were not blows, replied Sancho, but the Rock had many sharp ends and knobs on it, whereof every one left behinde it a token; And I desire you good Mistrisse, quoth he, to leave some flax behinde, and there shall not want one that needeth the use of them; for I assure you my back doth likewise ake. If that be so, quoth the Hostesse, it is likely that thou didest also fall. I did not fall, quoth Sancho Panca, but with the suddain affright that I took at my Masters fall, my body doth so grieve me, as me thinks I have been handsomely belaboured. It may well happen as thou saiest, quoth the Hostesses daughter; for it hath befaln me sundry times to dream, that I fell down from some high Tower, and could never come to the ground; and when I awaked, I did finde my self so troubled and broken, as if I had verify faln. There is the point Masters, quoth Sancho Panca, that I without dreaming at all; but being more awake then I am at this hour, found my self to have very few lesse tokens and marks then my Lord Don-Quixote hath. How is this Gentleman

called? quoth Maritornes the Asturian. Don-Quixote of the Mancha, replyed Sancho Panca, and he is a Knight Errant, and one of the best and strongest that have been seen in the world these many ages. What is that, a Knight Errant? quoth the wench. Art thou so young in the world, that thou knowest it not? answered Sancho Panca. Know then sister mine, that a Knight Errant is a thing, which in two words you see well cudgelled, and after becomes an Emperour. To day he is the most un∣fortunate creature of the world, and the most needy; and to morrow he will have two or three Crowns of Kingdoms to bestow upon his Squire. If it be so, quoth the Hostesse; why then hast not thou gotten at least an Earldome, seeing thou art this good Knight his Squire? It is yet too soon, replyed Sancho; for it is but a moneth sithence we began first to seek Adventures; and we have not yet encountred any worthy of the name. And sometimes it befalls, that searching for one thing we encounter another. True it is, that if my Lord Don-Quixote recover of this wound or fall, and that I be not changed by it, I would not make an exchange of my hopes for the best title of Spain. Don-Quixote did very attentively listen unto all these discourses, and siting up in his Bed, as well as he could, taking his Hostesse by the hand; he said unto her:

Believe me, beautifull Lady, that you may count your self fortunate, for having harboured my person in this your Castle, which is such, that if I doe not praise it; it is because men say, that proper praise stinks; but my Squire will inform you what I am: only this I will say my self, That I will keep eternally written in my memory the service that you have done unto me, to be gratefull unto you for it whilest I live. And I would it might please the highest Heavens that Love held me not so enthral'd and sub∣ject to his Laws as he doth, and to the eyes of that ingratefull fair, whose name I se∣cretly mutter, then should those of this beautifull Damzell presently signiorize my Libertie.

The Hostesse, her daughter, and the good Maritornes remained con∣founded, hearing the Speech of our Knight Errant, which they understood as well as if he spoken Greek unto them; but yet they conceived that they were words of complements and Love, and as people unused to hear the like language, they beheld and admired him, and he seemed unto them a man of the other world; and so return∣ing him thanks with Tavernly phrase for his large offers, they departed. And the Asturian Maritornes cured Sancho, who needed her help no lesse then his Ma∣ster.

The Carrier and shee had agreed to passe the night together, and she had given unto him her word, that when the Guests were quiet and her Master sleeping, she would come unto him and satisfie his desire, as much as he pleased. And it is said of this good wench, that she never passed the like promise, but that she performed it, although it were given in the mid'st of a wood, and without any witnesse; for she presumed to be of gentle blood; and yet she held it no disgrace to serve in an Inn; for she was wont to affirm, that disgraces and misfortunes brought her to that state. The hard, narrow, niggard, and counterfeit Bed, whereon Don-Quixote lay, was the first of the four, and next unto it was his Squires, that only conteined a Mat and a Coverlet, and rather seemed to be of shorn Canvasse then Wooll: After these two Beds followed that of the Carrier, made, as we have said, of the Pannels and Furniture of two of his best Mules, although they were twelve all in number, fair, fat, and goodly beasts; for he was one of the richest Carriers of Arevalo, as the Authour of this History affirmeth, who maketh particular mention of him, because he knew him very well, [Here the Au∣thour taxeth some one cunningly to be descended of a Moorish race] and besides some men say, that he was somewhat a kinn unto him. Omitting that Cid Mahamat Be∣nengeli was a very exact Historiographer, and most curious in all things, as may be gathered very well, seeing that those which are related being so minute and triviall, he would not overslip them in silence.

By which those grave Historiographers may take example, which recount unto us matters so short and succinctly, as they doe scarce arrive to our knowledge, leaving the most substantiall part of the works drowned in the Inkhorne, either through neg∣ligence, malice, or ignorance. Many good fortunes beside the Authour of Tablante de

Ricam••nte, and him that wrote the booke wherein are rehearsed the Acts of the Count Tomillas, Lord with what precisenesse doe they describe every circumstance? to con∣clude, I say, that after the Carrier had visited his Mules, and given unto them their se∣cond refreshing, hee stretched himselfe in his Coverlets, and expected the coming of the most exquisite Maritornes. Sancho was also, by this, plaistred and laid downe in his bed, and though hee desired to sleepe, yet would not the grief of his ribs permit him. And Don-Quixote with the paine of his sides, lay with both his eyes open, like a Hare. All the Inne was drowned in silence, and there was no other light in it then that of a Lampe, which hung lighted in the midst of the entry. This marvailous quietnesse and the thoughts which alwaies represented to our Knight the memory of the successes which at every pace are recounted in books of Knighthood (the principall Authors of this mishap) called to his imagination one of the strangest follies that easily may bee conjectured; which was, hee imagined that hee arived to a famous Castle (for as wee have said, all the Innes wherein hee lodged seemed unto him to bee such) and that the Inkeepers daughter (daughter to the Lord of the Castle) who, overcome by his comli∣nesse and valour, was enamoured of him, and had promised that shee would come to solace with him for a good space, after her Father and Mother had gone to bed. And holding all this chymera and fiction, which hee himself had built in his brain, for most firm and certain, he began to be vexed in minde, and to think on the dangerous trance, wherein his honesty was like to fall, and did firmly purpose in heart not to commit any disloyalty against his Lady Dulcinea of Toboso, although very Queen Genever, with her Lady Queintanonina, should come to sollicite him. Whilst thus he lay thinking of these follies, the houre approached (that was unluckie for him) wherein the Austurian wench should come, who entred into the chamber in search of her Carrier, in her smock, bare∣footed, & her hair trust up in a coif of sustain, with soft & wairy steps. But she was scarce come to the door, when Don-Quixote felt her, and arising and siting up in his bed, in de∣spight of his plaisters, [Bismas] & with great grief of his ribs, he stretched forth his arms to receive his beautifull Damzell, the Austurian, who crouching, and silently went gro∣ping with her hands to finde out her sweet heart, and incountred with Don-Quixote's armes, who presently seized very strongly upon one of her wrists, and drawing her to∣wards him (shee daring not to speak a word) hee caused her to sit upon his beds side, and presently groped her smock, and although it was of [Harpiller] the strongest Can∣vase, hee thought it was most subtle and fine Holland. Shee wore on her wrists certain bracelets of glasse, which hee esteemed to bee precious, orientall-pearles. Her haire which was almost as rough as a horse taile, hee held to bee wires of the glistringest gold of Arabia, whose brightnesse did obscure that of the Sunne. And her breath which certainly smelled like to stale salt fish, reserved from over night, seemed unto him to have a most redolent, aromaticall and sweet smell; and finally hee painted her in his phantasie of the same very form and manner as hee had read in his bookes of Knight∣hood; of a certain Princesse which came to visit a Knight who was grievously wounded, being overcome by his love, embellished with all the ornaments that here wee have re∣counted; and the blindnesse of this poore Gallant was such, as neither the touching, savour or other things that accompanied the good Damzell could undeceive him, being such as were able to make any other, save a Carrier, vomet up his bowels; but rather hee made full acount that hee held the Goddesse of Love between his armes, and hold∣ing her still very fast, hee began to court her with a low and amorous voice in this man∣ner.

I could wish to finde my self in termes, most high, and beautifull Lady, to be a∣ble to recompence so great a favour, as that which with the presence of your match∣lesse feature you have shewn unto mee: but fortune (who is never weary of perse∣cuting the good) hath pleased to lay mee in this bed, wherein I lie so broken and brui∣sed, that although I were desirous to satisfie your will, yet is it impossible; especial∣ly seeing to that impossibility may bee added a greater, to wit, the promised Faith which I have given to the unmatchable Dulcinea of Toboso, the only Lady of my most hidden thoughts; for did not this let mee, doe not hold mee to bee so senslesse and madde a Knight as to overslip so fortunate an occasion as this, which your bounty

hath offered to mee,

Maritornes remained sweating through anxiety, to see her self held so fast by Don-Quixote, and without eyther understanding, or giving attention to his words, shee laboured all that shee could to free her self from him without speak∣ing a word. The Carrier, whose bad intention kept him still waking, did feare his La∣dy from the time that shee first entred into the roome, and did attentively give eare to all Don-Quixotes discourses, and jealous that the Asturian should break promise with him, for any other, hee drew neerer unto Don-Quixotes bed, and stood quiet to see whereunto those words which hee could not understand tended; But viewing that the wench strived to depart, and Don-Quixote laboured to with-hold her, the jest seeming evill unto him, hee up with his arme, and discharged so terrible a blow on the enamou∣red Knights jawes, as hee bathed all his mouth in blood, and not content here withall, hee mounted upon the Knight, and did tread on his ribs, and passed them all over with more then a trot.

The Bed which was somwhat [Endeble] weake, and not very firme of foundation, being unable to suffer the addition of the Carrier, fell downe to the ground, with so great a noise, as it waked the Inkeeper; who presently suspecting that it was one of Maritornes conflicts, because shee answered him not, having called her lowdly, hee forthwith arose and, lighting of a Lamp, hee went towards the place where hee heard the noyse. The Wench, perceiving that her Master came, and that hee was extreme cholericke, did, all ashamed and troubled, run into Sancho Pancaes bed, who slept all this while very soundly, and there crouched, and made her selfe as little as an Eg.

Her Master entred, crying, Whore where art thou? I dare warrant that these are some of thy doings. By this Sancho awaked, and feeling that bulk lying almost wholly upon him, he thought it was the night Mare, and began to lay with his fists here and there about him very swiftly and among others wraught Maritornes I know not how many blows; who grieved for the pain she indured there, casting all honesty aside, gave Sancho the exchange of his blows so trimly, as she made him to awake in despight of his sluggishnesse. And finding himself to be so abused of an uncouth person, whom he could not behold, he arose and caught hold of Maritornes as well as he could, and they both began the best fight and pleasantest skirmish of the world.

The Carrier perceiving by the light which the Inn-keeper brought in with him, the lamentable state of his Mistrisse, abandoning Don-Quixote, he instantly repaired to give her the succour that was requisite, which likewise the Inn-keeper did, but with another meaning; for he approached with intention to punish the wench, beleeving that shee was infallibly the cause of all that harmony: And so as men say, the Cat to the Rat, the Rat to the Cord, the Cord to the Poste: So the Carrier struck Sancho, Sancho the wench, she returned him again his liberality with interest, and the In-keeper laid load upon his maid also: And all of them did mince it with such expedition, as there was no leisure at all allowed to any one of them for breathing. And the best of all was, that the Inn-keepers lamp went out, and then finding themselves in darknesse they belaboured one another so without compassion, and at once, as wheresoever the blow fell, it bruised the place pittifully.

There lodged by chance that night in the Inn one of the Squadron of these, which are called of the old Holy Brotherhood of Toledo [The Holy Brotherhood, or the Sancta Hermandad, are a certain number of men, whose chief office is to free the High-way from Robbers] he likewise hearing the wonderfull noyse of the fight, laid hand on his Rod of Office, and the tinn box of his Titles, and entred into the chamber without light, saying, Stand still to the Officer of Justice, and to the Holy Brotherhood. And saying so, the first whom he met, was the poor battered Don-Quixote, who lay over∣thrown in his Bed, stretched, with his face upward without any felling, and taking hold of his beard, he cryed out incessantly, Help the Justice. But seeing that he whom he held fast, bowed neither hand or foot, he presently thought that he was dead, and that those battaillants that fought so eagerly in the Room, had slain him; wherefore he lifted his voyce and cryed out loudly, saying, Shut the Inn door, and see that none escape; for here they have kil'd a man. This word Astonished all the Combattants so

much, as every one left the Battail in the very terms, wherein this voyce had overtaken them. The Inn-keeper retyred himself to his Chamber, the Carrier to his Coverlets, the Wench to her Couch, and only the unfortunate Don-Quixote and Sancho were not able to move themselves from the place wherein they lay. The Officer of the Ho∣ly Brotherhood in this space letting slip poor Don-Quixotes beard, went out for light, to search and apprehend the Delinquents; but he could not finde any: For the Inn-keeper had purposely quenched the Lamp, as he retyred to his Bed, wherefore the Offi∣cer was constrained to repair to the chimney, where with great difficulty, after he had spent a long while doing of it, he at last lighted a Candle.

CHAP. III.

Wherein are rehearsed the innumerable Misfortunes which Don-Quixote and his good Squire Sancho suffered in the Inn, which hee, to his harm, thought to be a Castle.

BY this time Don-Quixote was come to himself again, out of his Trance, and with the like lamentable note, as that wherewithall he had called his Squire the day before, when he was overthrown in the vale of the Pack-staves, he called to him, saying, Friend Sancho, art thou a sleep? sleepest thou friend Sancho? What, I a sleep? I renounce my self, quoth Sancho, full of grief and despight, if I think not all the Devills in Hell have been visiting of me here this night •• Thou mayest certainly believe it, replyed Don-Quixote; for either I know very little, or else this Castle is Inchanted. For I let thee to wit; but thou must first swear to keep secret that which I mean to tell thee now, untill after my death. So I swear, quoth Sancho. I say it, quoth Don-Quixote, because I cannot abide to take away any bodies honour. Why, quoth Sancho again, I swear that I will conceale it untill after your Worships dayes; and I pray God that I may discover it to morrow. Have I wrought thee such harm Sancho, replyed the Knight, as thou wouldest desire to see me end so soon? It is not for that Sir, quoth Sancho; but because I cannot abide to keep things long, lest they should rott in my custody.

Let it be for what thou pleasest, said Don-Quixote; for I doe trust greater matters then that to thy love and courtesie. And that I may rehearse it unto thee briefly, know, that a little while since, the Lord of this Castles daughter came unto me, who is the most fair and beautifull Damzell that can be found in a great part of the earth; what could I say unto thee of the orna∣ments of her person? what of her excellent wit? what of other secret things? which that I may preserve the faith due unto my Lady Dulcinea of Toboso, I passe over in silence. I will only tell thee, that Heaven envious of the inestimable good that fortune had put in my hands: Or perhaps (and that is most probable) this Castle, as I have said, is Inchanted; just at the time when we were in most sweet and amorous speech, I being not able to see or know from whence it came, there arrived a hand joyned to the arm of some mighty Gyant, and gave me such a blow on the jawes, as they remain all bathed in blood; and did after so thump and bruise me, as I feel my self worse now, then yesterday, when the Carriers, through Rozinantes madnesse, did use us thou knowest how! By which I conjecture, that the treasure of this Damzels beauty is kept by some Inchanted Moor, and is not reserved for me.

Nor for me, quoth Sancho; for I have been bumbasted by more then four hundred Moors, which have hammer need in such sort, as the bruising of the Pack-staves was gilded bread and spice cakes in comparison of it: But Sir, I pray you tell me; How can you call this

a good and rare Adventure, seeing we remain so pittifully used after it? And yet your harms may be accounted lesse, in respect you have held, as you said, that incomparable beauty between your arms: But I, what have I had other then the greatest blows that I shall ever have in my life? Unfortunate that I am, and the Mother that bare me, that neither am a errant Knight, nor ever means to be any, and yet the greatest part of our mishaps still falls to my lot! It seems that thou wast likewise beaten, replyed Don-Quixote. Evill befall my linage, quoth Sancho; have not I told you I was? Be not grieved Friend, replyed the Knight; for I will now compound the precious Balsamum, which will cure us in the twinkling of an eye.

The Officer having by this time alighted his Lamp, entred into the Room to see him whom he accounted to be dead; and as soon as Sancho saw him, seeing him come in in his shirt, his head lapt up in a kerchiff, the lamp in his hand, having withall a very evill-favoured countenance, he demanded of his Lord: Sir, is this by chance the In∣chanted Moor, that turns anew to torment us, for somewhat that is yet unpunished? He cannot be the Moor, answered Don-Quixote; for Nigromancers suffer not them∣selves to be seen by any. If they suffer not themselves to be seen, quoth Sancho, they suffer themselves at least to be felt; if not, let my shoulders bear witnesse. So might mine also, said Don-Quixote; but notwithstanding this is no sufficient argument to prove him, whom wee see to be the inchanted Moor: As thus they discoursed the Officer arrived, and finding them to commune in so peaceable and quiet manner, he rested admired. Yet Don-Quixote lay with his face upward as he had left him, and was not able to stir himself, he was so beaten and beplaistered. The Officer approach∣ing, demanded of him; Well how doest thou good fellow? I would speak more man∣nerly, quoth Don-Quixote, if I were but such a one as thou art: Is it the custome of this Countrey, you Bottle-head, to talk after so rude a manner to Knights Errant? The other impatient to see one of so vile presence, use him with that bad language, could not indure it; but lifting up the Lamp, oyle and all, gave Don-Quixote such a blow on the pate with it, as he broak his head in one or two places, and leaving all in darknesse behinde him, departed presently out of the chamber. Without doubt (quoth Sancho, seeing this accident) Sir that was the inchanted Moor; and I think he keepeth the treasure for others, and reserveth only for us fists and Lamp-blows. It is as thou sayest, quoth Don-Quixote; and therefore we are not to make account of these in∣chantments, or be worth and angry at them; for in respect they are invisible and fan∣tasticall, wee shall not finde him on whom we may take revenge, though we labour ever so much to doe it. Arise therefore, Sancho, if thou beest able, and call to the Constable of this Fortresse, and procure me some Oyle, Wine, Salt, and Vinegar, that I make the wholsome Balsamum; for verily I believe that I doe need it very much at this time, the blood runneth so fast out of the wound which the Spirit gave me even now. Sancho then got up with grief enough of his bones, and went without light to∣wards the Inn-keepers, and encountred on the way the Officer of the Holy Brother∣hood who stood hearkning what did become of his enemy; to whom he said; Sir, whosoever thou beest, I desire thee, doe us the favour and benefit to give me a little Rosemary, Oyle, Wine, and Salt, to cure one of the best Knights Errant that is in the earth, who lyeth now in that Bed, sorely wounded by the hands of an inchanted Moor that is in this Inn. When the Officer heard him speak in that manner, he held him to be out of his wits; and because the dawning began, he opened the Inn door, and told unto the Host that which Sancho demanded. The Inn-keeper presently provided all that he wanted, and Sancho carried it to his Master, who h••ld his head between both his hands, and complained much of the grief that the blow of his head caused, which did him no other hurt then to raise up two blisters somewhat great, and that which he supposed to be blood, was only the humor which the anxiety and labour of minde he past in this last dark Adventure, had made him to sweat.

In resolution Don-Quixote took his Simples, of which he made a compound, mixing them all together, and then boyling of them a good while, untill they came (as he thought) to their perfection; he asked for a Violl wherein he might lay this precious

liquor, but the Inn being unable to afford him any such, hee resolved at last to put it into [Hosa de lata] a tinne oyle-pot, which the Host did freely give him, and forth∣with hee said over the pot eighty pater nosters, and as many Aves, Salves and Creeds, and accompanied every word with a Crosse, in forme of Benediction, at all which Ceremonies Sancho, the Inne-keeper, and the Officer of the holy-Brotherhood were present, for the Carrier went very soberly to dresse and make ready his Mules.

The liquor being made, hee himselfe would presently make experience of the virtue of that precious Balsamum, as hee did imagine it to bee, and so did drinke a good draught of the overplus that could not enter into his pot, being a quart or thereabouts; and scarce had hee done it when hee began to vomit so extremly, as hee left nothing un∣cast up in his stomack, and through the paine and agitation caused by his vomits, he fell into a very abundant and great sweat, and therefore commanded himselfe to bee well covered, and left alone to take his case. Which was done forthwith, and hee slept three houres, and then awaking found himselfe so wonderfully eased, and free from all brui∣sing and paine, as hee doubted not but that hee was throughtly whole; and therefore did verily perswade himself, that hee had hapned on the right manner of compounding the Balsamum of Fierabras: and that having that Medicine, hee might boldly from thenceforth, undertake any ruines, battailes, conflicts or adventures, how dangerous soever.

Sancho Panca, who likewise attributed the suddain cure of his Master to Miracle, re∣quested that it would please him to give him leave to sup up the remainder of the Balsa∣mum which rested in the kettle, and was no small quantity; which Don-Quixote grant∣ed, and hee lifting it up between both hands, did with a good faith, and better talent, quaff it off all, being little lesse then his Master had dranke. The successe then of the History is, that poore Sanchoes stomack was not so delicate as his Lords, wherefore be∣fore hee could cast hee was tormented with so many cruell pangs, loathings, sweats and dismayes, as hee did verily perswade himself that his last houre was come; and percei∣ving himself to bee so afflicted and troubled, hee cursed the Balsamum, and the theefe which had given it to him. Don-Quixote seeing of him in that pittifull taking, said, I beleeve Sancho, all this evill befalleth thee because thou art not dubbed Knight; for I perswade my selfe, that this liquor cannot helpe any one that is not. If your worship knew that, quoth Sancho, (evill befall me and all my linage) why did you therfore consent that I should taste it?

In this time the drench had made his operation, and the poore Squire did so swift and vehemently discharge himself by both channels; as neither his ma••, or canvase co∣vering could serve after to any use. Hee sweat and sweat again, with such excessive swoonings, as not only himselfe, but likewise all the beholders did verily deeme that his life was ending. This storme and mishap endured about some two houres, after which hee remained not cured as his Master, but so weary and indisposed, as he was not able to stand.

But Don-Quixote, who as wee have said, felt himself eased and cured, would pre∣sently depart to seek Adventures, it seeming unto him that all the time which he abode there was no other then a depriving both of the world and needfull People of his favour and assistance: and more through the security and confidence that hee had in his Bal∣samum; and carried thus away by this desire, hee himselfe sadled his Horse Rozinante, and did empannell his Squires beast, whom hee likewise holpe to apparell himself, and to mount upon his Asse. And presently getting a horse-back, hee rode over to a cor∣ner of the Inne, and laid hand on a Javelin that was there, to make it serve him instead of a Launce. All the People that were in the Inn stood beholding him, which were a∣bout twenty in number.

The In-keepers daughter did also looke upon him, and hee did never withdraw his eye from her, and would ever and anon breathe forth so dolefull a sigh, as if hee had plucked it out of the bottom of his heart, which all the beholders tooke to proceede from the grief of his Ribs, but especially such as had seen him playstered the night be∣fore.

And being both mounted thus a Horse-back, he called the Inn keeper and said unto him with a grave and staid voyce.

Many and great are the favours, Sir Consta∣ble which I have received in this your Castle, and doe remain most oblieged to gra∣tifie you for them, all the dayes of my life. And if I may pay or recompence them by revenging of you upon any proud Miscreant that hath done you any wrongs; know that it is mine Office to help the weak, to revenge the wronged, and to chastise Traytors. Call therefore to memory, and if you finde any thing of this kinde to commend to my correction, you need not but once to say it; for I doe promise you by the order of Knighthood, which I have received to satisfie and appay you accor∣ding to your own desire.

The Inn-keeper answered him again with like gravity and staidnesse, saying; Sir Knight, I shall not need your assistance when any wrong is done to me; for I know very well my self, how to take the revenge that I shall think good, when the injury is offered. That only which I require is, That you defray the charges whereat you have been here in the Inn this night, as well for the straw and barley given to your two horses, as also for both your beds. This then is an Inn, quoth Don-Quixote. That it is, and an honourable one too, replyed the Inn-keeper. Then have I hitherto lived in an errour, quoth Don-Quixote; for in very good sooth I took it till now to be a Castle, and that no mean one neither. But since that it is no Castle, but an Inn, that which you may doe for the present time is, to forgive me those expences; for I cannot doe ought against the custome of Knights Errant; of all which I most certainly know (without ever having read untill this present any thing to the contrary) that they never payed for their lodging, or other thing, in any Inn wheresoever they lay. For, by all Law and right, any good entertainment that is given unto them, is their due, in recom∣pence of the insupportable travells they indure, seeking of Adventures both day and night, in Summer and Winter, a foot & a horse-back, with thirst and hunger, in heat and cold, being subject to all the distemperatures of Heaven, and all the discommodities of the earth. All that concerns me nothing, replyed the Innkeeper; pay unto me my due, and leave these tales and Knighthoods apart; for I care for nothing else, but how I may come by mine own. Thou art a mad and a bad Host, quoth Don-Quixote: And saying so, he spur'd Rozinante, and flourishing with his Javelin, he issued out of the Inn in despight of them all, and without looking behinde him to see once whether his Squire followed, he road a good way off from it.

The Inn-keeper seeing he departed without satisfying him, came to Sancho Panca to get his mony of him, who answered; That since his Lord would not pay, he would likewise give nothing; forbeing, as he was, Squire to a Knight Errant, the very same rule and reason that exempted his Master from payments in Inns and Taverns ought also to serve and be understood as well of him. The Inn-keeper grew wroth at these words and threatned him, That if he did not pay him speedily, he would recover it in manner that would grieve him. Sancho replyed, swearing by the Order of Knighthood, which his Lord had received, that he would not pay one Denier, though it cost him his life; for the good and anncient Customes of Knights Errant should never through his default be infringed; nor should their Squires which are yet to come into the world ever complain on him, or upbraid him for transgressing or breaking so just a duety. But his bad fortune ordeined that there were at the very time in the same Inn four Clothiers of Segovia, and three Poynt-makers of the Stews of Cordova, and two neighbours of the Market of Sivill, all pleasant folk, well minded, malicious, and playsome; all which pricked, and in a manner moved all at one time, and by the very same spirit came neer to Sancho, and pulling him down off his Asse, one of them ran in for the Inn∣keepers Coverlet, and casting him into it, they looked up, and seeing the house was somewhat too low for their intended businesse, they determined to goe into the base Court, which was over head, only limitted by Heaven; and then Sancho being laid in the midest of the Blanket, they began to tosse him aloft, and sport themselves with him, in the manner they were wont to use Dogs at Shrovetide.

The out-cries of the miserable betossed Squire, were so many and so lowd, as they

arived at last to his Lords hearing, who standing a while to listen attentively what it was, beleved that some new Adventure did approach, untill hee perceived, at last, that hee which cried was his Squire, wherefore turning the Reignes, hee made towards the Inne with a loathsome gallop, and finding it shut, hee rode all about it to see whether hee might enter into it, But scarce was hee arived at the walles of the base Court. which were not very high, when hee perceived the foule play that was used toward his Squire, for hee saw him descend and ascend into the ayre againe with such grace and agilitie, that did his choller permit, I certainly perswade my selfe hee would have burst for laughter. Hee assayed 〈◊〉〈◊〉 mount the wall from his Horse, but hee was so bruised and broken, as hee could not doe so much as alight from his back. Wherefore from his back hee used such reproachfull and vile language to those which tossed Sancho, as it is impossible to lay them downe in writing. And notwithstanding all his scorne∣full speech, yet did not they cease from their laughter and labour; nor the flying Sancho from his complaints, now and then medled with threats, now and then with intreaties, but availed very little, nor could prevaile, untill they were constrained by wearinesse to give him over. Then did they bring him his Asse againe, and helping him up upon it, they lapt him in his [Gavay] mantle; and the compassionate Maritornes beholding him so afflicted and orelaboured, thought it needfull to helpe him to a draught of wa∣ter, and so brought it him from the well, because the water thereof was coolest. San∣cho tooke the pot, and laying it to his lips, hee abstained from drinking by his Lords perswasion, who cryed to him alowd, saying, Sonne Sancho drinke not water, drinke it not Sonne, for it will kill thee. Behold I have here with mee the most holy Balsa∣mum (and shewed him the oyle-pot of the drenches hee had compounded) for with only two drops that thou drinkest, thou shalt without all doubt remaine whole and sound. At those words Sancho looking behinde him, answered his Master with a low∣der voice, have you forgotten so soone how that I am so Knight, or doe you desire that I vomit the remnant of the poore bowels that remaine in mee since yester night, keepe your liquor for your selfe in the Devills name, and permit mee to live in Peace; and the conclusion of this speech and his beginning to drinke, was done all in one in∣stant, but finding at the first draught that it was water, hee would not taste it any more but requested Maritornes that shee would give him some Wine, which shee did streight with a very good will, and likewise paid for it out of her owne purse; for in effect it is written of her, that though shee followed that trade, yet had shee some shadowes and lineaments in her of Christianity. As soone as Sancho had drunken hee visited his As••e∣ribs with his heeles twice or thrice; and the Inne being opened hee issued out of it, ve∣ry glad that hee had paid nothing, and gotten his desire, although it were to the cost of his ordinary sureties, to wit, his shoulders. Yet did the Inne-keeper remaine pos∣sessed of his Wallets, as a payment for that hee ought him •• but Sancho was so distracted when hee departed as hee never missed them. After hee departed, the Inne-keeper thought to have shut up the Inne doore againe, but the Gentlemen-tossers would not permit, being such folke that if Don-Quixote were verily one of the Knights of the round Table, yet would not they esteem him two chips.

CHAP. IV.

Wherein are rehearsed the Discourses passed betweene Sancho Panca, and his Lord Don-Quixote, with other Adven∣tures worthy the recitall.

SANCHO arived to his Master all wanne and dismayed, in so much as hee was scarce able to spur on his beast. When Don-Quixote beheld him in that case, hee said to him, now doe I wholly perswade my selfe friend Sancho, that that Castle or Inne, is doubtlesse inchanted. For those which made pastime with thee in so cruell manner, what else could they bee but Spirits, or Peo∣ple of another world: which I doe the rather beleeve, because I saw, that whilst I stood at the Barrier of the yeard, beholding the acts of thy sad Tragedy; I was not in any waies able either to mount it, or alight from Rozinante, for as I say, I thinke they held mee then inchanted. For I vow to thee by mine honour, that if I could have either mounted or alighted, I would have taken such vengeance on those lewd and treacherous Caitiffs, as they should remember the jest for ever, though I had therefore adventured to transgresse the lawes of Knighthood. Which as I have oft times said unto thee, permitteth not any Knight to lay hands on one that is not Knighted, if it bee not in defence of his proper life and person, and that in case of great and urgent necessitie. So would I also have revenged my selfe, quoth Sancho, if I might, were they Knights or no Knights, but I could not; and yet I doe infallibly beleeve, that those which tooke their pleasure with mee, were neither ghosts nor inchanted men as you say, but men of flesh and bones as wee are, and all of them, as I heard them called whilest they tossed mee, had proper names, for one was termed P••t••r Martinez, and another Tenorio Herriander, and I heard also the In-keeper cal∣led Iohn Palameque the deafe, so that for your inabilitie of not leaping over the barri∣ers of the yeard, or alighting off your Horse was only inchantments in you. Whereby I doe cleerely collect thus much; That these Adventures which wee goe in search of, will bring us at last to so many disventures, as wee shall not bee able to know which is our right foote. And that which wee might doe best, according to my little under∣standing, were to returne us againe to our Village, now that it is reaping time, and looke to our goods, omitting to leape thus, as they say, out of the frying-pan into the fire.

How little dost thou know Sancho, replied Don-Quixote, what appertaineth to Chi∣valry? Peace, and have patience, for a day will come wherein thou shalt see with thine owne eyes, how honourable it is to follow this exercise. If not, tell mee what greater content may there bee in this world, or what pleasure can equall that of winning a bat∣tell, and of triumphing over ones enemy? None without doubt. I think it bee so, quoth Sancho, although I doe not know it; only this I know, that since wee became Knights errant, or that you are one (for there is no reason why I should count my selfe in so honourable a number) wee never overcame any Battaile, if it was not that of the Bi••caine, and you came even out of the very same with half your care and Beaver lesse. And ever after that time wee have had nothing but cudgels, and more cudgels, blowes and more blowes. I carrying with mee besides of overplus, the t••ssing in the blanket, and that, by reason it was done to mee by inchanted Persons, I cannot bee re∣venged, and by consequence shall not know that true gust and delight that is taken by vanquishing mine Enemie, whereof you spake even now. That is it which grieves mee, as it should thee also Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote: But I will procure hereafter to get a Sword made with such art, that whosoever shall weare it, no kinde of inchantment

shall hurt him. And perhaps fortune will present me the very same which belonged to Amadis, when he called himself, The Knight of the burning Sword, which was one of the best that ever Knight had in this world; for besides the virtue that I told, it did also cut like a Razor; and no Armour, were it ever so strong or inchanted, could stand before it. I am so fortunate, quoth Sancho, that when this befell, and that you found such a sword, it would only serve and be beneficial, and stand instead such as are dubed Knights, as doth your Balsamum, whilest the poor Squires are cram'd full with sorrows. Fear not that Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote; for fortune will deal with thee more liberally then so.

In these discourses Don-Quixote and his Squire road, when Don-Quixote perceiving a great and thick dust to arise in the way, wherein he travelled, turning to Sancho said, this is (Sancho) the day, wherein shall be manifest the good which Fortune hath reser∣ved for me. This is the day, wherein the force of mine arme must be shewn as much as in any other whatsoever; and in it I will doe such fears, as shall for ever remain recorded in the books of fame: Doest thou see, Sancho, the dust which ariseth there? know that it is caused by a mighty Army, and sundry and innumerable Nations, which come martching there. If that be so, quoth Sancho, then must there be two Ar∣mies; for on this other side is raised as great a dust. Don-Quixote turned back to behold it, and seeing it was so indeed, he was marvellous glad, thinking that they were doubtlesly two Armies, which came to fight one with another, in the midest of that spacious Plain: For he had his fantasie ever replenished with these battails, inchant∣ments, successes, ravings, loves, and challenges, which are reheased in books of Knight∣hood: And all that ever he spoak, thought, or did, was addrest and applyed to the like things: And the dust which he had seen, was raised by two great Flocks of Sheep, that came through the same Field by two different wayes, and could not be discerned by reason of the dust, untill they were very neer. Don-Quixote did affirm that they were two Armies, with so very good earnest as Sancho believed it, and demanded of him, Sir what then shall we two doe? What shall we doe (quoth Don-Quixote) but assist the needfull and weeker side: For thou shalt know Sancho, that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 who comes to∣wards us is the great Emperor Alifamfaron, Lord of the great Island of Trapobana. The other who martcheth at our back, is his enemy, the King of the Garamantes, Pan∣topoline of the naked Arme, so called, because he still entereth in battail with his right Arme naked. I pray you good Sir, quoth Sancho, to tell me why these two Princes hate one another so much? They are enemies, replyed Don-Quixote, because that this Alifamfaron is a furious Pagan, and is enamoured of Pent••polin's Daughter, who is a very beautifull and gracious Princesse, and moreover a Christian; and her Father refuseth to give her to the Pagan King, untill first he abandon Mahomet's false Sect, and become one of his Religion. By my beard, quoth Sancho, Pentapolin hath reason, and I will help him all that I may. By doing so, quoth Don-Quixote, thou performe•••• thy Duty; for it is not requisite that one be a Knight, to the end he may enter into such battails. I doe apprehend that my self, quoth Sancho, very well; But whe••e shall we leave this Asle in the mean time, that we may be 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to finde him again after the Conflict? for I think it is not the custome to enter into battail mounted on such a Beast.

It is true, quoth Don-Quixote, that which thou mayest doe is, to leave him to his Adventures, and care not whether he be lost or found; for we shall have so many horses, after coming out of this Battail Victors, that very Rozinante himself is in danger to be changed for another. But be attentive; for I mean to describe unto thee the principall Knights of both the Armies. And to the end thou mayest the better see and note all things, let us retire our selves there to that little hillock, from whence both Armies may easily be discryed.

They did so; and standing on the top of a hill, from whence they might have seen both the Flocks, which Don-Quixote called an Army, very well, if the clouds of dust had not hindred it and blinded their sight; yet notwithstanding our Knight seeing in conceit, that which really he did not see at all, began to say with a loud voyce:

That Knight which thou ••eest there with the yellow Armour, who bears in his Shield a Lyon crownd, crouching at a Damzells feet, is the valorous Laurcalio, Lord of the Silver Bridge: The other, whose Armes are powdred with flowers of gold, and beares in an Azure Field three Crowns of silver, is the dreaded Micocolembo, great Duke of Quirocia: The other limbed like a Gyant, that standeth at his right hand, is the undaunted Brandabarbaray of Boliche, Lord of the three Arabias; and comes Armed with a Serpents skin, bearing for his Shield, as is reported, one of the Gates of the Temple which Sampson at his death overthrew, to be revenged of his enemies. But turn thine eyes to this other side, and thou shalt see first of all, and in the Front of this other Army, the ever Victor and never Vanquished Timone•• of Carcaiona, Prince of new Biskaye, who comes Armed with Armes parted into blew, green, white, and yellow quarters, and bears in his Shield in a Field of tawney, a Cat of gold, with a letter that sayes Miau, [Cat] which is the beginning of his Ladies name, which is as the report runs, the pee••••esse Miaulina, Daughter to Duke. Alfe∣niquen of Algarue. The other that burdens and oppresseth the back of that mighty [Alfana] Courser, whose Armour is as white as Snow, and also his Shield without any devise, is a new Knight of France, called Pierres Papin, Lord of the Barony of V••••ique. The other that beats his hors•• sides with his Armed heels, and bears the the Armes of pure Az••••e, is the mighty Duke of Ner••ia Espar••asilard•• of the Wood, who bears for his devise a [Esparraguera] Harrow, with a Motto that sayes, So trail•• my Fortune.

And thus he proceeded forward, naming may Knights of the one and the other Squadron, even as he had imagined them, and attributed to each one his Arms, his Colours, Impre••••e, and Mottoes, suddainly 〈◊〉〈◊〉 away by the imagination of his won∣derfull distraction; and without stammering he proceeded saying:

This first Squadron conte••eth folk of many Nations, 〈…〉〈…〉 are those which taste the sweet waters of famous 〈◊〉〈◊〉; the Mountainous men that tread the Mafilical fields; those that doe sift the most pure and rare gold 〈…〉〈…〉. Those that possessed the famous and delightfull banks of cleer 〈…〉〈…〉 blood many and sundry waies the golden 〈◊〉〈◊〉; The Numides unsteadfast ••n their pro∣mise; The Persian•• famous for Archers; The ••arthes and Medes tha•• fight flying•• The Arabs inconstant in their dwellings; The 〈◊〉〈◊〉 as cruell as white. The Aethiops of boared lips, and other infinite Na••ions whose faces I know and behold, although I have forgotten their denominations. In that other Army come those that taste the Christalins streams of the Olive-braring 〈◊〉〈◊〉; Those that dip and polish their faces with the liquor of the ever-rich and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Tag••••••. Those that possesse the profitable fluent of divine Genile: Those that trample the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 fields so abundant in pasture: Those that recreate themselves in the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 fields, of 〈◊〉〈◊〉: The rich Manch••gans crowned with ruddy 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of corne. Those ap∣parrelled with iron, the ancient reliques of the ••spans••: Those th•••• bathe them∣selves in Pesverga, renowned for the smoothnesse of his current: Those that feed their Flocks in the vast Fields of the wr••athing 〈◊〉〈◊〉 so celebrated for his hidden course. Those that tremble through the ••••ld of the bushy Pirens, and the lofty [or white crested] Apenine••. Finally, all those that Europe in it self contrinet••.

Good God I how many Provinces repeated he, at that time? and how many Na∣tions did he name? giving to every one of them, with 〈…〉〈…〉 and brief∣nesse, their proper attributes, being swallo••d up and ingu••••ed in those things which he had read in his lying books! Sancho Pancia 〈◊〉〈◊〉 suspended at his speech, and spoak not a word, but only would now and then turn his head to see whether he could mark those Knights and Gyants which his Lord had named; and by reason he could not dis∣cover any, he said: Sir I give to the Devill any Man; Giant, or Knight, of all those you said, that appeareth; at least I cannot discern them: Perhaps all 〈◊〉〈◊〉 but inchant∣ment like that of the Ghosts of yester night. How? sayest thou so, quoth Don-Quixote? Doest not thou hear the Horses neigh, the Trumpets sound, and the noyse of the Drumms? I hear nothing else, said Sancho, but the great bleating of many Sheep.

And so it was indeed; for by this time the two Flocks did approach them very neer. The fear that thou conceivest Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote, maketh thee that thou canst neither hear nor see aright; for one of the effects of fear, is to trouble the Senses, and make things appear otherwise then they are; and seeing thou fearest so much, retire thy self out of the way; for I alone am sufficient to give the Victory to that Part which I shall assist. And having ended his Speech, he se•• spurs to Rozinante, and setting his Launce in the rest he flung down from the hillock like a thunder-bolt. Sancho cryed to him as lowd as he could, saying, Return good Sir•• Don-Quixote; for I vow unto God, that all those which you goe to charge, are but Sheep and Muttons. Return I say; alas that ever: I was born! what madnesse is this? Look; for there is neither Giant, nor Knight, nor Cats, nor Armes, nor Shields parted, nor whole, nor pure Azures, nor Divellis•••• What is it you doe, Wretch that I am? For all this Don-Quixote did not return, but rather road, saying with a loud voyce; On on Knights, all you that serve and martch under the Banners of the valorous Emperour Pentapolin of the naked Arme; follow me all of you, and you shall see how easily I will revenge him on his enemie Alifamfaron of Trapobana: And saying so, he entred into the midest of the Flock of Sheep, and began to Launce them with such courage and fury, as if he did in good earnest encounter his mortall enemies.

The Sheep-heards that came with the flock, cryed to him to leave off, but seeing their words took no effect, they unlosed their slings and began to salute his pate with stones as great as ones fist. But Don-Quixote made no account of their stones, and did ••ling up and down among the Sheep, saying, where art thou proud Alifamfaron, where art thou? come to mee, for I am but one Knight alone, who desire to prove my force with thee man to man, and deprive thee of thy life, in paine of the wrong thou doest to the valiant Pentapolin the Garamiante. At that instant a stone gave him such a blow on one of his sides, as did bury two of his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in his body. Hee beholding himself so ill dight, did presently beleeve that hee was either sl••ine or sorely wounded; and remembring himself of his liquor, hee tooke out his oyle-pot, and set it to his mouth to drink, but ere he could take as much as hee thought was requisite to cure his hurts, there cometh another Almond which stroke him so full upon the hand and oyle-pot, as it broke it into peeces, and carried away with it besides, three or foure of his cheeke teeth, and did moreover bruise very sorely two of his fingers. Such was the first and the second blow, as the poore Knight was constrained to fall down off his horse. And the Sheepheards ariving did verily beleeve they had slaine him•• and therefore ga∣thering their flock together with all speede, and carrying away their dead Mu••∣tons, which were more then seven, they went away without verifying the matter any further.

Sancho remained all this while on the height, beholding his Masters follies, pulling the haires off his beard for very despaire, and cursed the houre and moment wherein hee first knew him; but seeing him overthrown to the earth, and the Sheepheards 〈◊〉〈◊〉 away, hee came downe to him, and found him in very bad taking, yet had ••ee not quite lost the use of his senses, to whom hee said. Did not I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 you Sir Knight return, and told you that you went not to invade an Army of men, bu•• •• flock of Sheep. That theese the wise man who is mine. Adversary, quoth Don-Quixote, can counterfeit, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 men to seem such, or vanish away as ••ee pleaseth, for Sancho thou oughtest to know, that in is a very easie thing for those kinde of men, to make us seeme what they please, and this M••ligne that persecuteth mee, envying the glory which bee saw I was like to acquire in this Battail, hath converted the Enemies 〈…〉〈…〉 into Sheepe: and if thou wilt not beleeve me Sancho, yet doe one thing for my 〈◊〉〈◊〉, that thou mayest remove thine errour, and perceive the truth which I affirme, get up on thine As••e and follow them 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and softly aloo••, and thou shalt see that as soon as they are parted any distance from ••ence, they will turn to their first form, and leaving to be sheep, will become men, as right and straight as I painted them to the at the first, but goe not now for I have need of thy help and assistance, draw neerer to me and see, how many cheek teeth and others I want; for mee thinks there is not one left in my mouth. With that

Sancho approached so neer, that he laid almost his eyes on his Masters mouth, and it was just at the time that the Balsamum had now wrought his effect in Don-Quixote his stomack, and at the very season that Sancho went about to look into his mouth, he disgorged all that he had in his stomack, with as great violence as it had been shot out of a Musket, just in his compassive Squires beard. O holy Mother Mary, quoth Sancho! what is this that hath befaln me? the poor man is mortally wounded with∣out doubt; for he vomiteth up blood at his mouth. But looking a little neerer to it, he perceived in the colour and smell that it was not blood, but the Balsamum of his Masters oyl-bottle, whereat he instantly took such a loathing, that his stomack like∣wise turned, and he vomited out his very bowels almost, all in his Masters face: and so they both remained like Pearles. Soone after Sancho ranne to his Asse to take somewhat to clear himself, and to cure his Lord out of his wallet, which when he found wanting [Having left it behind him in the Inn when he rann away and paid nothing for his lodging.] he was ready to runn out of his wits: there he begann a new to curse himself, and made a firme resolution in minde, that he would leave his Master and turn to his Countrey again, although he were sure both to lose his wages, and the hope of Go∣vernment of the promised Island.

By this Don-Quixote arose, and setting his left hand to his mouth, that the rest of his teeth might not fall out, he caught hold on the Raines of Rozinantes bridle with the other, who had never stir'd from his Master (such was his loyalty and good nature) he went towards his Squire, that leaned upon his Asse, with his hand under his cheek, like one pensative and malecontent. And Don-Quixote seeing of him in that guise, with such signes of sadnesse, said unto him: Know Sancho, that one man is not more then another, if he doe not more then another. All these storms that fall on us are arguments that the time will waxe calm very soon, and that things will have better successe hereafter; for it is not possible that either good or ill be dureable. And hence we may collect that our misfortunes having lasted so long, our fortune and weale must be likewise neer: And therefore thou oughtest not thus to afflict thy self for the disgraces that befall me, seeing no part of them fall to thy lot. How not, quoth Sancho? Was he whom they tossed yester day in the Coverlet by fortune, any other mans sonne then my Fathers? and the Wallet that I want to day, with all my Pro∣vision, was it any others then mine own? What doest thou want thy Wallet Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote? I that I doe, quoth hee. In that manner replyed Don-Quixote, We have nothing left us to eat to day. That would be so, quoth Sancho, if we could not finde among these Fields the hearbs which I have heard you say you know, wherewithall such unluckie Knights Errant as you are wont to supply like needs. For all that, quoth Don-Quixote, I would rather have now a quarter of a loaf, or a cake and two Pilchers heads, then all the hearbs that Diascoridles describeth, although they came glosed by Doctor Laguna himself: But yet for all that, get upon thy beast, Sancho the good, and follow me; for God, who is the provider for all Creatures, will not fail us; and principally seeing we doe a work so greatly to his service as we doe, seeing he doth not abandon the little Flies of the Air, nor the Wormlings of the Earth, nor the Spawnlings of the Water: And he is so mercifull that he maketh his Sunne shine on the good and the evill, and Rains on sinners and just men. You were much fitter, quoth Sancho, to be a Preacher, then a Knight Errant. Knights Errant knew, and ought to know somewhat of all things, quoth Don-Quixote: For there hath been a Knight Errant, in times past, who would make a Sermon or discourse in the midest of a Camp royall, with as good grace as if he were graduated in the University of Paris: by which we may gather, that the Launce never dulled the Pen; nor the Pen the Launce. Well then, quoth Sancho, let it be as you have said, and let us depart hence, and procure to finde a lodging for this night, where, I pray God, may be no Coverlets, and Tossors, nor Spirits, nor inchanted Moors; for if there be, I'le bestow the Flock and the Book on the Devill. Demand that of God Sonne Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote, and lead me where thou pleasest; for I will leave the election of our lodging to thy choyse for this time: yet I pray thee give me thy hand, and feel how many cheek teeth

or others, I want in this right side of the upper jaw; for there I feel most pain. Sancho put in his finger, and whilest he felt him, demanded; how many cheek teeth were you accustomed to have on this side? Four, quoth he, besides the hindermost; all of them very whole and sound. See well what you say Sir, quoth Sancho. I say four, quoth Don-Quixote, if they were not five; for I never in my life drew, or lost any tooth; nor hath any faln or been worm-eaten, or mard by any rhume. Well then, quoth Sancho, you have in this nether part but two cheek teeth and a half; and in the upper neither a half, nor any; for all there is as plain as the palm of my hand. Unfortunate I (quoth Don-Quixote, hearing the sorrowfull news that his Squire told unto him) for I had rather lose one of my armes, so it were not that of my Sword: For Sancho, thou must wit, that a mouth without cheek-teeth, is like a Mill without a Mill-stone; and a tooth is much more to be esteemed then a Diamond.

But wee which professe the rigorous Lawes of Armes, are subject to all these disa∣sters, wherefore mount gentle friend and give the way, for I will follow thee what pace thou pleasest, Sancho obeyed, and rode the way where hee thought hee might find lodging, without leaving the high way, which was there very much beaten. And going thus by little and little (for Don-Quixote his paine of his jawes did not suffer him rest, or make overmuch haste) Sancho to entertain him and divert his thought by saying some things, began to aboord him in the forme wee meane to rehearse in the Chapter ensuing.

CHAP. V.

Of the discreet discourses passed betweene Sancho and his Lord: With the Adventure succeeding of a dead Body: And other notable Occurrences.

MEE thinks, good Sir, that all the mishaps that befell us these dayes past, are without any doubt, in punishment of the sinne you committed a∣gainst the order of Knighthood, by not performing the Oath you swore, not to eate bread on table clothes, nor to sport with the Queen with all the rest which ensueth, and you vowed to accomplish untill you had wonne the Helmet of Malandrino, or I know not how the Moore is called, for I have forgotten his name. Thou sayst right Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote, but to tell the truth indeede, I did wholly forget it; and thou maist likwise thinke certainly, that because thou didst not remember it to mee in time, that of the Coverlet was inflicted as a punishment on thee. But I will make amends, for we have also manners of reconciliation for all things in the Order of Knighthood. Why did I by chance sweare any thing, quoth Sancho? it little imports, quoth Don-Quixote, that thou hast not sworne, let it suffice that I know thou art not very cleere from the fault of an accessary. And therefore at all Adventures it will not bee ill to provide a remedy. If it bee so quoth Sancho beware you doe not forget this againe, as you did that of the Oath, for if you should, perhaps those spirits will take againe a fancie to solace themselves with mee, and peradventure with you your selfe, if they see you ob∣stinate.

Being in these and other such discourses, the night overtook them in the way, be∣fore they could discover any lodging, and that which was worst of all, they were almost famisht with hunger, for by the losse of their wallets, they lost at once both their provision and warder-house. And to accomplish wholly this disgrace, there succeeded a certain Adventure, which certainly hapned as we lay it down, without

any addition in the world, and was this; The night did shut up with some darknesse, yet notwithstanding they travelled on still, Sancho believing, that since that was the high∣way, there must be within a league or two in all reason some Inn. Travailing there∣fore, as I have said, in a dark night, the Squire being hungry, and the Master having a good stomack, they saw coming towards them in the very way they travailed, a great multitude of lights, resembling nothing so well as wandring stars. Sancho beholding them, was struck into a wonderfull amazement, and his Lord was not much better: The one drew his Asse halter, the other held his horse; and both of them stood still, beholding attentively what that might be; and they perceived that the lights drew still neerer unto them; and the more they approached, they appeared the greater; at the sight Sancho did tremble, like one infected by the favour of Quick-silver; and Don-Quixotes hair stood up like bristles, who animating himself a little, said; Sancho, this must be questionlesse a great and most dangerous Adventure, wherein it is requisite that I shew all my valour and strength. Unfortunate I, quoth Sancho, if by chance this Adventure were of Ghosts! as it seemeth to me that it is; where will there be ribs to suffer it? Be they never so great Ghosts, said Don-Quixote, I will not consent that they touch one hair of thy Garmens: For if they jested with thee the other time, it was because I could not leap over the walls of the yard; but now we are in plain Field, where I may brandish my Sword as I please. And if they inchant and benum you, as they did the other time, quoth Sancho; what will it then avail us to be in open Field or no? For all that, replyed Don-Quixote, I pray thee Sancho be of good courage; for experience shall shew thee how great my valour is. I will and please God, quoth Sancho: And so departing somewhat out of the way, they began again to view earnest∣ly what that of the travailling lights might be; and after a very little space they espied many white things, whose dreadfull visions did in that very instant abate Sancho Panca his courage, and now began to chatter with his teeth like one that had the cold of a Quartan; & when they did distinctly perceive what it was, then did his beating and chat∣tering of teeth increase; for they discovered about some twenty, all covered with white a horse-back, with Tapers lighted in their hands; after which followed a Litter covered over with black, and then ensued other six a horse-back attired in mourning, and like∣wise their Mules, even to the very ground; for they perceived that they were not horses by the quietnesse of their pace. The white folk road murmuring somewhat a∣mong themselves with a low and compassive voyce: Which strange vision, at such an hour, and in places not inhabited, was very sufficient to strike fear into Sancho's heart, and even in his Masters. If it had been any other then Don-Quixote; but Sancho tumbled here and there, being quite overthrown with terrour. The contrary hapned to his Lord, to whom in that same hour his imagination represented 〈◊〉〈◊〉 him most lively, the Adventure wherein he was to be such a one, as he oft times had read in his books of Chivalry. For it is figured unto him, that the litter was a Beer, wherein was carried some grievously wounded or dead Knight, whose revenge was only reserved for him. And without making any other discourse he set his Launce in the rest, seated himself surely in his Saddle, and put himself in the midst of the way by which the white folk must forcibly passe, with great spirit & courage. And when he saw them draw neer, he said with a lowd voyce; Stand Sir Knight, whosoever you be, and render me ac∣count what you are? from whence you come? where you goe? and what that is which you carry in that Beer? For according as you shew either you have done to others, or others to you some injury: And it is convenient and needfull that I know it, either to chastise you, for the ill you have committed; or else to revenge you of the wrong which you have suffered. Wee are in haste, quoth one of the white men, and the Inn is far off; and therefore cannot expect to give so full a relation as you request; and with that spurring his Mule, passed forward. Don-Quixote highly disdaining at the answer, took by the bridle and held him, saying, Stay proud Knight, and be better mannered another time, and give me account of that which I demanded; if not, I desie you all to mortall battail. The Mule whereon the white man road, was some∣what fearfull and skittish; and being taken thus rudely by the bridle, shee took such a

fright, that rising up on her hinder legs, she unhorsed her Rider; one of the Lacquies that came with them, seeing him fallen, began to revile Don-Quixote, who being by this throughly inraged, without any more adoe, putting his Launce in the rest, rann upon one of the Mourners, and threw him to the ground very ••ore wounded: And turning upon the rest (it was a thing worthy the noting) with what dexterity, he did assault, break upon them, and put them all to flight; and it seemed none other, but that Rozinante had gotten then wings, hee bestirred himself so nimbly and coura∣giously.

All those white men were fearfull people, and unarmed; and therefore fled away from the Skirmish in a trice, and began to traverse that field with their Tapers burning, that they seemed to be Maskers that use to runn up and down in nights of jove and re∣creation. The Mourners likewise were so laped up and muffled, by their mourning weeds as they could scarce stir them; so that Don-Quixote did, without any danger of his person, give them all the Bastanado; and caused them to forsake their rooms whether they would or no: For all of them did verily think that he was ••o man, but a Devill of Hell, that met them to take away the dead body, which they carried in the Litter. All this did Sancho behold, marveilously admiring at his Master bold∣nesse, which made him say to himself, my Master is infallibly as strong and valiant as he said!

There lay on the ground by him whom his Mule had overthrown, a wax Taper still burning, by whose light Don-Quixote perceived him, and comming over to him, he laid the poynt of his Launce upon his face, saying, that he should render himself, or else he would slay him. To which the other answered; I am already rendred more then enough, seeing I cannot stir me out of the place, for one of my legs is broken. And if you be a Christian I desire you not to kill me; for therein you would commit a great sacriledge, I being a Licenciate, and have received the first Orders. Well then, quoth Don-Quixote; what Divill brought thee hither being a Church-man? Who Sir, replyed the overthrown, but my misfortune? Yet doth a greater threaten thee, said Don-Quixote, if thou doest not satisfie me in all that which I first demanded of thee. You shall easily be satisfied, quoth the Licenciate; and therefore you shall wit, that although first of all I said I was a Licentiate, I am none, but a Batcheler, and am called Alonso Lopez, born at Alcovendas, and I came from the City of Baeca, with eleven other Priests, which are those that fled away with the Tapers; wee travailed towards Segovia, accompanying the dead body, that lies in that Litter, of a certain Gentleman who dyed in Baeca, and was there deposited for a while, and now as I say, we carty his bones to his place of buriall, which is in Segovia, the place of his birth. And who killed him, quoth Don-Quixote? God, quoth the Batcheler, with certain pestilentiall feavers that he took. In that manner, quoth Don-Quixote, our Lord hath delivered me from the paines I would have taken to revenge his death, if any other had slain him; Hee having killed him that did, there is no other remedy but silence, and to lift up the shoulders; for the same I must my self have done, if he were likewise pleased to slay me. And I would have your reverence to understand, that I am a Knight of the Mancha, called Don-Quixote; and mine Office and Exercise is, to goe through∣out the World righting of wrongs, and undoing of injuries. I cannot understand how that can be of righting wrongs, quoth the Batcheler, seeing you have made mee who was right before, now very crooked by breaking of my leg, which can never bee righted again, as long as I live; and the injury which you have undone in me, is none other but to leave me so injured, as I shall remain injured for ever. And it was very great disventure to have encountred with you that goe about to seek Adventures. All things, quoth Don-Quixote, succeed not of one fashion: The hurt was Master Batche∣ler Alonso Lopez, that you travelled thus by night covered with those Surplices, with burning Tapers, and covered with weeds of dole, so that you appeared most properly some bad thing, and of the other world; and so I could not omit to fulfill my duty, by assaulting you, which I would have done, although I verily knew you to be the Sathans themselves of Hell. For, for such I judged and accounted you ever till now.

Then since my bad fortune hath so disposed it, quoth the Batcheler, I desire you good Sir Knight errant (who hath given mee so evill an errant) that you will help mee to get up from under this Mule, who holds still my leg betwixt the stirrop and saddle. I would have staid talking untill to morrow morning, quoth Don-Quixote, and why did you expect so long to declare your griefe to mee? hee presently called for Sanch•• Panca to come over, but hee had little minde to doe; for hee was otherwise imployed, ransacking of a sumpter-Mule which those good folke brought with them, well furni∣shed with belly-ware. Sancho made a bag of his Casack, and catching all that he might or could contain, hee laid it on his beast, and then presently after repayred to his Ma∣ster, and holpe to deliver the good Batcheler from the oppression of his Mule. And mounting him again on it, hee gave him his Taper, and Don-Quixote bad him to follow his fellowes, of whom hee should desire Pardon in his name for the wrong he had done them. For it lay not in his hands to have done the contrary. Sancho said to him also, if those Gentlemen would by chance know, who the valorous Knight is that hath used them th••s, you may say unto them that he is the famous Don-Quixote of Mancha, o∣therwise called the Knight of the Illfavored face.

With this the Batcheler departed, and Don-Quixote demanded of Sancho, what had moved him to call him the Knight of the illfavored face, more at that time then at any o∣ther? I will tell you that quoth Sancho; I stood beholding of you a pretty while by the Taper light which that unluckie man carrieth, and truly you have one of the evill-favoredst countenances, of late, that ever I saw; Which either proceedeth of your being tyred after this Battaile, or else through the losse of your teeth. That is not the reason, said Don-Quixote: But rather, it hath seemed fit to the wise man, to whose charge is left the writing of my History that I take some appellative name, as all the o∣ther Knights of yore have done: for one called himselfe, The Knight of the burning Sword; another that of the Vnicorne; this, him of the Phoenix; the other, that of the Damzells; another the Knight of the Griphen; and some other the Knight of Death; and by these names and devices they were known throughout the compasse of the earth. And so I say, that the wise man whom I mentioned set in thy minde and tongue the thought to call mee the Knight of the illfavored face, as I meane to call my selfe from henceforth, and that the name may become mee better, I will upon the first occasion cause to bee painted in my shield, a most illfavoured countenance. You neede not quoth Sancho, spend so much time and money in having the like countenance painted; but that which you may more easily doe is, to discover your owne, and looke directly on those that behold you, and I will warrant you, that without any more adoe, or new painting in your Shield, they will call you him of the illfavored face; And let this bee said in jest, that hunger and the want of your teeth, have given you, as I have said, so evillfavoured a face, as you may well excuse all other heavy portraitures. Don-Qui∣xote laught at his Squires conceit, and yet neverthelesse hee purposed to call himselfe by that name, as soone as ever hee should have commodity to paint his Shield or Buckler.

And after a pause he said to Sancho; I beleeve I am Excommunicated, for having laid violent hands upon a consecrated thing. [Canon. 72. Distinct. 134.] Iuxta illud: si quis suadente diabolo, &c. Although I am certain I laid not my hands upon him, but only this Javelin; and besides, I did not any way suspect that I offended Priests or Church-men, which I doe respect and honour as a Catholick and faithfull Christian; but rather that they were shadowes and spirits of the other world. And if the worst hap∣ned, I remember well that which befell the Cid Ruy Diaz, when hee broke that other Kings Embassadors chair before the Popes holinesse, for which hee excommunicated him, and yet for all that the good Roderick Vivar behaved himself that day like an hono∣rable and valiant Knight.

About this time the Batcheler departed, as is said, without speaking a word, and Don-Quixote would faine have seene whether the corps that came in the Litter was bones or no, but Sancho would not permit him, saying, Sir you have finished this peri∣lous Adventure, most with your safety of any one of those I have seene. This People,

although overcome and scattered, might perhaps fall in the consideration that hee who hath overcome them is but one person alone, and growing ashamed thereof, would perhaps joyne and unite themselves and turne upon us and give us enough businesse to doe. The Asse is in good plight according to my desire, and the mountaine at hand, and hunger oppresseth us, therefore wee have nothing else to doe at this time but retire our selves with a good pace, and as it is said, to the grave with the Dead, and let them live to the Bread. And pricking on his Asse, hee requested his Master to follow him, who seeing that Sancho spoke not without reason, hee spur'd after him without reply∣ing; and having travailed a little way, between two small Mountaines they found a large and hidden Valley, where they alighted; and Sancho lightning his beast, and lying both along upon the greene grasse, holpen by the sauce of hunger, they broke their fasts, dined, eate their Beaver and Supper all at one time; satisfying their apetites with more then one dish of cold meate, which the dead Gentlemans Chaplaines (which knew how to make much of themselves) had brought for their provision: But here succeeded another discommodity which Sancho accounted not as the least, and was, that they had no wine to drink; no, nor as much as a dropp of water to rinse their mouthes, and being scorched with drought, Sancho perceiving the field where they were full of thick and green grasse, said that which shall ensue in the Chapter fol∣lowing.

CHAP. VI.

Of a wonderfull Adventure, atchieved with lesse hazard then e∣ver any other Knight did any, by the valorous Don-Qui∣xote of the Mancha.

IT is not possible my Lord, but that these green hearbs doe argue, that neer unto this place must bee some Fountain or stream that watereth them, and therefore I pray you let us goe a little farther, and wee shall meete that which may mitigate the terrible thirst that afflicts us, which sets us questionless in more paine then did our hun∣ger. This counsell was allowed by Don-Quixote, and therefore leading Rozinante by the Bridle, and Sancho his Asse by the halter, after laying up the reversion of their Supper, they set on through the plaine, only guided by their guesse, for the night was so darke as they could not see a jot. And scarce had they travailed two hundred paces when they heard a great noise of water, as if it fell headlong from some great and steep Rock. The noise did cheere them very much, and standing to heare from whence it sounded, they heard unawares another noyse, which watered all the continent; they conceived before, specially in Sancho, who as I have noted was naturally very fearfull and of little spirit. They heard I say certain blowes strucken with proportion, with a kinde of ratling of irons and chaines, which accompanied by the furious sound of the water, might strike terror into any other heart but Don-Quixotes.

The night, as wee said, was darke, and they hapned to enter in among certaine tall and loftie trees, whose leaves moved by a soft gale of winde, made a fearfull and still noyse; so that the solitude, situation, darknesse and the noyse of the water, and trem∣bling of the leaves concurring, did breed horror and affright. But specially seeing that the blowes never ceased, the winde slept not, nor the morning approached, whereunto may bee added that they knew not the place where they were. But Don-Quixote ac∣companied

with his valiant heart, leaped on Rozinante, and embracing his Buckler, brandished his Launce, and said:

Friend Sancho, I would have thee know, that I was born by the disposition of Heaven, in this our Age of iron, to resuscitate in it that of Gold, or the Golden world as it is called. I am he for whom are reserved all dangerous, great, and volorus feats. I say again, that I am he which shall set up again those of the Round Table, the twelve Peers of France, and the nine Worthies. I am he who shall cause the Acts to be forgotten of those Platires, Tablantes, Oli∣vantes, and Tirantes. The Phebuse••, Bel••amses, with all the crew of the famous Knights Errant of times past, doing in this wherein I live such great and wonderfull fea••s of Armes, as shall obscure the bravest that ever they atchieved. Thou notest well faithfull and loyall Squire, the darkenesse of this night, the strange silence, the deaf and confused trembling of these Trees, the dreadfull noyse of that water in whose search we come, which seems to throw it self headlong down from the steep Mountains of the Moon, the inceslable blows which doth still wound our ears; all which together, and every one apart, are able to strike terrour, fear, and amazement into the very minde of Mars; how much more in his that is not accus••omed to the like chances and Adventures? Yet all this which I have depainted to thee, are inciters and ••owsers of my minde, which now causeth my heart almost to burst in my breast, with the desire it hath to trye this Adventure, how difficult soever it shews it self: Wherefore ••ye my horse gyrts a little straighter, and farewell. Here in this place thou mayest expect me three dayes and no more. And if I shall 〈◊〉〈◊〉 return in that space; thou mayest goe back to our Village, and from thence (for my sake) to Toboso, where thou shalt say to my incomparable Lady Dulcinea, that her captive Knight dyed, by attempting things that might make him worthy to bee called hers.

When Sancho heard his Lord speak these words, he began to weep with the greatest compassion of the World, and say unto him; Sir, I see no reason why you should under∣take this fearfull Adventure: it is now night, and no body can perceive us; we may very well crosse the way, and apart our selves from danger, although we should therefore want drink these three dayes. And seeing none behold us, there will be much lesse any one to take notice of our cowardize; the rather because I heard oft times the Curate of our Village, whom you know very well, preach, That he which seeks the ••••••ger perisheth therein; so that it is not good to ••empt God, undertaking such a huge Affair, out of which you cannot escape, but by miracle; and let those which Hea∣ven hath already wrought for you suffice, in delivering you from being costed in a Co∣verlet, as I was, and bringing you away a Victor, free, and safe, from among so many enemies as accompanied the dead man. And when all this shall not move or soften your hard heart, let this move it, to think and certainly believe, that scarce shall you depart from this place, when through very fear I shall give up my Soul to him that pleaseth to take it. I left my Countrey, Wife, and Children to come and serve you, hoping thereby to be worth more, and not lesse: But as cove••••••nesse breaks the Sack, so hath it also torne my Hopes, seeing when they were most pregnant and lively to obt••in that unluckle and accursed Island, which you promised me so often: I see that in exchange & pay thereof, you mean to forsake me here in a Desart, out of all frequen∣tation. For Gods sake doe not me such a wrong my Lord; and if you will not wholy desist from your purpose, yet de••er it at least till the morning; for as my little skill that I learned when I was a Sheepheard, telleth me, the dawning is not three hours off, [Porque la bocade la bozinaist alucina de l•• cabeo••. p. 168.] for the mouth of the Fish is over the head, and maketh mid-night in the line of the left arme. How canst thou Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote, see where is the line, or that mouth, or that talle of which thou speakest, seeing the night is so darke that one star alone appeareth not? That is true, quoth Sancho, but fear hath eyes which can see things under the ground, and much more in the skies. And besides, we may gather by good discourse, that the day is not far off. Let it be as little off as it lists, quoth Don-Quixote; it shall never be recorded of me, that either tears, or prayers could ever disswade me from performing the duty

of a Knight; and therefore good Sancho hold thy peace, for God who hath inspired me to attempt this unseen and fearfull Adventure, will have an eye to my weale, and also to comfort thy sorrow. And that thou hast therefore to doe, is to make straigh my gyrts, and remain here; for I will return shortly either alive or dead.

Sancho perceiving his Lords last resolution, and how little his teares, counsailes or prayers could availe, resolved to profit himselfe a little of his wit, and make him if hee could to expect untill day, and so when hee did fasten the gyrts, hee softly, without be∣ing felt, tyed his Asses halter to both Rozinantes legs so falt, that when Don-Quixote thought to depart hee could not, for that his Horse could not goe a step, but ••••aping. Sancho seeing the good successe of his guile, said, behold Sir how Heaven, moved by my teares and prayers, hath ordained that Rozinante should not goe a step; and if you will bee still contending and spurring, and striking him, you will doe nothing but in∣rage fortune, and as the Proverb saies, But spurne against the pri••k. Don-Quixote grew wood at this, and yet the more hee spurred him, hee was the lesse able to goe; wherefore without perceiving the cause of his Horses stay, hee resolved at last to bee quiet, and expect either till the morning, or else till Rozinante would please to depart, believing verily that the impediment came of some other cause, and not from Sancho; and therefore said unto him: Since it is so Sancho, that Rozinante cannot stir him, I am content to tarry till the dawning, although her tardines••e cost me some tears. You shall have no cause to weep, replyed Sancho; for I will entertain you telling of Histories untill it be day if you will not alight and take a nap upon these green hearbs, as Knights Errant are wont, that you may be the fresher, and better able to morrow, to attempt that monstrous Adventure which you expect. What doest thou call alight∣ing, or sleeping, quoth Don-Quixote? Am I peradventure one of those Knights that repose in time of danger? Sleep thou who wast borne to sleep, or doe what thou please; for I will doe that which I shall see fittest for my pretence. Good Sir be not angry, quoth Sancho, for I did not speak with that intention: And so drawing neer unto him, he set one of his hands on the pomell of the saddle, and the other hinder in such sort, that he rested imbracing his Lords left thigh, not daring to depart from thence the bredth of a finger, such was the fear he had of those blows, which all the while did sound without ceasing.

Then Don Quixote commanded him to tell some tale to passe away the time, as hee had promised, and Sancho said hee would, if the feare of that which hee heard would suffer him. Yet, quoth hee, for all this I will encourage my selfe to tell you one, whereon if I can hit aright, and that I bee not interrupted, is the best History that ever you heard, and bee you attentive for now I begin. It was, that it was, the good that shall befall, bee for us all, and the ••arme for him that searches it. And you must be ad∣vertised good Sir, that the beginning that ancient men gave to their tales, was not of ordinary things, and it was a sentence of Cato the Roman 〈◊〉〈◊〉: Which saies, and the harme bee for him that searches it: Which is as fit for this place as a ring for a finger, to the end that you may bee quiet, and not to goe seeke your owne harme to any place, but that wee turne us another way, for no body compelleth us to follow this, where so many feares doe surprize us. Prosecute this tale Sancho, said Don-Quixote, and leave the charge of the way wee must goe to mee. I say then quoth Sancho, that in a vil∣lage of Estremadura, there was a Sheepheard, I would say a Goateheard. And as I say of my tale, this Goatheard was called Lope R••yz, and this Lope R••yz was enamou∣red on a Sheepheardesse who was called Torralua, the which Sheepheardesse called Tor∣ralua was daughter to a rich Heard-man, and this rich heard-man. If thou tellest thy tale Sancho after that manner, quoth Don-Quixote, repeating every thing twice that thou sayest, thou wilt not end it these two dayes; tell it succin••tly, and like one of judgement, or else say nothing. Of the very same fashion that I tell, are all tales told in my Countrey and I know not how to tell it any other way, nor is it reason that you should aske of mee to make new customes. Tell it as thou pleasest, quoth Don-Quixote for since fortune will not otherwise, but that I must heare thee, goe forward. So that my deere Sir of my Soule, quoth Sancho, that as I have said already, this Sheep heard

was in love with Torralua the Sheepheard esse, who was a round wench, scornefull, and drew somwhat neere to a man, for shee had Mochachoes, for mee thinks I see her now before my face. Belike then, quoth Don Quixote thou knewest her? I did not know her quoth Sancho, but hee that told mee the tale, said it was so certaine and true, that I might when I told it to any other, very well sweare and affirme that I had seene it all my selfe. So that dayes passing and dayes coming, the Devill who sleepes not, and that troubles all [Yque tod••lo annasca. pag. 172,] wrought in such sort, as the love that the Sheepheard bore to the Sheepheardesse turned into man-slaughter and ill will, and the cause was according to bad tongues; a certaine quantity of little jealousies that shee gave him, such as they past the line, and came to the forbidden [A Spanish Proverb touching their jealousie.] And the Sheepheard did hate her so much afterward that hee was content to leave all that Countrey because hee would not see her, and goe where his eyes should never looke upon her. Torralua that saw her selfe disdayned by Lope, did presently love him better then ever shee did before; that is a naturall conditi∣on of women, quoth Don-Quixote, to disdaine those that love them, and to affect those which hate them. Passe forward Sancho. It hapned quoth Sancho, that the Sheepheard set his purpose in execution, and gathering up his Goates, hee travelled through the fields of Estremadura, to passe into the Kingdom of Portugall. Torralua, which knew it well, followed him a foote and bare legged, a farre off, with a Pilgrims staffe in her hand, and a Wallet hanging at her neck, where they say that shee carried a peece of a looking-glasse, and another of a combe, and I know not what little bottle of changes for her face. But let her carry what shee carries, for I will not put my selfe now to verifie that: Only I'le say that they say, that the Sheepheard arived with his Goates to passe over the River Guadiana, which in that season was swoln very much, and overflowed the banks, and at the side where hee came there was neither boate nor barke, nor any to passe himself or his Goats over the River, for which hee was very much grieved, because hee saw that Torralua came very neere, and shee would trouble him very much with her prayers and teares. But hee went so long looking up and downe, that hee spyed a fisher, who had so little a boate, as it could only hold one man and a Goate at once, and for all that hee spake and agreed with him to passe him∣self and three hundred Goates that hee had over the River. The fisher-man entred in∣to the boate, and caried over one Goate, hee returned and past over another, and tur∣ned back again and past over another. Keep you Sir good account of the Goates, that the fisherman ferries over, for if one only bee forgotten, the tale will end, and it will not be possible to tell one word more of it. Follow on then, and I say, that the land∣ing place on the other side was very dirty and slippery, which made the fisherman spend much time coming too and fro. Yet for all that he turned for another Goate, and ano∣ther, and another.

Make account quoth Don-Quixote, that thou hast past them all over, for otherwise thou wilt not make an end of passing them in a whol yeeres space. How many said Sancho are already past over? What a Devill know I, said Don-Quixote? See there that which I said quoth Sancho, that you should keepe good account. By Iove the tale is ended therefore, for there is no passing forward. How can that bee, said Don-Qui∣xote, is it so greatly of the essence of this History to know the Goates that are past so exactly and distinctly, that if one of the number bee missed thou canst not follow on with thy tale? No Sir, in no sort, said Sancho, for as soone as I demanded of you to tell mee how many Goates past over, and that you answered mee you knew not, in that very instant it went from me out of my memorie all that was to bee told, and yfaith it was of great virtue and content. So then quoth Don-Quixote, the tale is ended; it is as certainly ended as is my Mother quoth Sancho. Surely, replyed Don-Quixote, thou hast recounted one of the rarest tales or Histories that any one of the world could thinke upon, and that such a manner of telling or finishing a tale, was never yet seene, or shall bee seene againe, although I never expected any other thing from thy good dis∣course. But I doe not greatly marvaile, for perhaps those senselesse strokes, have trou∣bled thine understanding. All that may bee said Sancho, but I know in the discourse

of my tale there is no more to be said, but that there is ends, where the errour of count∣ing the Goats that were wafted over the River begins. Let it end in a good hour where it lists, answered Don-Quixote, and let us trie whether Rozinante can yet stir himself; then did he turn again to give him the spurs, and he to leap as he did at the first and rest anew, being unable to doe other, he was so well shackled.

It hapned about this time, that either through the cold of the morning, or that Sancho had eaten at supper some lenative meats, or that it was a thing naturall (and that is most credible) he had a desire to doe that which others could not doe for him; but such was the fear that entred into his heart, as he dared not depart from his Lord the bredth of a straw; and to think to leave that which he had desired undone, was also impossible; therefore his resolution in that perplexed exigent (be it spoken with pardon) was this; he loosed his right hand, wherewithall he held fast the hinder part of the saddle, and therewithall very softly, and without any noyse, he untied the Cod∣piece poynt wherewithall his breeches were only supported, which, that being let slip, did presently fall down about his legs like a pair of bolts: After this lifting up his shirt the best he could, he exposed his buttocks to the aire, which were not the least: This be∣ing done, which as he thought was the chiefest thing requisite to issue out of that terrible anguish and plunge; he was suddainly troubled with a greater, to wit, That he knew not how to disburden himself without making a noyse: which to avoyd first he shut his teeth close, lifted up his shoulders, and gathered up his breath as much as he might: yet notwithstanding all these diligences, he was so unfortunate, that he made a little noyse at the end, much different from that which made him so fearefull. Don-Quixote heard it, and said, What noyse is that Sancho? I know it not Sir, quoth he; I think it be some new thing for Adventures, or rather disventures never begin with a little. Then turned' he once again to trie his hap, and it succeeded so well, that without making any rumour or noyse, but that which he did at the first, he found himself free of the loading the troubled him so much.

But Don-Quixote having the sense of smelling, as perfect as that of his hearing; and Sancho stood so neer, or rather joyned to him, as the vapours did ascend upward, al∣most by a direct line, he could not excuse himself but that some of them must needs touch his nose. And scarce had they arrived, but that he occurd to the usuall remedy, and stopped it very well between his fingers, and then said with a snaffling voyce: Me thinks Sancho that thou art much afraid. I am indeed, replyed Sancho; but wherein I pray you, doe you perceive it now more then ever? In that thou smellest now more then ever, quoth Don-Quixote, and that not of Amber. It may be so, quoth Sancho; yet the fault is not mine, but yours, which bring me at such unseasonable hours, through so desolate and fearfull places. I pray thee friend retire thy self two or three steps back, quoth Don-Quixote, holding his fingers still upon his nose; and from henceforth have more care of thy person, and of the respect thou owest to mine; for I see the overmuch familiarity that I use with thee, hath ingendred this contempt. I dare wa∣ger, quoth Sancho, that you think I have done somewhat with my person that I ought not. Friend Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote, it is the worse to stir it thus. And thus in these and such like conversation the Master and the Man passed over the night. And Sancho seeing that the morning approached, he loosed Rozinante very warily, and tyed up his hose, Rozinante feelling himself (although hee was not naturally very coura∣gious) hee seemed to rejoyce, and began to beat the ground with his hoofs; for by his leave he could never yet curvet. Don-Quixote seeing that Rozinante could now stir, accounted it to be a good signe, and an incouragement of him to attempt that timorous Adventure.

By this Aurora did display her purple mantle over the face of Heaven, and every thing appeared distinctly, which made Don-Quixote perceive that he was among a number of tall Chesnut-trees, which commonly make a great shadow: He heard like∣wise those incessable stroaks, but could not espie the cause of them; wherefore giving Rozinante presently the spur, and turning back again to Sancho, to bid him farewell, he commanded him to stay for him there three dayes at the longest, and that if he re∣turned

not after that space, he should make full account that Iove was pleased hee should end his dayes in that dangerous Adventure.

After this charge given by Don-Quixote to Sancho, hee repeated to him againe the embassage and errant hee should cary in his behalfe to his Lady Dulcinea, and that tou∣ching the reward of his services hee should not feare any thing, for hee had left his Te∣stament, made before hee departed from his Village, where hee should finde himselfe gratif••ed touching all that which pertained to his hyre, according to the rate of the time hee had served. But if God would bring him off from that Adventure safe and sound, and without danger, hee might fully account to receive the promised Island. Here Sancho began anew to weepe, hearing againe the pittifull discourses of his good Lord, and determined not to abandon him untill the last trance and end of that affaire, and out of these teares and honourable resolution of Sancho, the author of this History col∣lects, that it is like hee was well borne, or at the very least an old Christian, whose grief did move his Master a little, but not so much as he should shew the least argument of weakness, but rather dissembling it the best he could, he followed on his way towards the way of the water, and that where the stroakes were heard. Sancho followed him a foote, leading as he was wont his Asse by the halter, who was the inseparable fellow of his prosperous or adverse fortunes.

And having travelled a good space among these Chesnut and shady trees, they came out into a little plaine that stood at the foote of certaine steepe Rocks, from whose tops did precipitate it self a great fall of water. There were at the foot of those rockes certaine houses, so ill made, as they rather seemed ruines of buildings then houses; from whence as they perceived, did issue the fearfull rumour and noyse of the stroaks, which yet continued. Rozinante at this dreadfull noyse did start, and being made quiet by his Lord Don-Quixote, did by little and little draw neer to the houses, recommending himself on the way most devoutly to his Ladie Dulcinea, and al∣so to Iove, desiring him that hee would not forget him. Sancho never departed from his Lords side, and stretched out his neck and eyes as farr as he might through Rozinan∣te his legg••, to see if he could perceive that which held him so fearfull and suspen∣ded. And after they had travelled about a hundred paces, more at the dubling of a point of a Mountaine they saw the very cause patent and open (for there could bee none other) of that so hideous and fearefull a noyse that had kept them all the night so doubtfull and affrighted, and was (O Reader if thou wilt not take it in bad part) six iron Maces that fulled cloath, which with their interchangeable blowes, did forme that marvelous noyse.

When Don-Quixote saw what it was, hee waxed mute and all ashamed. Sancho beheld him, and saw that hee hanged his head on his breast with tokens that hee was somewhat ashamed. Don-Quixote looked also on his Squire, and saw his cheeks swolne with laughter, giving withall evident signes that hee was in danger to burst, if he vent∣ed not that passion, whereat all Don-Quixotes melancholy little prevayling, he could not, beholding Sancho, but laugh also himselfe. And when Sancho saw his Master begin the play, hee let slip the prisoner, in such violent manner pressing his sides with both his hands, to save himselfe from bursting. Foure times hee ended, and other foure he renewed his laughter, with as great impulse and force as at the first, whereat Don-Qui∣xote was wonderfully enraged, but chiefly hearing him say, in jibing manner; I would have thee know friend Sancho, that I was borne by the disposition of Heaven in this our age of Iron, to renewe in it that of gold, or the golden world. I am hee for whom are reserved all dangerous, great and valorous feats. And in this sort hee went repeating all or the greatest part of the words Don-Quixote had said the first time that they heard the timerous blowes, Don-Quixote perceiving that Sancho mock't him, grew so ashamed and angry withall, that lifting up the end of his lance, hee gave him two such blowes on the back, as if hee had received them on his pate, would have freed his Ma∣ster from paying him any wages, if it were not to his Heires. Sancho, seeing that hee gayned so ill earnest by his jests, fearing that his Master should goe onward with it, he said unto him with very great submission; Pacifie your selfe good Sir, for by Iove I

did but jest. But why doest thou jest? I tell thee I doe not jest, quoth Don-Quixote. Come here Master Merriman, thinkest thou that as those are iron Maces to full Cloth, if they were some other dangerous Adventure, that I have not shewn resolution enough to undertake and finish it? Am I by chance oblieged, being, as I am, a Knight, to know and distinguish noyses, and perceive which are of a Fulling-Mill, or no? And more it might (as it is true) that I never saw any before as thou hast done, base Villain that thou art, born and braught up among the like: if not, make thou that these six Maces be converted into Giants, and cast them in my beard one by one, or all together; and when I doe not turn all their heels up, then mock me as much as thou pleasest.

No more good Sir, quoth Sancho, for I confesse I have been somewhat too laugh∣some; but tell me I pray you, now that we are in peace, as God shall deliver you out of all Adventures that may befall you as whole and sound, as he hath done out of this: Hath not the great fear we were in, been a good subject of laughter, and a thing worthy the telling? At least I, for of you, I am certain that you doe not yet know what fear or terrour is. I doe not denye, quoth Don-Quixote, but that which befell us is worthy of laughter; yet ought it not to be recounted, for as much as all persons are not so discreet, as to know how to discerne one thing from another, and set every thing in his right poynt. You know at least wise, quoth Sancho, how to set your Javelin in his poynt, when poynting at my pate you hit me on the shoulders, thanks be to God, and to the diligence I put in going aside. But farewell it, for all will away in the bucking; and I have heard old folk say, That man loves thee well who makes thee to weep: And besides great Lords are wont after a bad word which they say to one of their Servingmen, to bestow on him presently a pair of hose. But I know not yet what they are wont to give them after blows, if it be not that Knights Errant give after the Bastanado Islands, or Kingdoms on the continent. The Die might run so favourably; quoth Don-Quixote, as all thou hast said might come to passe; and therefore pardon what is done since thou art discreet, and knowest that a mans first motions are not in his hand. And be advertised of one thing from hence forward to the end to abstain, and carry thy self more respectively in thy over-much liberty of speech with me) that in as many books of Chivalry as I have read, which are infi∣nite, I never found that any Squire spoak so much with his Lord, as thou doest with thine: which in good sooth I doe attribute to thy great indiscretion and mine; thine in respecting me so little; mine in not making my self to be more regarded. Was not Gandalin, Amadis du Gaules Squire Earl of the firm Island? and yet it is read of him, that hee spoak to his Lord with his Cap in his hand, his head bowed, and his body bended (more Turcesco.) What then shall we say of Gasabel, Don Gataors Squire, who was so silent, as to declare us the excellencie thereof, his name is but once repeated in all that so great and authenticall a History? Of all which my words Sancho, thou must infer, that thou must make difference between the Master and the man; the Lord and his Serving-man; the Knight and his Squire. So that from this day forward we must proceed with more respect, not letting the clew run so much; for after what way soever I grow angry with thee, it will be bad for the Pitcher. The rewards and benefits that I have promised thee will come in their time; and if they doe not, thy wages cannot be lost (as I have already said to thee).

You say very well, quoth Sancho, but fain would I learn (in case that the time of rewards came not, and that I must of necessity trust to my wages) how much a Knight Errants Squire did gain in times past? Or if they did agree for moneths, or by dayes as Masons men. I doe not think, quoth Don-Quixote, that they went by the hire, but only trusted to their Lords courtesie. And if I have assigned wages to thee in my sealed Testament, which I left at home, it was to prevent the worst; because I know not yet what successe Chivalry may have in these our so miserable times; and I would not have my Soul suffer in the other world for such a minuity as is thy wages. For thou must understand, that in this world there is no state so dangerous as that of Knights Errant. That is most true, replyed Sancho, seeing the only sound of the Maces of a

Fulling-Mill could trouble and disquiet the heart of so valiant a Knight as you are. But you may be sure, that I will not hereafter once unfold my lips to jest at your doings, but only to honour you as my Master and naturall Lord. By doing so, replyed Don-Quixote, thou shalt live on the face of the earth; for next to our parents, we are bound to respect our Masters, as if they were our Fathers.

CHAP. VII.

Of the high Adventure and rich winning of the Helmet of Mambrino, with other Successes which befell the invincible Knight.

IT began about this time to rain and, Sancho, would fain have entred into the fulling-Mills, but Don-Quixote had conceived such hate against them for the jest recounted, as he would in no wise come neer them; but turning his way on she right hand, he fell into a high•• way, as much 〈◊〉〈◊〉 as that wherein they rode the day before: within a while after Don-Quixote espied one a horse-back, that bore on his head somewhat that glistered like gold; and scarce had he seen him, when he turned to Sancho, and said, Me thinks Sancho that there's no proveb that is not true; for they are all sentences taken out of experience it self, which is the universall mother of Sciences; and specially that proverb that sayes, Where one door is shut another is opened. I say this, because if fortune did shut yester night the door that we searched deceiving us in the Adventure of the iron Maces, it layes us how wide open the door that may addresse us to a better and more certain Adventure, whereon if I cannot make a good entrie, the fall shall be mine, without being able to attribute it to the little knowledge of the Fulling Maces, or the darkenesse of the night; which I affirm, because, if I be not deceived, there comes one towards us, that wears on his head the helmet of Mambrino, for which I made the Oath. See well what you say Sir, and better what you doe quoth Sancho; for I would not with that this were new Maces to batter us and our understanding. The Divell take thee for a man, replyed Don-Quixote; what difference is there be∣twixt a Helmet and fulling Maces? I know not, quoth Sancho; but if I could speak as much now as I was wont, perhaps I would give you such reasons, as you your self should see how much you are deceived in that you speak. How may I be deceived in that I say, scrupulous traytor, quoth Don-Quixote? Tell me; seest thou not that Knight which comes riding towards us on a dapple gray horse, with a Helmet of gold on his head? That which I see and finde out to be so, answered Sancho, is none other then a man on a gray Asse like mine own, and brings on his head somewhat that shines. Why that is Mambrino's Helmet, quoth Don-Quixote: stand aside and leave me alone with him; thou shalt see how without speech, to cut off delayes, I will conclude this Adventure, and remain with the Helmet as mine own, which I have so much de∣sired: I will have care to stand off: but I turn again to say, that I pray God, that it be a purchase of gold, and not Fulling-Mills: I have already said unto thee, that thou doe not make any more mention, no not in thought of those Maces: For if thou doest, said Don-Quixote, I vow, I say no more, that I will batter thy soul. Here Sancho fearing lest his Master would accomplish the vow which he had thrown out as round as a bowle, held his peace.

This therefore is the truth of the History of the Helmet•• Horse and Knight, which Don-Quixote saw: There was in that Commarke two villages, the one so little as it

had neither shop nor Barber, but the greater that was neere unto it, was furnished of one; and hee therefore did serve the little village when they had any occasion, as now it befell that therein lay one sick and must bee let blood, and another that desired to trimme his Beard; for which purpose the Barber came, bringing with him a brazen Bason: and as hee travelled, it ••y chance began to rayne, and therefore clapt his Ba∣son on his head to save his hat from stayning, because it belike was a new one. And the Bason being cleane scowred, glistered halfe a league off. Hee rode on a gray Asse, as Sancho said; and that was the reason why Don-Quixote tooke him to bee a dapple gray Steed: Hee likewise took the Barber for a Knight, and his glistering Bason for a Helmet of gold; for hee did with all facilitie apply every thing which hee saw to his raving Chivalrie and ill-errant thoughts. And when hee saw that the poor Knight drew neere, without setling himselfe to commune with him, hee inrested his [Sancon] Javelin low on the thigh, and ran with all the force Rozinante might, think∣ing to strike him thorow and thorow; and drawing neere unto him, without stoping his Horse, hee cryed defend thy selfe Caytif, or else render unto mee willingly that which is my due by all reason.

The Barber who so without fearing or surmising any such thing, saw that Fantasie and Spirit came upon him, had no other remedy to avoid the blow of the Launce but to fall off of his Asse to the ground: and scarce had hee touched the earth, when ris∣sing up againe as light as a Deer, he runn away so swiftly through the plane, as the winde could scarce overtake him; leaving behind him on the ground his Bason, where∣withall Don-Quixote rested content, and said, that Pagan which lost it was discreet, and did imitate the Castor, who seeing himself hotly pursued by the hunters, which tears & cuts away that with his teeth, for which hee knows by naturall instinct he was follow∣ed. Then hee commanded Sancho to take up the Helmet, who lifting it said, the Bason is a good one by God, and is as well worth a Riall of eight as a marmedie; and giving it to his Lord, hee presently set it on his head, turning about every way, to see whe∣ther hee could get the Beaver, and seeing hee could not finde it, hee said. The Pa∣gan for whome this famous Helmet was first forged, had doubtlesly a very great Head; and that which grieves mee principally is, that this Helmet wants the one halfe.

When Sancho haard him call the Bason a Helmet, hee could not contain his laughter, but presently remembering of his Masters choler, hee chek't it in the midst. Why dost thou laugh Sancho, quoth Don-Quixotes.? I laugh said hee, to thinke on the great head the Pagan, owner of this Helmet, had; for it is for all the world like a Barbers Bason. Know Sancho that I imagine, quoth Don Quixote, that this famous peece of this inchanted Helmet did fall by some strange accident into some ones hands that knew not the worth thereof, and seeing it was of pure gold, without knowing what hee did, I thinke hee hath molten the halfe, to profit himselfe therewithall, and made of the o∣so ther halfe this, which seemes a Barbers Bason, as thou sayest: But bee what it list, to mee who knows well what it is, his transmutation makes no matter; for I will dresse it in the first towne where I shall finde a Smith, as that which the God of forges made for the God of Warre shall not surpasse, no nor come neere it; and in the meane while I will weare it as I may; for somthing is better then nothing: and more, seeing it may very well defend mee from the blow of a stone. That's true, quoth Sancho, if it bee not throwne out of a sling, such as that of the battle of the two Armies, when they blessed your Worships cheeke teeth, and broke the bottle wherein you carried the most blessed drench which made mee vomit up my guts. I doe not much care for the losse of it Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote, for as thou knowest I have the receite in memory; so have I likewise quoth Sancho, but if ever I make it or taste it again in my life, I pray God that here may bee mine end. How much more I never meane to thrust my selfe, into a∣ny occasion wherein I should have neede of it; for I meane with all my five sences to keepe my selfe from hurting any, or being hurt. Of being once againe tost in a Coverlet I say nothing, for such disgraces can hardly bee prevented, and if they befall, there is no other remedie but patience, and to lift up the shoulders, keepe in the breath, shut

the eyes, and suffer our selves to be borne where Fortune and the Coverlet pleaseth.

Thou art a bad Christian Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote, hearing him say so; for thou never forgetest the injuries that are once done to thee: know that it is the duty of noble and generous mindes, not to make any account of toyes. What leg hast thou brought away lame? what rib broken? or what head hurt, that thou canst not yet forget that jest? for the thing being well examined, it was none other then a jest or pastime; for if I did not take it to be such, I had returned by this to that place, and done more harme in thy revenge, then that which the Greeks did for the rape of Helen: who if she were in these times, or my Dulcinea in hers, she might be sure she should never have gained so much fame for beauty as she did: And saying so, he pierced the skie with a sigh. Then said Sancho, let it passe for a jest, since the revenge cannot passe in earnest. But I know well the quality both of the jest and earnest, and also that they shall never fall out of my memory, as they will never out of my shoulders. But leaving this apart, what shall we doe with this dapple gray stead, that looks so like a gray Asse, which that Martin left behinde, whom you overthrew, who according as he laid feet on the dust and made haste, he mindes not to come back for him again; and by my beard the gray beast is a good one. I am not accustomed, quoth Don-Quixote, to ransack and spoyl those whom I overcome; nor is it the practise of Chi∣valry to take their horses and let them goe a foot: if that it befall the Victor to lose in the conflict his own; for in such a case it is lawfull to take that of the Vanquished as won in fair warre. So that Sancho leave that Horse, or Asse, or what else thou pleasest to call it; for when his owner sees us departed, he will return again for it. God knows, quoth Sancho, whether it will be good or no for me to take him, or at least change for mine own, which me thinks is not so good. Truely the Laws of Knighthood are straight, since they extend not themselves to licence the exchange of one Asse for another: And I would know whether they permit at least to exchange the one harnesse for another. In that I am not very sure, quoth Don-Quixote; and as a case of doubt (untill I be better informed) I say that thou exchange them, if by chance thy need bee extream. So extream, quoth Sancho, that If they were for mine own very person, I could not neede them more. And presently, enabled by the Licence, he made mutatio Caparum, and set forth his beast like a hundred holy∣dayes.

This being done they broak their fast with the reliques of the spoyles they had made in the Camp of Sumpter horse, and drunk of the Mills streams, without once turning to look on them (so much they abhor'd them for the marveilous terrour they had strucken them in) and having by their repast cut away all cholerick and melancholick humours, they followed on the way which Rozinante pleased to lead them (who was the depository of his Masters will, and also of the Asses; who followed him al∣waies wheresoever he went, in good amity and company. For all this they returned to the high-way, wherein they travelled at randome, without any certain deliberation which way to goe. And as they thus travailed, Sancho said to his Lord, Sir, will you give me leave to commune a little with you; for since you have imposed upon me that sharp commandement of silence, more then four things have rotted in my sto∣mack; and one thing that I have now upon the tip of my tongue, I would not wish for any thing that it should miscarrie. Say it, quoth Don-Quixote, and be brief in thy reasons; for none is delightfull if it bee prolix. I say then, quoth Sancho, that I have beene these later daies, considering how little is gained by following these Adventures, that you doe through these Desarts and crosse waies, where though you overcome and finish the most dangerous; yet no man sees or knowes them, and so they shall remaine in perpetuall silence, both to your prejudice, and that of the fame which they deserve. And therefore mee thinks it were better (still excepting your better judgement herein) that wee went to serve some Emperour, or other great Prince that maketh warre, in whose service you might shew the valour of your Person, your marvelous force, and wonderfull Judgement: which being perceived by the Lord whom wee shall serve, hee must perforce reward us, every one according to his deserts; and in such a place will

not want one to record your noble acts for a perpetuall memory: of mine I say no∣thing, seeing they must not transgresse the Squire-like limits; although I dare avouch that if any notice bee taken in Chivalry of the feats of Squires, mine shall not fall away betwixt the lines.

Sancho thou sayest not ill, quoth Don-Quixote; but before such a thing come to passe, it is requisite to spend some time up and down the World, as in pro∣bation, seeking of Adventures; to the end, that by atchieving some, a man may ac∣quire such fame and renown, as when hee goes to the Court of any great Monarch, hee bee there already known by his works, and that hee shall scarcely bee perceived to enter at the gates by the boyes of that Citie, when they all will follow and inviron him, crying out aloud, That is the Knight of the Sunne, or the Serpent, or of some other device, under which hee hath atchieved strange Adventures. This is hee (will they say) who overcame in single sight the huge Giant Brocabruno of the invincible strength. Hee that disinchanted the great Sophie of Persia, of the large inchantment wherein hee had lien almost nine hundred years. So that they will thus goe pro∣claiming his acts from hand to hand; and presently the King of that Kingdome, moved by the great bruit of the boyes and other people, will stand at the Windows of his Pallace, to see what it is; And as soon as hee shall eye the Knight, knowing him by his Armes, or by the Impresa of his Shield, he must necessarily say, Up, goe all of you my Knights, as many of you as are in Court, forth, to receive the flower of Chivalry, which comes there. At whose commandement they all will salley, and hee himself will come down to the midest of the stairs, and will imbrace him most straightly, & will give him the peace, kissing him on the cheek; and presently will carrie him by the hand to the Queens Chamber, where the Knight shall finde her accom∣panied by the Princesse her daughter, which must bee one of the fairest and debonair Damzels that can be found throughout the vast compasse of the earth: After this will presently and in a trice succeed, that shee will cast her eye on the Knight, and hee on her, and each of them shall seem to the other no humane creature, but an Angell; and then without knowing how, or how not, they shall remain captive and intangled in the intricable amorous Net, and with great care in their mindes, because they know not how they shall speak to discover their anguish and feeling. From thence the King will carrie him without doubt, to some quarter of his Pallace richly hanged; where, having taken off his Armes, they will bring him a rich Mantle of Scarlet, furred with Ermines, to wear; and if hee seemed well before, being Armed; hee shall now look as well, or better, out of them. The night being come, hee shall Sup with the King, Queen, and Princesse, where he shall never take his eye off her, beholding unawares of those that stand present, and shee will doe the like with as much discretion: for, as I have said, shee is a very discreet Damzell. The Tables shall bee taken up; there shall enter unexpectedly in at the hall, an ill-favoured little Dwarff, with a fair Lady that comes behinde the Dwarff between two Giants, with a certain Adventure wrought by a most ancient wise man; and that hee who shall end it, shall be held for the best Knight of the World. Presently the King will command all those that are present to prove it, which they doe, but none of them can finish it, but only the new come Knight to the great proof of his fame. Whereat the Princesse will remain very glad, and will be very joyfull and well apaid, because shee hath setled her thoughts in so high a place. And the best of it is. That this King, or Prince•• or what else hee is, hath a very great Warre with another as mightie as he; and the Knight his guest doth ask him (after hee hath been in the Court a few dayes) licence to goe and serve him in that Warre. The King will give it with a very good will, and the Knight will kisse his hands courteously for the favour hee doth him therein: And that night he will take leave of his Ladie the Princesse by some win∣dow of a Garden that looks into her Bed-chamber, by the which he hath spoaken to her oft times before, being a great means and help thereto, a certain Damzell which the Princesse trusts very much. He sighs, and she will fall in a swond, and the Damzell will bring water, to bring her to her self again. Shee will bee also full of care because

the morning draws neer, and she would not have them discovered for any her Ladies honour. Finally, the Princesse will return to her self, and will give out her beautifull hands at the window to the Knight, who will kisse them a thousand and a thousand times, and will bathe them all in tears. There it will remain agreed be∣tween them two, the means that they will use to acquaint one another with their good or bad successes; and the Princesse will pray him to stay away as little time as he may, which hee shall promise unto her, with many Oaths and Protestations. Then will he turn again to kisse her hands, and take his leave of her with such feeling, that there will want but little to end his life in the place: hee goes from thence to his Chamber, and casts himself upon his Bed; but he shall not be able to sleep a nap for sorrow of his departure: Hee will after get up very early, and will goe to take leave of the King, the Queene and Princesse. They tell him (having taken leave of the first two) that the Princesse is ill at ease and that shee cannot bee visited: the Knight thinks that it is for griefe of his departure, and the which ti••••ngs launceth him a new to the bottom of his heart. whereby hee will bee almost constrained to give manifest tokens of his griefe: the damzel that is privie to their loves will be pre∣sent, and must note all that passeth, and goe after to tell it to her Mistrisse, who re∣ceives her with teares, and sayes, unto her that one of the greatest afflictions shee hath is, that shee doth not know who is her Knight, or whether hee bee of blood royall or no: Her Damzell will assure her againe, that so great bountie, beauty and valour as is in her Knight, could not finde place but in a great and royall subject. The carefull Princesse will comfort her selfe with this hope, and labor to bee cheerefull left shee should give occasion to her Parents to suspect any sinister thing of her; and within two dayes agayne shee will come out in publique. By this the Knight is de∣parted, hee fights in the war, and overcomes the Kings enemie, hee winnes many Cities, and triumphs for many Battles, hee returnes to the Court, hee visits his La∣dy, and speaks to her at the accustomed place, hee agreeth with her to demand her of the King for his wife, in reward of his services, whereunto the King will not consent, because hee knowes not what hee is: but for all this, eyther by carying her away, or by some other manner, the Princesse becomes his wife, and hee accounts himselfe therefore very fortunate, because it was after known that the same Knight is sonne to a very valorous King, of I know not what Countrey; for I beleeve it is not in all the Mappe. The Father dies, and the Princesse doth inherit the Kingdome, and thus in two words our Knight is become a King, Here in this place enters pre∣sently the commoditie to reward his Squire, and all those that holpe him to ascend to so high an estate. Hee marries his Squire with one of the Princesses Damzels, which shall doubtlesly be the very same that was acquainted with his love, who is some principall Dukes daughter.

That's it I seek for, quoth Sancho, and all will goe right; therefore I will leave to that; for every whit of it which you said will happen to your self, without missing a jot, calling your self, The Knight of the ill-favoured ••ace. Never doubt it Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote; for even in the very same manner, and by the same steps that I have recounted here, Knights Errant doe ascend, and have ascended to be Kings and Empe∣rours. This only is expedient, That we enquire what King among the Christians or Heathens makes warr and hath a fair daughter: but we shall have time enough to bethink that, since as I have said we must first acquire fame in other places, before we goe to the Court. Also I want another thing, that put case that we find a Christian or Pagan King, that hath warrs and a fair daughter, and that I have gained incre∣dible fame throughout the wide-world, yet cannot I tell how I might finde that I am descended from Kings, or that I am at the least Cousen Germain removed of an Emperour? for the King will not give mee his daughter untill this bee first very well proved, though my works deserve it never so much; so that I feare to lose through this defect, that which mine owne hath merited so well. True it is that I am a Gentleman of a known house of propriety and possession; and perhaps the wise man that shall write my History will so beautifie my kindred and discent, that hee will finde

mee to bee the fift or sixe discent from a King; for thou must understand Sancho, that there are two manners of lineages in the world. Some that derive their Pedegree from Princes and Monarchs, whom time hath by little and little diminished and consumed, and ended in a point like Pyramydes. Others that tooke their beginning from base people, and ascend from degree unto degree, untill they become at last great Lords. So that all the difference is, That some were that which they are not now; and others are that which they were not; and it might bee that I am of those, and after good exa∣mination my beginning might bee found to have beene famous and glorious, where∣withall the King, my father in lawe ought to bee content, whosoever hee were: and when hee were not, yet shall the Princesse love mee in such sort, that shee shall in de∣spight of her Fathers teeth admitt mee for her Lord and Spouse, although shee knew mee to bee the son of a water-bearer. And if not, here in this place may quader well the carying of her away perforce, and carying of her where best I liked; for either time or death must needs end her fathers displeasure.

Here comes well to passe that, Sancho, which some damned fellowes are wont to say; Seeke not to get that with a good will, which thou maist take perforce, although it were better said, The leaps of a shrub is more worth then good mens intreaties. I say it to this purpose, that if the King your father in law will not condiscend to give unto you the Princesse my Mistresse, then there's no more to be done, but as you say to her, steal away and carry her to another place: but all the harme is, that in the mean while that composition is unmade, and you possesse not quietly your Kingdome, the poor Squire may whistle for any benefit or pleasure you are able to doe him, if it bee not that the damzel of whom you spoke even now, run away with her Lady, and that hee passe away his misfortunes now and then with her, untill heaven ordaine some other thing: for I doe think that his Lord may give her unto him presently, if shee please to be his lawfull Spouse. There's none that can deprive thee of that, quoth Don-Quixote. Why, so that this may befall, quoth Sancho, there's no more but to commend our selves to God and let Fortune runne where it may best addresse us. God bring it so to passe, quoth Don-Quixote, as I desire, and thou hast need of Sancho; and let him be a wretch that accouts himself one. Let him be so, quoth Sancho, for I am an old Christian; and to be an Earl, there is no more requisite. I, and 'tis more then enough, quoth Don-Quixote, for that purpose; and though thou werest not, it made not much matter; for I being a King, may give thee nobility, without eyther buying of it, or serving me with nothing: For in creating thee an Earle, loe thereby thou art a Gentleman. And let men say what they please; they must in good faith, call thee Right Honourable, although it grieve them never so much. And think you, quoth Sancho, that I would not authorize my Litado. Thou must say Dictado or dignity, quoth Don-Quixote, and not Litado, for that's barbarous word. Let it be so, quoth Sancho Panca; I say that I would accommodate all very well; for I was once the Warner of a Confratriety, and the Warners gown became me so well, that every one said I had a presence sit for the Provest of the same. Then how much more when I shall set on my shoulders the Royall Robe of a Duke, or bee apparrelled with gold and pearls after the custome of strange Earls? I doe verify believe that men will come a hundred leagues to see me. Thou wilt seem very well, quoth Don-Quixote; but thou must shave that beard very often; for as thou hast it now so bushie, knit, and unhand∣some: if thou shavest it not with a Razor at the least every other day, men will know that thou art as farre from Gentilitie as a Musquet can carrie. What more is there to be done, quoth Sancho, then to take a Barber and keep him hired in my house? yea, and if it be necessary, hee shall ride after me, as if hee were a Master of Horse to some Noble man. How knowest thou, quoth Don-Quixote, that Noble men have their Masters of Horses riding after them? Some few years agoe I was a moneth in the Court, and there I saw that a young little Lord rode by for his pleasure, they said hee was a great Grandee: there followed him still a horse-back a certain man turning every way that he went, so as he verily seemed to bee his horse taile. I then de∣manded the cause, why that man did not ride by the others side, but still did follow

him so? They answered me that he was Master of his horses, and that the Grandees were accustomed to carrie such men after them. Thou sayest true, quoth Don-Quixote, and thou mayest carrie thy Barber in that manner after thee; for customes came not all together, nor were not invented at once: And thou mayest bee the first Earl that car∣ried his Barber after him. And I doe assure thee that it is an Office of more trust to trim a mans beard then to saddle a horse. Let that of the Barber rest to my charge, quoth Sancho; and that of procuring to be a King, and of creating me an Earl, to yours. It shall bee so, quoth Don-Quixote: And thus lifting up his eyes, hee saw that which shall bee recounted in the chapter following.

CHAP. VIII.

Of the Liberty Don-Quixote gave to many Wretches, who were a carrying perforce to a place they desired not.

CIde Hamete Benengeli, an Arabicall and Machegan Authour re∣counts in this most grave, lofty, divine, sweet, conceited History, That after these discourses past between Don-Quixote and his Squire Sancho Panca, which we have laid down in the last Chapter, Don-Quixote lifting up his eyes, saw that there came in the very same way wherein they rode, about some twelve men in a company on foot, inserted like Bead-stones in a great chain of iron, that was tyed about their necks, and every one of them had manacles besides on their hands. There came to conduct them two on horse-back and two others a foot: The horse∣men had fire-lock pieces; Those that came a foot, darts and swords. And as soon as Sancho saw them, hee said; This is a chain of Gally-slaves, people forced by the King to goe to the Gallies. How? people forced, demanded Don-Quixote: is it possible that the King will force any body? I say not so, answered Sancho, but that it is peo∣ple which are condemned for their offences to serve the King in the Gallies perforce. In resolution, replyed Don-Quixote, (howsoever it bee) this folk, although they bee conducted, goe perforce, and not willingly. That's so, quoth Sancho. Then if that bee so, here falls in justly the execution of my Function, to wit, the dissolving of violences and outrages, and the succouring of the afflicted and needfull. I pray you Sir, quoth Sancho, to consider that the Justice, who represents the King himself, doth wrong or violence to nobody; but only doth chastise them for their committed crimes.

By this the chaine of slaves arrived, and Don-Quixote with very courteous termes requested those that went in their guard, that they would please to informe him of the cause wherefore they carried that people away in that manner? One of the guardi∣ans a Horse-back answered, that they were slaves condemned by his Majesty to the Gallies, and there was no more to be said, neither ought he to desire any farther know∣ledge. For all that, replied Don-Quixote, I would faine learne of every one of them in particular the cause of his disgrace: and to this did add other such and so cour∣teous words, to move them to tell him what he desired, as the other guardian a Horse-back said. Although we carry here the Register and testimony of the condemna∣tions of every one of these wretches, yet this is no time to hold them here long, or take out the Processes to reade; draw you neerer and demaund it of themselves, for they may tell it and they please, and I know they will; for they are men that take de∣light both in acting and relating knaveries.

With this licence, which Don-Quixote himself would have taken, although they had not given it him, he came to the chaine, and demanded of the first for what offence he went in so ill a guise? Hee answered that his offence was no other then for being

in love; for which cause only hee went in that manner. For that and no more, reply∣ed Don-Quixote? Well, if enamoured folk be cast into the Gallies, I might have been rowing there a good many dayes agoe. My love was not such as you conjecture, quoth the slaue, for mine was that I loved so much a basket well heaped with fine lin∣nen, as I did embrace it so straightly, that if the Justice had not taken it away from me by force, I would not have forsaken it to this hour by my good will. All was done in Flagrante, there was no leisure to give me torment, the cause was concluded, my shoulders accommodated with a hundred, and for a supplement three prices of Gar∣rupes, and the worke was ended. What are Garrupes, quoth Don-Quixote? Garrupes are Gallies, replyed the slave, who was a young man of some four and twenty years old, and said he was borne in Piedrahita.

Don-Quixote demaunded of the second his cause of offence, who would answer nothing he went so sad and melancholy. But the first answered for him, and said, Sir this man goes for a Canary-bird, I meane for a Musitian and Singer. Is it possible, quoth Don-Quixote, that Musitians and Singers are likewise sent to the Gallies? Yes Sir, quoth the slave, for there's nothing worse then to sing in anguish. Rather, quoth Don-Quixote, I have heard say that he which sings doth affright and chase away his harms. Here it is quite contrary, quoth the slave, for He that sings once, weeps all his life after. I doe not understand it, said Don-Quixote: But one of the Gardians said to him, Sir Knight, to sing in anguish, is said among this people non Sancta, to confesse upon the rack. They gave this poor wretch the torture, and hee confessed his delight, that hee was a Quartrezo, that is a stealer of Beasts: And because hee hath confessed, hee is likewise condemned to the Gallies for six yeers, with an Amen of two hundred blows, which hee bears already with him on his shoulders: And he goes alwaies thus sad and pensative, because the other theeves that remain behinde, and also those which goe here doe abuse, despise, and scorn him for confessing, and not having a courage to say Non: For they say a N•••• hath as many letters as a Yea; and that a Delin∣quent is very fortunate, when his life or his death only depends of his own tongue, and not of witnesses or proofs: And in mine opinion they have very great reason. I like∣wise think the same, quoth Don-Quixote.

And passing to the third, hee demanded that which hee had done of the rest, who an∣swered him out of hand, and that pleasantly: I goe to the Lady Garrupes for five yeers, because I wantted ten Duccats. I will give twenty with all my heart to free thee from that misfortune, quoth Don-Quixote. That, quoth the Slave, would be like one that hath money in the midest of the Gulf, and yet dies for hunger, because hee can get no meat to buy for it. I say this because if I had those twenty Duccats which your Wor∣ships liberality offers me, in due season, I would have so annointed with them the Nota∣ries pen, and whetted my Lawyers wit so well, that I might to day see my self in the midest of the Market of Cocodover of Toledo, and not in this way trayled thus like a Gray-hound: but God is great. Patience, and this is enough.

Don-Quixote went after to the fourth, who was a man of a venerable presence, with a long white beard which reached to his bosome. Who hearing himself demanded the cause why he came there, began to weep, and answered not a word. But the fift Slave lent him a tongue, and said, This honest man goes to the Gallies for four yeers, after he had walked the Ordinary apparrelled in pompe, and a horse-back. That is, quoth Sancho Panca, as I take, after hee was carried about to the shame and publique view of the People. You are in the right, quoth the Slave; and the crime for which hee is condemned to this pain, was, for being a Broker of the ear, I, and of all the body too; for in effect I mean that this Gentleman goeth for a Baud, and likewise for having a little smack and entrance in witch-craft. If that smack and insight in witch-craft were not added, quoth Don-Quixote, hee merrited not to goe and row in the Gallies for being a pure Baud, but rather deserved to govern and be their Generall. For the Office of a Baud•• is not like every other ordinary Office, but rather of great discretion and most necessary in any Common-wealth well governed, and should not be practised but by people well borne; and ought besides to have a Veedor, [Veedor

is an Office in Spain of great trust, set by the King to examine and search the dealing of other under-Officers; an Overseer or Controuler.] and Examinator of them, as are of all other trades, and a certain appointed number of men known, as are of the other Brokers of the Exchange. And in this manner many harms that are done might bee excused, because this Trade and Office is practised by indiscreet people of little under∣standing; such as are women of little more or lesse; young Pages and Jesters of few yeers standing, and of lesse experience; which in the most urgent occasions, and when they should contrive a thing artificially, the crumms freeze in their mouthes and fists; and they know not which is their right hand. Fain would I passe forward, and give reasons why it is convenient to make choyse of those which ought in the Common∣wealth to practise this so necessary an Office: but the place and season is not sit for it. One day I will say it to those which may provide and remedy it: only I say now, that the assumpt or addition of a Witch, hath deprived me of the compassion I should otherwise have, to see those gray hairs and venerable face in such distresse for being a Baud. Although I know very well that no Sorcery in the world can move or force the will as some ignorant persons think (for our will is a free power, and there's no Hearb nor Charm can constrain it.) That which certain simple women, or cousening companions make, are some mixtures and poysons, wherewithall they cause men runne madd, and in the mean while perswade us that they have force to make one love well, being (as I have said) a thing most impossible to constrain the Will. That is true, quoth the old man, and I protest Sir, that I am wholly innocent of the imputation of Witch-craft. As for being a Baud I could not denie it: but yet I never thought that I did ill therein; for all mine intention was, that all the world should disport them, and live together in concord and quietnesse without griefs or quarrels: but this my good desire availed me but little to hinder my going there; from whence I have no hope ever to return, my yeers doe so burden me, and also the stone, which lets me not rest an inst••nt. And saying this, hee turned again to his lamentations as at the first; and Sancho took such compassion on him, as setting his hand into his bosome, hee drew out a couple of shillings and gave it him as an almes.

From him Don-Quixote past to another, and demanded his fault, who answered with no lesse, but with much more pleasantnesse then the former: I goe here because I have jested somewhat too much with two Cousen Germains of mine own, and with two other sisters which were none of mine own: Finally, I jested so much with them all that thence resulted the increase of my Kindred so intricately, as there is no Casuist that can well resolve it. All was proved by me, I wanted favour, I had no money, and was in danger to lose my head: Finally, I was condemned for six yeers to the Gallies. I consented it, as a punishment of my fault; I am young, and let my life but hold out a while longer and all will goe well. And if you Sir Knight, carry any thing to succour us poor folk, God will reward you it in heaven, and wee will have care here on earth to desire God in our dayly prayers for your life and health, that it bee as long and as good as your good countenance deserves. Hee that said this went in the habit of a Student, and one of the Guard told him that hee was a great talker, and a very good Latinist.

After all these came a man of some thirty yeers old, of very comely personage, save only that when hee looked, hee seemed to thrust the one eye into the other: Hee was differently tyed from the rest; for hee carried about his legg so long a chain, that it tyred all the rest of his body: And hee had besides two iron rings about his neck, the one of the chain, and the other of that kinde which are called A keep friend, or the foot of a friend; from whence descended two irons unto his middle, out of which did stick two manacles, wherein his hand•• were locke up with a great hanging lock; so as hee could neither set his hands to his mouth, nor bend down his head towards his hands. Don-Quixote demanded why hee was so loaden with iron more then the rest? The guard answered, because hee alone hath committed more 〈◊〉〈◊〉 then all together, and was a more desperate knave; and that although they carried him tyed in that sort, yet went they not sure of him, but feared hee would make an escape. What falts can he have

so grievous, quoth Don-Quixote, since hee hath only deserved to bee sent to the Gal∣lies? hee goeth, replyed the guard to them for ten yeers, which is equivalent to a civill death; never strive to know more but that this man is the notorious Gines of Passamonte, who is otherwise called Ginesilio of Parapilla. Master Commissary, quoth the slave, hear∣ing him say so, goe faire and softly, and runne not thus dilating of names and sirnames, I am called Gines, and not Ginesilio; and Passamonte is my sirname, and not Parapilla as you say, and let every one turne about him, and hee shall not doe little. Speak with lesse swelling, quoth the Commissary, Sir Theefe of more then the Marke [Marke is a certaine length appointed in Spaine for Swords, which if any transgresse hee is punished, and the Sword Forfeited.] If you will not have mee to make you hold your peace mau∣gre your teeth. It seemes well (quoth the slave) that a man is carried as pleaseth God; but one day sombodie shall know whether I bee called Ginesilio of Parapilla. Why doe not they call thee so couzener; quoth the Guard? They doe said Gines, but I will make that they shall not call mee so, or I will fleece them, there where I mutter under my teeth. Sir Knight, if you have any thing to bestow on us, give it us now, and be gone in the name of God; for you doe tyre us with your too curious search of knowing o∣ther mens lives; and if you would know mine, you shall understand that I am Gines of Passamonte, whose life is written (shewing his hand) by these two fingers. Hee says true, quoth the Commiss••ry, for hee himselfe hath penned his owne History so well as there is nothing more to bee desired: and leaves the booke pawned in the Prison for two hundred Rials: and likewise meane to redeeme it, quoth Gines, though it were in for as many Duckets.

Is it so good a worke, said Don-Quixote? It is so good replyed Gines, that it quite puts down Lazarillo de Tormes, and as many others as are written or shall bee written of that kinde: for that which I dare affirme to you is, that it treats of true ac∣cidents, and those so delightfull that no like invention can bee compared to them. And how is the booke intituled, quoth Don-Quixote? It is called, said he, The life of Gines of Passamonte. And is it yet ended said the Knight? How can it be finished replyed he, my life being not yet ended? Since all that is written is from the hour of my byrth untill that instant that I was sent this last time to the Gallies. Why then belike you were there once before (quoth Don-Quixote) to serve God and the King, I have been in there ano∣ther time four yeers, and I know already how the bisket and provant agree with my sto∣mack (quoth Gines) nor doth it grieve mee very much to returne unto them; for there I shall have leisure to finish my Booke, and I have many things yet to say: and in the Gallies of Spaine, there is more resting time then is requisite for that businesse, although I shall not neede much time to pen what is yet unwritten; for I can, if neede were, say it all by roate. Thou seemest to bee ingenuous, quoth Don-Quixote, and unfortu∣nate withall, quoth Gines; for mishaps doe still persecute the best w••ts. They perse∣cute knaves, quoth the Commissary. I have already spoken to Master Commissary, quoth Passamonte, to goe faire aod softly; for the Lords did not give you that rod, to the end you should abuse us wretches that goe here, but rather to guide and carry us where his Majesty hath commanded, if not, by the life of—'tis enough that perhaps one day may come to light, the spottes that were made in the Inne. And let all the world peace and live well, and speake better, for this is now too great a digression. The Com∣missary held up his rod to strike Passamonte in answere of his Threats, but Don-Quixote put himselfe betweene them, and intreated him not to use him hardly, seeing it was not much that one who caried his hands so tyed, should have his tongue somwhat free, and then turning himself toward the slaves he said:

I have gathered out of all that which you have said, deere brethren, that although they punish you for your faults, yet that the paines you goe to suffer doe not very well please you, and that you march toward them with a very ill will, and wholy constrained, and that perhaps the little courage this fellow had on the Rack, the want of money that the other had, the small favour that a third enjoyed, and finally the wrested Sentence of the Judge, and the not executing that Justice that was on your sides, have beene cause of your miserie. All which doth present it selfe to my memory in such sort, as it

perswadeth, yea and inforceth me to effect that for you, for which heaven sent me into the world, and made me professe that Order of Knighthood which I follow, and that vow which I made therein to favour and assist the needfull, and those that are op∣pressed by others more potent. But for as much as I know that it is one of the parts of prudence, not to doe that by foul means which may be accomplished by fair; I will intreat those Gentlemen your Guardians and Commissary they will please to loose and let you depart peaceably; for there will not want others to serve the King in better occasions; for it seems to me a rigorous manner of proceeding, to make Slaves of them whom God and nature created free. How much more good Sits of the guard (added Don-Quixote) seeing these poor men have never committed any offence against you? let them answer for their sinns in the other world: there is a God in heaven, who is not negligent in punishing the evill, nor rewarding the good: And it is no wise decent, that honourable men should bee the executioners of other men, seeing they cannot gain or lose much thereby. I demand this of you in this peaceable quiet manner, to the end that if you accomplish my request, I may have occasion to yeeld you thanks; and if you will not doe it willingly, then shall this Launce and this Sword, guided by the invincible valour of mine arme force you to it.

This is a pleasant doting, answered the Commissary, and an excellent jest where∣withall you have finished your large reasoning. Would you (good Sir Knight) have us leave unto you those the King forceth, as if wee had authority to let them goe, or you to command us to doe it. Goe on your way in a good hour gentle Sir, and settle the Bason you bear on your head somewhat righter, and search not thus whether the Cat hath three feet. Thou art a Cat, and a Rat, and a Knave, quoth Don-Quixote: And so with word and deed at once, hee assaulted him so suddainly, as without giving him leisure to defend himself, hee struck him down to the earth very sore wounded with a blow of his Launce; and as fortune would, this was hee that had the fire-lock piece: the rest of the guard remained astonished at the unexpected accident: but at last returning to themselves, the horse-men set hand to their swords, and the foot-men to their darts, and all of them set upon Don-Quixote, who expected them very quietly: And doubtlesly hee would have been in great danger, if the Slaves perceiving the occasion offered to bee so fit to recover liberty, had not procured it by breaking the chain wherein they were linked. The Hurliburly was such as the guards now began to runne to hinder the Slaves from untying themselves, now to offend Don-Quixote who assaulted them; so that they could doe nothing available to keep their Prisoners. Sancho for his part holp to lose Gines of Passamonte, who was the first that leaped free into the field without clog, and setting upon the overthrown Com∣missary, he disarmed him of his sword and piece, and now ayming at the one and then at the other with it, without discharging, made all the guards to abandon the field, as well for feare of Passamontes piece, as also to shun the marvellous showre of stones that the Slaves, now delivered, poured on them. Sancho grew marveilous sad at this suc∣cesse; for hee suspected that those which fled away, would goe and give notice of the violence committed to the Holy Brotherhood, which would presently issue in troops to search the Delinquents: And said as much to his Lord, requesting him to depart presently from thence, and imbosk himself in the Mountain, which was very neer. All is well, quoth Don-Quixote, I know now what is fit to bee done: And so calling together all the Slaves that were in a tumult, and had stript the Commissary naked, they came all about him, to hear what he commanded, to whom he said:

It is the part of people well borne to gratifie and acknowledge the benefits they re∣ceive, ingratitude being one of the sins that most offendeth the highest. I say it Sirs, to this end, because you have by manifest tryall seen that which you have received at my hand, in reward whereof I desire, and it is my will, that all of you loaden with that chain from which I even now freed your necks, goe presently to the Citie of Toboso, and there present your selves before the Lady Dulcinea of Toboso, and recount unto her, that her Knight of the ill-favoured face sends you there to remem∣ber his service to her; and relate unto her at large the manner of your freedome, all

you that have had such noble fortune, and this being done you may after goe where you please.

Gines de Passamonte answered for all the rest, saying; that which you demand, good Sir (our Releaser) is most impossible to bee performrd, by reason that wee cannot goe altogether through these wayes, but alone and divided, procuring each of us to hid himselfe in the bowels of the earth, to the end wee may not bee found by the Holy-bro∣therhood, which will doubtlesly set out to search for us: that therefore which you may and ought to doe in this exigent is, to change this service and homage of the Lady Dul∣nea of Toboso, into a certaine number of Ave Maries and Creedes, which wee will say for you•• ••••tention, and this is a thing that may bee accomplished by night or by day, running or resting, in peace or in war; but to thinke that wee will returne againe to take up our chaynes, or set our selves in the way of Toboso, is as hard as to make us be∣leeve, that it is now night, it being yet scarce ten of the clock in the morning, and to demand such a thing of us, is as likely as to seeke for Peares of the Elme-tree. I sweare by such a one (quoth Don-Quixote throughly enraged) Sir sonne of a whore, Don Ginesilio of Paropilli••, or howsoever you are called, that thou shalt goe thy selfe alone with thy tayle betweene thy legs, and beare all the chaine in thy neck. Passamonte who was by nature very chollerick, knowing assuredly that Don-Quixote was not very wise (seeing hee had attempted such a desperate Act, as to seeke to give them liberty) seeing himselfe thus abused, winked on his Companions, and going a little aside, they sent such a showre of stones on Don-Quixote, as hee had no leisure to cover himselfe with his Buckler, and poore Rozinante made no more account of the spurre, then if his sides were made of Brasse. Sancho, ranne behinde his Asse, and by his meanes sheltred him∣selfe from the clowd and showre of stones, that rained upon both. And Don-Quixote could not cover himselfe so well, but that a number of stones struck him in the body with so great force, as they overthrew him at last to the ground, and scarce was hee fallen when the Student leapt upon him and tooke the Bason off his head, and gave him three or foure blowes with it on the shoulders, and after struck it so oft about the ground as hee almost broke it in peeces. They tooke from him likewise a Cassock which hee wore upon his Armour, and thought also to take away his stockins but that they were hindred by his Greaves. From Sancho they tooke away his Cassocke, and left him in his hayre, and dividing all the spoyles of the Battaile among themselves, they departed every one by the way hee pleased, troubled with greater care how to escape from the Holy brotherhood which they feared, then to lade themselves with the iron chayne, and goe and present themselves before the Lady Dulcinea of Toboso. The Asse and Rozinante; Sancho and Don-Quixote remayned alone. The Asse stood pensative, with his head hanging downewards, shaking now and then his eares, thinking that the storme of stones was not yet past, but that they still buzzed by his head, Rozinante lay overthrowne by his Master, who was likewise struck downe by another blowe of a stone; Sancho in feare of the bullets of the Holy Brotherhood, and Don-Quixote most discontent to see himselfe so misused by those very same to whom hee had done so much good.

CHAP. IX.

Of that which befell the famous Don-Quixote in Siera Mo∣nare, which was one of the most rare Adventures that in this or any other so authenticall a History is recounted.

Don-Quixote seeing himself in so ill plight, said to his Squire Sancho, I have heard say oft-times, that to doe good to men unthankfull, is to cast water into the Sea. If I had believed what thou said'st to me, I might well have prevented all this grief: but now that is past, patience, and be wiser another time. You will take warning as much by this, quoth Sancho, as I am a Turk. But since you say, that if you had believed me, you had avoided this grief, believe me now and you shall eschue a greater: for you must wit, that no Knighthood nor Chival••y is of any authority with the Holy Brotherhood; for it cares not two farthings for all the Knights Errant in the world; and know, that me thinks I hear their arrows buz about mine ears already. Sancho, thou art a naturall coward, quoth Don-Quixote; but be∣cause thou may'st not say that I am obstinate, and that I never follow thine advice, I will take thy counsell this time, and convey my self from that furie which now thou fearest so much: but it shall bee on a condition, that thou never tell alive nor dying to any mortall Creature, that I retired or withdrew my self out of this danger for fear; but only to satisfie thy requests: For if thou sayest any other thing, thou shalt belie me most falsly: and even from this very time till that, and from thence untill now I give thee the lie herein; and I say thou lyest, and shalt lie as oft times as thou sayest or doest think the contrary; and doe not reply to me: For in onely thinking that I withdraw my self out of, any perill, but principally this, which seems to carry with it some shadow of fear: I am about to remain and expect here alone, not only for the Holy Brotherhood, which thou namest and fearest; but also for the Bretheren of the twelve Tribes, for the seven Macchabees, for Castor and Pollux, and for all the other Brothers and Brotherhoods in the world. Sir, answered Sancho, to retire is not to flie; and to expect is wisdome, when the danger exceepeth all hope: and it is the part of a wise men to keep himself safe to day for to morrow; and not to adventure himself wholy in one day. And know, that although I be but a rude Clown, yet doe I for all that understand somewhat of that which men call good government: and therefore doe not repent your self for following mine advice, but mount on Rozinante if you be able; if not, I will help you, and come after me; for my minde gives me that wee shall now have more use of leggs then hands.

Don-Quixote leaped on his horse, without replying a word, and Sancho guiding him on his Asse, they both entred into that part of Sierra Morena [A great and large Moun∣tain of Spain] that was neer unto them: Sancho had a secret designe to cross over it all, and issue at Viso or Amadovar of Campo, and in the mean time to hide themselves for some dayes among those craggie and intricate Rocks, to the end they might not bee found by the Holy Bortherhood, if it did make after them. And hee was the more incouraged to doe this, because hee saw their Provision which hee carried on his Asse had escaped safely out of the skirmish of the Gally-slaves; a thing which hee accounted to bee a miracle, considering the diligence that the Slaves had used to search and carrie away all things with them. They arrived that night into the very mid'st and bowels of the Mountain, and there Sancho thought it fittest to spend that night, yea and some other few dayes also, at least as long as their Victuales indured, and with this resolution they took up their lodging among a number of Cork-Trees that grew between two Rocks. But fatall chance, which according to the opinion of those that have not the

light of faith, guideth, directeth, and compounde••h all as it liketh, ordained, that that famous Cousener and Thief Gines de Passamonte, who was before delivered out of chains by Don-Quixotes force and folly, perswaded through fear he conceived of the Holy Brotherhood (whom hee had just cause to fear) resolved to hide himself likewise in that Mountain, and his fortune and fears led him just to the place where it had first addrest Don-Quixote and his Squire, just at such time as hee might perceive them, and they both at that instant fallen asleep: And as evill-men are evermore ingratefull, and that necessity forceth a man to attempt that which it urgeth, and likewise that the pre∣sent redresse prevents the expectation of a future, Gines, who was neither gratefull nor gratious, resolved to steal away Sancho his Asse, making no account of Rozinante, as a thing neither saleable nor pawnable: Sancho slept soundly, and so hee stole his beast, and was before morning so farre off from thence, as hee feared not to bee found.

Aurora sallied forth at last to refresh the earth, and affright Sancho with a most sorrowfull accident, for he presently missed his Asse; and so seeing himself deprived of him, hee began the most sad and do••efull lamentation of the world; in such sort as hee awaked Don-Quixote with his out-cries, who heard that he said thus. O child of my howels; borne in mine own house; the sport of my children; the comfort of my wife; and the envie of my neighbours; the ease of my burdens; and finally, the susteiner of half of my person: for with six and twenty Marvidiis, that I gained dayly by thee, I did defray half of mine expences! Don-Quixote who heard the plaint, and knew also the cause, did comfort Sancho with the best words hee could devise, and desired him to have patience, promising to give a letter of exchange, to the end that they of his house might deliver him three Asses of five, which hee had left at home.

Sancho comforted himself again with this promise, and dryed up his tears, moderated his sighs, and gave his Lord thanks for so great a favour: And as they entred in farther among those Mountains wee cannot recount the joy of our Knight, to whom those places seemed most accommodate to atchieve the Adventures hee searched for. They reduced to his memory the marvellous accidents that had befaln Knights Errant in like Solitudes and Desarts: And hee rode so over-whelmed and transported by these thoughts, as hee remembred nothing else; nor Sancho had any other care (after hee was out of fear to bee taken) but how to fill his belly with some of the r••licks which yet remained of the Clericall spoyles; and so hee followed his Lord, taking now and then out of a basket (which Rozinante carried for want of the Asse) some meat, lining there-withall his paunch: and whilest hee went thus imployed, hee would not have given a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to encounter any other Adventure, how honourable soever.

But whilst he was thus busied, he espyed his Master labouring to take up with the point of his Javeline, some bulk or other that lay on the ground, and went towards him to see whether hee needed his help just at the season that he lifted up a saddle Cushion and a Portmantue fast to it, which were half 〈◊〉〈◊〉 or rather wholly roited by the weather, yet they weighed so much that Sanchoes assistance was requisite to take them up: and straight his Lord commanded him to see what was in the Wallet. Sancho obeyed with expedition. And although it was shut with a chaine and hanging lock, yet by the parts which were torn he saw what was within, to wit four fine Holland shirts, and other 〈◊〉〈◊〉 both curious and clean: and moreover a handkercher, wherein was a good quantity of Gold: which he perceiving said, Blessed bee Heaven which hath once presented to us a beneficiall Adventure: And searching for more, he found a Tablet very costly bound. This Don-Quixote took of him, com∣manding him to keep the gold with himself; for which rich favour Sancho did presently kisse his handes: and after taking all the linnen, hee clapt it up in the bag of their Virtuals. Don-Quixote having stored all these things, said; Me thinks Sancho (and it cannot bee possible any other) that some trav••••ler having left his way, past through this Mountain, and being encountred by thieves, they slew him, and buried him in this secret place. It cannot bee so, answered Sancho; for if they were Theeves, they

would not have left this money behind them. Thou sayest true, quoth Don-Quixote, and therefore I cannot conjecture what it might be: but stay a while, we will see whether there be any thing written in these Tablets, by which we may vent and finde out that which I desire. Then he opened it, and the first thing that he found written in it, as it were a first draught, but done with a very faire Character, was a Sonnet which he read aloud, that Sancho might also hear it, and was this which ensues.

OR love of understanding quite is voyde: Or he abounds in cruelty, or my paine Th'occasion equals not; for which I bide The torments dir••, he maketh me sustaine. But if love be a God, I dare maintaine He nought ignores: and reason aye decides Gods should not cruell be: then who ordaines This paine I worship, which my heart devides? Filis! I err, if thou I say it is: For so great ill and good cannot consist. Nor doth this wrack from Heav'n befall, but yet, That shortly I must die can no way misse: For th'evill whose cause is hardly well exprest By miracle alone, true cure may get.

Nothing can bee learned by that Verse, quoth Sancho, if by that Hilo or thread [An allusion to the Spanish word Hilo, signifying a thread.] which is said there, you gather not where lies the rest of the clue. What Hilo is here, quoth Don-Quixote? Me thought, quoth Sancho, that you read Hilo there. I did not, but Fili, said Don-Quixote, which is without doubt the name of the Lady, on whom the Authour of this Sonnet complains, who in good truth seems to bee a reasonable good Poet, or else I know but little of that Art.

Why then, quoth Sancho, belike you doe also understand Poetry. That I doe, and more then thou thinkest, quoth Don-Quixote, as thou shalt see when thou shalt carry a Letter from me to my Lady Dulcinea de•• Toboso, written in verse from the one end to the other: For I would thou shouldest know, Sancho, that all or the greater num∣ber of Knights Errant, in times past, were great Versifiers and Musitians: For these two qualities, or graces as I may better terme them, are annext to amorous Knights Adventures. True it is, that the Verses of the ancient Knights are not so adorned with words as they are rich in conceits.

I pray you read more, quoth Sancho; for perhaps you may finde somewhat that may satisfie. Then Don-Quixote turned the leaf, and said, This is prose and seems to bee a Letter. What Sir, a missive Letter, quoth Sancho? No, but rather of Love, ac∣cording to the beginning, quoth Don-Quixote. I pray you therefore, quoth Sancho, read it loud enough; for I take great delight in these things of Love. I am content, quoth Don-Quixote: And reading it loudly, as Sancho had requested, it said as ensueth.

Thy false promise and my certain misfortune, doe carry me to such a place, as from thence thou shalt sooner receive news of my death, then reasons of my just complaints. Thou hast disdained me (O ingrate) for one that hath more, but not for one that is worth more then I am: But if virtue were a treasure of estimation, I would not Emu∣late other mens fortunes, nor weep thus for mine own misfortunes. That which thy beauty erected thy works have overthrown: by it I deemed thee to bee an Angell, and by these I certainly know thee to bee but a woman. Rest in peace (O causer of my War) and let Heaven work so, that thy Spouses deceits remain still concealed, to the end thou maiest not repent what thou did'st, and I bee constrained to take revenge of that I de∣sire not.

Having read the Letter, Don-Quixote said, Wee can collect lesse by this then by the Verses, what the Authour is, other then that hee is some disdained Lover. And so passing over all the book, hee found other Verses and Letters, of which he could read some, others not at all. But the summe of them all were, Accusations, Plaints, and Mistrusts, Pleasures, Griefs, Favours, and Disdains, some Solemnized, others De∣plored. And whilest Don-Quixote past over the Book, Sancho past over the Malet, without leaving a corner of it or the Cushion unsearched, or a seam unript, nor a lock of wooll uncarded, to the end that nothing might remain behinde for want of dilli∣gence or carelessenesse. The found gold which past a hundred crowns, had stir'd in him such a greedinesse to have more. And though hee got no more then that which hee found at the first, yet did hee account his flights in the Coverlet, his vomitting of the Drench, the benedictions of the Pack-staves, the blows of the Carrier, the losse of his Wallet, the robbing of his Cas••ock, and all the hunger thirst and wearinesse that hee had past in the service of his good Lord and Master, for well imployed; account∣ing himself to be more then well payed by the gifts received of the money they found. The Knight of the Ill-favoured face was the while possessed with a marvellous desire to know who was the owner of the malet, conjecturing by the Sonnet and Letter, the gold and Linnen, that the enamoured was some man of worth, whom the disdain and rigour of his Lady had conducted to some desperate termes. But by reason that no body appeared, through that inhabitable and Desart place, by whom hee might bee informed, hee thought on it no more, but only rode on, without choosing any other way then that which pleased Rozinante to travail, who took the plainest and easiest to passe thorow having still an imagination that there could not want some strange Ad∣venture amid'st that Forrest.

And as he rode on with this conceit, hee saw a man on the top of a little Mountain that stood just before his face, leap from Rock to Rock, and Tuff to Tuff, with won∣de••full dexterity. And as hee thought was naked, had a black and thick beard; the hairs many and confusedly mingled; his feet and leggs bare; his thighs were covered with a pair of hose, which seemed to bee of murry Velvet, but were so torn, that they discovered his flesh in many places: His head was likewise bare; and although hee past by with the haste wee have recounted, yet did The Knight of the ill-favoured face note all these particulars; and although hee endeavoured, yet could not hee follow him; for it was not in Rozinantes power, in that weake state wherein hee was, to travail so swiftly among those Rocks chiefly being naturally very slow and fleg∣matick.

Don-Quixote after espying him, did instantly imagine him to bee the owner of the Cushion and Malet; and therefore resolved to goe on in his search, although hee should spend a whole yeer therein among those Mountains; and commanded Sancho to goe about the one side of the Mountain, and hee would goe the other, and, quoth hee, it may befall, that by using this dilligence, wee may incounter with that man which vanished so suddainly out of our sight.

I cannot doe so, quoth Sancho; for that in parting one step from you, fear presently so assalts me with a thousand visions and affrightments. And let this serve you here∣after for a warning to the end you may not henceforth part me the black of a nail from your presence. It shall be so, answered The Knight of the ill-favoured face: and I am very glad that thou doest thus build upon my valour, the which shall never fail thee, al∣though thou didest want thy very ••oul; and therefore follow me by little and little or as thou mayest, and make of thine eyes two Lant-hornes; for wee will give a turne about this little Rock, and perhaps wee may meet with this man whom we saw even now, who doublesly can bee none other then the owner of our booty.

To which Sancho, replyed, It were much better not to finde him: for if wee should meet him, and were by chance the owner of this money, it is most evident that I must restore it to him; and therefore it is better without using this unprofitable dilligence, to let me possesse it bona fide, untill the true Lord shall appear by some way lesse cu∣rious

and dilligent: which perhaps may fall at such a time as it shall bee all spent; and in that case I am free from all Processes by priviledge of the King.

Thou deceivest thy self, Sancho, therein, quoth Don-Quixote: for seeing wee are fallen already into suspition of the owner, wee are bound to search and restore it to him: and when wee would not seek him out, yet the vehement presumption that wee have of it, hath made us possessors mala-fide, and renders us as culpable as if hee whom we surmise were verily the true Lord. So that, friend Sancho, be not grieved to seek him, in respect of the grief whereof thou shalt free me if he be found. And saying so spur'd Rozinante, and Sancho followed after a foot, animated by the hope of the young Asses his Master had promised unto him: And having compassed a part of the Moun∣tain, they found a little stream, wherein lay dead, and half devoured by Doggs and Crows, a Mule saddled and bridled, all which confirmed more in them the suspition, that hee which fled away was owner of the Mule and Cushion. And as they looked on it, they heard a whistle, much like unto that which Sheepheards use as they keep their Flocks, and presently appeared at their left hand a great number of Goats, after whom the Goatheard that kept them, who was an aged man followed on the top of the Mountain; and Don-Quixote cried to him, requesting him to come down to them: who answered them again as loudly; demanding of them, who had brought them to those Desarts rarely trodden by any other then Goats, Wolves, or other Savage Beasts which frequented those Mountains? Sancho answered him, That if hee would descend where they were, they would give him account thereof.

With that the Sheepheard came down, and arriving to the place where Don-Quixote was, hee said; I dare wager that you look on the hyred Mule which lies dead there in that bottome; well, in good faith, he hath lien in that very place these six moneths. Say, I pray you, have not you met in the way with the Master thereof? Wee have encountred no body but a Cushion and a little Malet, which we found not very far off from hence. I did likewise finde the same, replyed the Goat-heard, but I would never take it up nor approach to it, fearfull of some misdemeanor, or that I should be hereafter demanded for it as for a stealth. For the Divell is crafty, and now and then something ariseth, even from under a mans feet, whereat he stumbles and falls, without knowing how or how not.

That is the very same, I say, quoth Sancho: for I likewise found it, but would not approach it the cast of a stone: There I have left it; and there it remains as it was; for I would not have a Dog with a Bell. Tell me good fellow, quoth Don-Quixote, dost thou know who is the owner of all these things?

That which I can say, answered the Goat-heard, is, that about some six moneths past, little more or lesse, there arrived at a certain Sheep fold some three leagues off, a young Gentleman of comely personage, and presence, mounted on that very Mule which lies dead there, and with the same Cushion and Malet which you say you met, but touched not. Hee demanded of us, which was the most hidden and inaccessable part of the Mountain? And we told him that this wherein we are now: And it is true; for if you did enter but half a league farther, perhaps you would not finde the way out again so readily: and I doe greatly marvell how you could finde the way hither it self; for there is neither high way nor path that may addresse any to this place. I say then, that the young man, as soon as he heard our answer, he turned the bridle, and travelled towards the place we shewed to him, leaving us all with very great liking of his comelinesse, and marvelled at his demand and speed, wherewith he departed and made towards the Mountain: and after that time, we did not see him a good many of dayes, untill by chance one of our Sheepheards came by with our provision of victuals, to whom hee drew nee••, without speaking a word, and spurned and bea•• him welfavour'dly, and after went to the Asse which carried our victuals, and taking away all the Bread and Cheese that was there, hee fled into the Mountain with wonderfull speed.

When we heard of this, some of us Goat-heards, we went to search for him, and spent therein almost two dayes in the most solitary places of this Mountain, and in the

end found him lurking in the hollow part of a very tall and great Corke-tree; who as soon as he perceived us, came forth to meet us with great staidnesse; His apparrell was all torn; his visage disfigured, and toasted with the Sunne in such manner, as we could scarce know him, if it were not that his attire, although rent, by the notice we had of it, did give us to understand that he was the man for whom we sought. He saluted us courteously, and in brief and very good reasons he said, that we ought not to mar∣vell, seeing him goe in that manner; for that it behoved to doe so, that he might ac∣complish a certain penance injoyned to him, for the many sinns hee had committed. We prayed him to tell us what he was; but we could never perswade him to it. Wee requested him likewise, that whensoever hee had any need of meat (without which hee could not live) hee should tell us where we might finde him, and wee would bring it to him with great love and dilligence; and that if he also did not like of this motion, that he would at least wise come and ask it, and not take it violently, as he had done before from our Sheepheards. He thanked us very much for our offer, and intreated pardon of the assults passed, and promised to ask it from thence forward for Gods sake, without giving annoyance to any one. And touching his dwelling or place of abode, he said, That he had none other then that where the night overtook him, and ended his Discourse with so feelling laments, that we might well be accounted stones which heard him, if therein we had not kept him company, considering the state wherein wee had seen him first; and that wherein now he was. For as I said, he was a very comely and gracious young man, and shewed by his courteous and orderly speech, that he was well borne, and a Court-like person: For though wee were all Clowns, such as did hear him, his Gentility was such as could make it self known, even to rudenesse it self: And being in the best of his Discourse, he stopt and grew silent, fixing his eyes on the ground a good while, wherein we likewise stood still suspended, expecting in what that distraction would end, with no little compassion to behold it; for we easily perceived that some accident of madness had surprized him, by his staring & beholding the earth so fixedly, without once moving the eye-lid; And other times by the shutting of them, the byting of his lips, and bending of his brows. But very spee∣dily after, he made us certain thereof himself: for rising from the ground (wheron he had thrown himself a little before) with great furie, he set upon him that sate next unto him, with such courage and rage, that if wee had not taken him away, he would have slain him with blows and bites; and hee did all this, saying, O treacherous Fer∣nando, here, here thou shalt pay me the injurie that thou did'st me; these hands shall rent out the heart, in which doe harbour and are heaped all evills together, but princi∣pally fraud and deceit: And to these hee added other words, all addrest to the dis∣praise of that Fernando, and to attach him of treason and untruth.

Wee tooke from him at last, not without difficulty, our fellow, and hee without saying a word departed from us, embushing himselfe presently among the bushes and brambles, leaving us wholly disabled to follow him in those rough and unhaunted pla∣ces. By this wee gathered that his madnesse comes to him at times, and that some one called Fernando, had done some ill worke of such weight, as the termes shew, to which it hath brought him. All which hath after beene yet confirmed as often (which were many times) as hee came out to the fields, sometimes to demand meat of the Sheep∣heards, and other times to take it of them perforce; for when hee is taken with this fit of madnesse, although the Sheepheards doe offer him meat willingly, yet will not hee receive, unlesse hee take it with buffets: and when hee is in his right sense, hee asks it for Gods sake, with courtesie and humanitie, and renders many thanks, and that not without teares. And in very truth, Sir, I say unto you, quoth the Goat-heard, that I and foure others, whereof two are my men, other two my friends, resolved yester∣day to search untill wee found him, and being found, either by force or faire meanes, wee will carry him to the towne of Almodaver, which is but eight leagues from hence, and there will wee have him cured, if his disease may bee holpen, or at least wee shall learne what hee is, when hee turnes to his wits, and whether hee hath any friends to whom notice of his misfortune may bee given. This is, Sirs, all that I can say concer∣ning

that which you demand of mee; and you shall understand that the owner of those things which you saw in the way, is the very same, whom you saw passe by you so na∣ked and nimble: for Don-Quixote had told him by this, that hee had seen that man goe by, leaping among the Rocks.

Don-Quixote rested marvailously admired at the Goatheards tale, and with greater desire to know who that unfortunate mad-man was, purposed with himselfe, as he had already resolved, to search him throughout the Mountaines, without leaving a corner or Cave of it unsought, untill hee had gotten him. But Fortune disposed the matter better then hee expected; for hee appeared in that very instant in a clift of a Rock, that answered to the place where they stood speaking, who came towards them, murmu∣ring somwhat to himselfe, which could not bee understood neere at hand, and much lesse a farre off: His aparrell was such as wee have delivered, only differing in this, as Don-Quixote perceived when hee drew neerer, that hee wore on him, although torne, a leather Jerkin, perfumed with Amber; by which hee throughly collected, that the person which wore such attire was not of the least qualitie.

When the young man came to the place where they discoursed, hee saluted them with a hoarce voice, but with great courtesie: and Don-Quixote returned him his gree∣tings with no lesse complement; and alighting from Rozinante, hee advanced to im∣brace him with very good carriage and countenance, and held him a good while streightly betweene his armes, as if hee had known him of long time. The other, whom wee may call The unfortunate Knight of the Kock, as well as Don-Quixote the Knight of the illfavored face; after hee had permitted himselfe to bee imbraced a while, did step a little off from our Knight, and laying his hand on his shoulders, began to be∣hold him earnestly, as one desirous to call to minde whether hee had ever seene him be∣fore; being perhaps no lesse admired to see Don-Quixotes figure, proportion and Armes, then Don-Quixote was to view him. In resolution, the first that spoke after the imbracing, was the ragged Knight, and said what wee will presently recount.

CHAP. X.

Wherein is prosecuted the Adventure of Sierra Morena.

THE Historie affirmes, that great was the attention wherewithall Don-Quixote listned to the unfortunate Knight of the Rock, who be∣gan his speech on this manner: Truly, good Sir, whatsoever you bee (for I know you not) I doe with all my heart gratifie the signes of affection and courtesie which you have used towards mee, and wish heartily that I were in termes to serve with more then my will, the good-will you beare towards mee, as your courteous entertain∣ment denotes; but my fate is so niggardly, as it affords mee no other meanes to repay good works done to mee, then only to lend mee a good desire sometime to satisfie them.

So great is mine affection, replied Don-Quixote, to serve you, as I was fully resol∣ved never to depart out of these Mountaines untill I had found you, and known of your selfe whether there might bee any kinde of remedy found for the griefe that this your so unusuall a kinde of life argues doth possess your soule; and if it were requisite, to search it out with all possible diligence: and when your disasters were knowne of those which clap their doores in the face of comfort, I intended in that case to beare a part in your lamentations, and plaine it with the dolefull note; for it is a consolation in afflictions, to have one that condoles in them. And if this my good intention may merit any acceptance, or bee gratified by any courtesie, let mee intreat you Sir, by the

excesse thereof, which I see accumulated in your bosome; and joyntly I conjure you by that thing which you have, or doe presently most affect; that you will please to dis∣close unto mee who you are, and what the cause hath beene that perswaded you to come to live and die in these Desarts, like a bruite beast, seeing you live among such, so alie∣nated from your selfe, as both your attyre & countenance demonstrate. And I doe vow (quoth Don-Quixote) by the high order of Chivalry, which I (although unwor∣thy and a sinner) have received; and by the profession of Knighes Errant, that if you doe pleasure mee herein, to assist you with as good earnest as my profession doth binde mee, eyther by remedying your disaster, if it can bee holpen; or else by assisting you to lament it, if it bee so desperate.

The Knight of the Rock, who heard him of the Illfavored face speake in that manner, did nothing else for a great while, but behold him again and again, and re-behold him from top to toe, And after viewing him well hee said, If you have any thing to eate, I pray you give it mee for Gods sake, and after I have eaten I will satisfie your demand throughly, to gratifie the many courtesies and undeserved proffers you have made unto mee. Sancho, and the Goatheard presents the one out of his Wallet, the other out of his Scrip, tooke some meate and gave it to the Knight of the Rock to allay his hunger, and hee did eate so fast, like a distracted man, as hee left no intermission betweene bit and bit, but clapt them up so swiftly, as hee rather seemed to swallow then to chew them; and whilest hee did eate, neither hee or any of the rest spake a word; and ha∣ving ended his dinner, hee made them signes to follow him, as at last they did, unto a little Meadow seated hard by that place, at the fold of a Mountaine, where being ari∣ved, hee stretched himselfe on the grasse, which the rest did likewise in his imitation, without speaking a word, untill that hee after setling himselfe in his place, began in this manner; If Sirs, you please to heare the exceeding greatnesse of my disasters briefly re∣hearsed, you must promise mee, that you will not interrupt the file of my dolefull nar∣ration, with either demand or other thing; for in the very instant that you shall doe it, there also must remaine that which I say depending. These words of our ragged Knights, called to Don-Quixotes remembrance the tale which his Squire had told unto him, where hee erred in the account of his Goates which had passed the River, for which that Historie remained suspended. But returning to our ragged man, hee said; This prevention which now I give, is to the end that I may compendiously passe over the discourse of my mishaps; for the revoking of them to remembrance, only serves mee to none other stead, then to increase the old, by adding of new misfortunes; and by how much the fewer your questions are, by so much the more speedily shall I have finished my pittifull discourse; and yet I meane not to omit the essentiall point of my woes untouch't, that your desires may bee herein sufficiently satisfied. Don-Quixote in his owne, and his other companions name, promised to perform his request, where∣upon he began his relation on this manner.

My name is Cardenic, the place of my byrth, one of the best Cities in Andaluzia, my linage noble, my parents rich, and my misfortunes so great, as I thinke my parents have ere this deplored, and my kinsfolke condoled them; being very little able with their wealth to redresse them; for the goods of fortune are but of small vertue to re∣medie the disasters of Heaven. There dwelt in the same Citie a Heaven, wherein love had placed all the glorie that I could desire: so great is the beauty of Luscinda, a dam∣zel as noble and rich as I, but more fortunate, and lesse constant then my honourable desires expected. I loved, honoured and adored this Luscinda, almost from my very infancy, and shee affected mee likewise, with all the integritie and good will which with her so young yeeres did accord. Our parents knew our mutuall amitie, for which they were nothing agrieved, perceiving very well, that although wee continued it, yet could it have none other end but that of Matrimonie; a thing which the equalitie of our blood and substance, did of it selfe almost invite us to. Our age and affection increa∣sed in such sort, as it seemed fit for Luscinda's father, for certaine good respects, to de∣ny mee the entrance of his house any longer; imitating in a manner therein Tisbi, so much solemnized by the Poets, her parents, which hindrance served only to add flame

to flame, and desire to desire: for although it set silence to our tongues, yet would they not impose it to our Pens, which are wont to expresse to whom it pleased, the most hidden secrecies of our souls, with more libertie then the tongue; for the pre∣sence of the beloved doth often distract, trouble, and strike dumb the boldest tongue and firmest resolution. O Heavens! how many Letters have I written unto her? What cheerfull and honest answers have I received? How many Ditties and amorous Verses have I composed, wherein my soul declared and published her passions, declined her inflamed desires, entertained her remembrance, and recreated her will? In effect, perceiving my self to be forced, and that my soul consumed with a perpetuall desire to behold her, I resolved to put my desires in execution, and finish in an instant that which I deemed most expedient for the better atchieving of my desired, and de∣served reward; which was (as I did indeed) to demaund her of her father for my lawfull Spouse.

To which he made answer, That he 'did gratifie the good will which I shewed by honouring him, and desire to honour my self with pawns that were his: But seeing my Father yet lived, the motion of that matter properly most concerned him: For if it were not done with his good liking and pleasure, Luscinda was not a woman to be taken or given by stealth. I rendred him thanks for his good will, his words seeming unto me very reasonable, as that my father should agree unto them, as soon as I should explain the matter; and therefore departed presently to acquaint him with my desires; who at the time which I entred into a chamber, wherein he was, stood with a letter open in his hand; and espying me, e're I could break my minde unto him, gave it me, saying; By that Letter, Cardenio, you may gather the desire that Duke Ricardo bears, to doe you any pleasure or favour.

This Duke Ricardo, as I think you know Sirs already, is a Grandee of Spain, whose Dukedome is seated in the best part of all Andaluzia. I took the Letter and read it, which appeared so urgent, as I my self accounted it would be ill done, if my father did not accomplish the contents thereof, which were indeed, that he should presently ad∣dresse me to his Court, to the end I might be companion (and not servant) to his eldest sonne; and that hee would incharge himself with the advancing of me to such preferments as might be answerable unto the value and estimation hee made of my person. I past over the whole Letter, and was strucken dumb at the reading thereof; but chiefly hearing my Father to say, Cardenio, thou must depart within two dayes, to accomplish the Dukes desire; and omit not to render Almighty God thanks, which doth thus open the way, by which thou mayest attain in fine to that which I know thou doest merit: And to these words added certain others of Fatherly counsell and direction. The term of my departure arrived, and I spoke to my Luscinda on a cer∣tain night, and recounted unto her all that passed, and likewise to her father, intreat∣ing him to overslip a few dayes, and defer the bestowing of his daughter else-where, untill I went to understand Duke Ricardo his will; which he promised me, and shee confirmed it with a thousand oaths and promises.

Finally, I came to Duke Ricardo's Court, and was so friendly received and enter∣tained by him, as even very then envie began to exercise her accustomed Function, be∣ing forthwith emulated by the ancient Servitors; perswading themselves, that the tokens the Duke shewed to doe me favours could not but turn to their prejudice. But hee that rejoyced most at mine arrivall was a second sonne of the Dukes, called Fer∣nando, who was young, gallant, very comely, liberall and amorous; who within a while after my coming, held me so deerly, as every one wondred thereat: And though the elder loved me well, and did me favour; yet was it in no respect comparable to that wherewithall Don Fernando loved and treated me. It therefore befell, that as there is no secresie amongst friends so great, but they will communicate it the one to the other; and the familiarity which I had with Don Fernando was now past the limits of favour, and turned into dearest amitie: He revealed unto me all his thoughts; but chiefly one of his Love, which did not a little molest him: For he was enamoured on a Farmers daughter that was his Fathers Vassall, whose parents were marvellous rich,

and shee her self so bautifull, warie, discret, and honest, as never a one that knew her could absolutely determine wherein, or in which of all her perfections shee did most excell, or was most accomplished. And those good parts of the beautifull Countrey∣maide, reduced Don-Fernando his desires to such an exigent, as hee resolved that hee might the better gaine her good will, and conquer her integritie, to passe her a promise of marriage; for otherwise hee should labour to effect that which was impossible, and but strive against the streame. I, as one bound thereunto by our friendship, did thwart and disswade him from his purpose with the best reasons, and most efficacious words I might: and seeing all could not prevaile, I determined to acquaint the Duke Ricardo his father therewithall; But Don Fernando being very crafty and discreete, su∣spected and feared as much, because hee considered that in the law of a faithfull servant, I was bound not to conceale a thing that would turne so much to the prejudice of the Duke my Lord, and therefore both to divert and deceive mee at once, that hee could finde no meanes so good, to deface the remembrance of that beautie out of his minde, which held his heart in such subjection, then to absent himselfe for certaine moneths; and hee would likewise have that absence to be this, That both of us should depart to∣gether, and come to my fathers house, under prettence (as he would informe the Duke) that he went to see and cheap••n certain great horses that were in the City wherein I was borne; a place of breeding the best horses in the world.

Scarce had I heard him say this (when borne away by the naturall propension each one hath to his Countrey, and my love joyn'd) although his designment had not been so good, yet would I have ratified it, as one of the most expedient that could be ima∣gined, because I saw occasion and oportunity so fairly offered, to return and see again my Luscinda. And thereof set on by this thought and desire, I approved his opinion, and did quicken his purpose, perswading him to prosecute it with all possible speed; for absence would in the end work her effect in despight of the most forcible and ur∣gent thoughts; And when he said this to me, he had already, under the title of a hus∣band (as it was afterward known) reaped the fruits of his longed desires, from his beautifull Countr••y-Maid, and did only await an oportunity to reveal it without his own detriment, fearfull of the Duke his fathers indignation, when he should under∣stand his erro••r.

It afterward hapned, that as love in young men is not for the most part Love, but last, the which (as it ever proposeth to it self as his last end and period, is delight) so as soon as it obteineth the same, it likewise decayeth and maketh forcibly to retire that which was tearmed Love; for it cannot transgresse the limits which Nature hath assigned it which boundings are meares, Nature hath in no wise allotted to true and sincere affe∣ction. I would say, that as soon as Don Fernando had injoyed his Countrey-Lasse, his desires weakned, and his importunities waxed cold; and if at the first he ••eigned an excuse to absent himself, that he might with more facility compasse them, he did now in very good earnest procure to depart, to the end hee might not put them in execu∣tion. The Duke gave him licence to depart, and commanded me to accompany him. Wee came to my Citie, where my Father entertained him according 〈◊〉〈◊〉 talling. I saw Luscinda, and then again were reviv'd (although indeed they were neither dead nor mortified) my desires, and acquainted Don Fernando (alas, to my totall ruine) with them, because I thought it was not lawfull by the law of amity to keep any thing concealed from him: There I dilated to him, on the Beauty, Wit, and Discretion of Luscinda, in so ample manner, as my prayses stirred in him a desire to view a Damzell so greatly adorned, and inriched with so rare endowments: And this his desire I (through my misfortune) satisfied, shewing her unto him by the light of a candle, at a window where wee two were wont to pa••le together; where he beheld her to bee such as was sufficient to blot out of his memory all the beauties which ever hee had viewed before. Hee stood mute, beside himself, and ravished; and moreover rested so greatly enamoured, as you may perceive in the discourse of this my do••efull narration: And to inflame his desires the more (a thing which I fearfully avoyded, and only discovered to heaven) fortune so disposed; that hee found after me one of her Letters, wherein

she requested that I would demand her of her father for wife, which was so discreete, honest and amorously penned, as he said after reading it, that in Luscinda alone were included all the graces of Beauty and Understanding joyntly, which were divided and separate in all the other women of the world.

Yet in good sooth I will here confesse the truth, that although I saw cleerely how de∣servedly Luscinda was thus extold by Don Fernando, yet did not her prayses please mee so much pronounced by him; and therefore began to feare and suspect him, because he let no moment overslip us, without making some mention of Luscinda, and would still himselfe begin the Discourse, were the occasion ever so far fetched, a thing which rowsed in mee I cannot tell what jealousie; not that I did feare any traverse in Luscindaes loyalty, but yet for all my Fates made mee the very thing which they most assured mee: and Don Fernando procured to read all the papers I sent to Luscinda, or shee to mee, under pretext that hee tooke extraordinary delight to note the witty con∣ceits of us both. It therefore fell out, that Luscinda having demanded of mee a booke of Chivalry to read, wherein shee took marveilous delight, and was that of Amadis du Gaule.

Scarce had Don-Quixote well heard him make mention of bookes of Knighthood, when hee replyed to him. If you had, good sir, but once told mee at the beginning of your historicall narration, that your Lady Luscinda was affected to the reading of Knightly Adventures, you needed not to have used any amplification to indeer or make plaine unto mee the eminencie of her wit, which certainly could not in any wise bee so excellent and perspicuous as you have figured it, if shee wanted the propension and fee∣ling you have rehearsed, to the perusing of so pleasing discourses; so that henceforth, with mee, you neede not spend any more words to explane and manifest the height of her beauty, worths and understanding, for by this only notice I have received of her devo∣tion to bookes of Knighthood, I doe confirme her for the most faire and accomplished woman for all perfections in the world; and I would to God, good Sir, that you had also sent her together with Amadis, the Histories of the good Don Rugel of Grecia, for I am certaine, the Lady Luscinda would have taken great delight in Darayda and Ga∣raya, and in the witty conceits of the Sheepheard Darinel, and in those admirable ver∣ses of his Bucolicks, sung and rehearsed by him with such grace, discretion and libertie. But a time may come, wherein this fault may bee recompenced, if it shall please you to come with mee to my Village; for there I may give you three hundred Bookes, which are my Soules greatest contentment, and the entertainment of my life; although I doe now verily beleeve that none of them are left, thanks bee to the malice of evill and en∣vious Enchanters. And I beseech you to pardon me this transgression of our agreement at the first, promised not to interrupt your Discourses; for when I heare any motion made of Chivalry or Knights Errant, it is no more in my power to omit to speake of them, then in the Sunne-beames to leave off warming, or in the Moones to render things humid. And therefore I intreate pardon, and that you will prosecute your Hi∣story, as that which most imports us.

Whilest Don-Quixotes spoke those words, Cardenio hanged his head on his breast, giving manifest tokens that hee was exceeding sad. And although Don-Quixote reque∣sted him twice to follow on with his Discourse, yet neither did he lift up his head, or answere a word, till at last, after hee had stood a good while musing, hee held up his head and said; It cannot bee taken out of my minde, nor is there any one in the world can deprive me of the conceit, or make me beleeve the contrary; and hee were a bottle-head, that would think or beleeve otherwise then that the great villain Mr. Elisabat the Barbar kept Queen Madasima as his Lemman.

That is not so, I vow by such and such, quoth Don-Quixote in great choler (and as hee was wont, rapt out three or foure round oathes) It is great malice, or rather vil∣lany to say such a thing. For Queene Madasima was a very noble Lady, and it ought not to bee presumed that so high a Princesse would fall in love with a Quack-salver, and whosoever thinks the contrary, lies like an arrant Villaine, as I will make him under∣stand a horseback or a foote, armed or disarmed, by night or by day, or as he best liketh.

Cardenio stood beholding him very earnestly as hee spoke these words, whom the acci∣dent of his madnesse had by this possessed, and was not in plight to prosecute his Histo∣ry, nor would Don-Quixote give eare to it, he was so mightily disgusted to hear Queen Madasima detracted.

A marvellous accident! for hee took her defence as earnestly, as if she were verily his true and naturall Princesse, his wicked books had so much distracted him. And Cardenio being by this furiously madd, hearing himself answered with the lye, and the denomination of a Villaine, with other the like outrages, hee took the rest in ill part; and lifting up a stone that was neer unto him, gave Don-Quixote such a blow there∣withall, as he overthrew him to the ground on his back. Sancho Panca seeing his Ma∣ster so roughly handled, set upon the fool with his fist shut; and the ragged man re∣ceived his assault in such manner, as he likewise overthrew him at his feet with one fist, and mounting afterward upon him, did work him with his feet like a piece of dough: And the Goat-heard who thought to succour him, was like to incur the same danger. And after he had overthrown and beaten them all very well, he departed from them and entred into the wood very quietly. Sancho arose, and with rage to see himself so belaboured without desert, he ran upon the Goat-heard to be revenged on him, say∣ing that he was in the fault, who had not premonished them, how that mans raving fits did take him so at times; for had they been advertised thereof, they might have stood all the while on their guard.

The Goat-heard answered, that he had already advised them thereof; and if he had not been attentive thereunto, yet he was therefore nothing the more culpable.

Sancho Panca replyed, and the Goat-heard made a rejoynder thereunto; but their disputation ended at last in the catching hold of one anothers beards, and be-fisting themselves so uncompassionately, as if Don-Quixote had not pacified them, they would have torne one another to pieces. Sancho holding still the Goat-heard fast, said unto his Lord, Let me alone, Sir Knight of the Ill-favoured face; for on this man who is a Clown as I am my self, and no dubed Knight, I may safely satisfie my self of the wrong hee hath done me, by fighting with him hand to hand like an honourable man. It is true, quoth Don-Quixote, but I know well, that hee is in no wise culpa∣ble of that which hath hapned. And saying so, appeased them, and turned a∣gain to demand of the Goat-heard, whether it were possible to meet again with Cardenio; for he remained possessed with an exceeding desire to know the end of his History.

The Goat-heard turned again to repeat what he had said at the first, to wit, that he knew not any certain place of his abode; but if hee haunted that Commark any while, he would some time meet with him, either in his madd or modest humour.

CHAP. XI.

Which treates of the strange Adventures that happened to the Knight of the Mancha, in Sierra Morena; and of the pennance he did there, in imitation of Beltinebros.

DOn-Quixote tooke leave of the Goatheard, and mounting once againe on Rozinante, hee commanded Sancho to follow him, who obeyed but with a very ill will; and thus they travelled by little and little, entring into the thickest and roughest part of all the Mountaine, and Sancho went almost burst with a desire to reason with his Master, and therefore wished in minde that hee would once begin, that he might not transgresse his commandement of silence imposed on him, but growing at last wholly impotent to containe himselfe speechlesse any longer: Good Syr Don-Quixote. I pray you give mee your blessing, and license; for I meane to de∣dart from this place, and returne to my house, my wife and children, with whom I shall bee, at least, admitted to reason and speake my pleasure; for that you would de∣sire to have mee keepe you company through these Desarts, night and day, and that I may not speake when I please, is but to bury mee alive. Yet if Fortune had so happily disposed our affaires, as that beasts could speake as they did in Guisopetes time, the harme had beene lesse, for then would I discourse a while with Rozinante (seeing my ••iggardly fortune hath not consented I might doe it with mine Asse) what I thought good, and in this sort would I weave my mishaps; for it is a stubborne thing, and that cannot bee borne with patience, to travell all the dayes of our life, and not to encoun∣ter any other thing then tramplings under feete, tossings in Coverlets, blowes of stones and buffets, and bee besides all this forced to sow up our Mouthes, a man daring not to breake his minde, but to stande mute like a poste. Sancho, I understand thee now, quoth Don-Quixote, thou diest with longing to speake that which I have forbidden thee to speake; account therefore that commandement revoked, and say what thou plea∣sest, on condition that this revocation be only available and of force whilest we dewll in these Mountaines, and no longer.

So bee it, quoth Sancho, let mee speake now, for what may ••••••er befall God only knowes, and then beginning to take the benefit of his license, hee said, I pray you tell mee, what benefit could you reape by taking Queene Magimasaes part? Or what was it to the purpose that that Abbat was her friend or no? For if you had let it slip, see∣ing you were not his Judge, I verily beleeve that the foole had prosecuted his tale, and wee should have escaped the blow of the stone, the trampling under feete and spurnings; yea, and more then five or six good buffets. Yfaith Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote, if thou knowest as well as I did, how honourable and principall a Lady was Queen Ma∣dasima, thou wouldst rather say that I had great patience, seeing I did not strike him on the mouth, out of which such blasphemies issued; for it is a very great dishonour to aver or thinke that any Queene would fall in love with a Barber. For the truth of the History is, that Master Elisabat, of whom the mad man spoke, was very prudent, and a man of a sound judgemen, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the Queene as her Tutor and Physitian; but to thinke that shee was his Lemman, is a madnesse worthy the severest punishment: and to the end thou maist see that Cardenio knew not what hee said, thou must understand that when he spoke it, he then was wholy beside himself.

That's it which I say, quoth Sancho, that you ought not to make recount of words spoken by a Foole; for if fortune had not assisted you, but addressed the stone to your head, as it did to your breast, wee should have remained in good plight, for having tur∣ned so earnestly in that my Ladies defence, whom God confound: and think you that

Cardenio would not escape the dangers of the Law, by reason of his madnesse? Any Knight Errant, answered Don-Quixote, is bound to turn for the honour of women, of what quality soever, against•• mad or unmad men: How much more for Queens of so high degree and worth, as was Queen Madesina, to whom I bear particular affections for her good parts? For besides her being marvellous beautifull, shee was moreover very prudent and patient in her calamities, which were very many, and the company and counsells of Master Elisabat proved very beneficiall and necessary, to induce her to bear her mishaps with prudence and patience: and hence the ignorant and ill-meaning Vulgar took occasion to suspect and affirm, that shee was his friend: but I say again they lie, and all those that doe either think or say it, doe lie a thousand times.

Why, quoth Sancho, I neither say it nor think it; let those affirm any such thing, eat that ••ye and swallow it with their bread•• and if they of whom you spoak lived lightly, they have given account to God thereof by this: I come from my Vineyard; I know nothing: I am not afraid to know other mens lives: For he that buyes and lyes, shall feel it in his purse: How much more seeing I was borne naked, aud am now naked, I can neither win nor lose? A man is but a man, though he have a hose on his head; but howsoever, what is that to me? And many think there is a Sheep where there is no Fleece. But who shall bridle a man's understanding when men are prophane? Good God, quoth Don-Quixote! how many follies hast thou inserted here? and how wide from our purpose are those proverbs which thou hast recited? Honest Sancho, hold thy peace, and from henceforth indeavour to serve thy Master, and doe not meddle with things which concern thee nothing; and under∣stand with all thy five Senses, that whatsoever I have done, doe, or shall doe, is wholly guided by reason, and conformable to the rules of Knighthood, which I know better then all the other Knights that ever profest them in the world. Sir, quoth Sancho, and it is a good rule of Chivalry, that wee goe wandring and lost among these Mountains in this sort, without path or way, in the search of a mad-man, to whom peradventure after hee is found, will return a desire to finish what hee began, not of his tale, but of your head and my ribs, by indeavouring to break them soundly and thorowly.

Peace I say Sancho, once again, quoth Don-Quixote; for thou must wit, that the desire of finding the mad-man alone brings me not into these parts so much, as that which I have in my minde to atchieve a certain Adventure, by which I shall acquire eternall renown and fame, throughout the universall face of the earth; and I shall therewithall seal all that which may render a Knight Errant compleat and famous. And is the Adventure very dangerous, quoth Sancho Panca? No, answered the Knight of the Ill-favoured face, although the Die might runne in such sort, as wee might cast a hazard instead of an incounter; but all consists in thy diligence. In mine, quoth Sancho? Yes (quoth Don-Quixote) for if thou returnest speedily from the place whereunto I mean to send thee, my pain will also end shortly, and my glory commence very soon after: and because I will not hold thee long suspended, awaiting to hear the effect of my words, I would have thee to know, that the famous Amadis du Gaule was one of the most accomplished Knights Errant. I doe not say well, saying he was one; for hee was the only, the first, and prime Lord of as many as lived in his age. An evill yeer and a worse moneth for Don Belianis, or any other that shall dare presume to compare with him; for I swear, that they all are questionlesse deceived. I also say, that when a Painter would become rare and excellent in his Art, hee procures to imi∣tate the patterns of the most singular Masters of his Science: And this very rule runns currant throughout all other Trades and Exercises of account, which serve to adorn a well disposed Commonwealth; and so ought and doth he that means to obtain the name of a prudent and patient man, by imitating Vlysses, in whole person and dan∣gers doth Homer delineate unto us the true pourtraiture of patience and sufferance; as likewise Virgil demonstrates under the person of Eneas, the duty and valour of a pious sonne, and the Sagacity of a hardy and expert Captain, not shewing them such

as indeed they were, but as they should be, to remain as an example of Virtue, to ensuing Posterities. And in this very manner was Amadis the Noth-star and Sunne of valourous and amorous•• Knights, whom all we ought to imitate which march under the ensignes of Love and Chivalry. And this being so manifest as it is, I finde, friend Sancho, that the Knight Errant who shall imitate him most, shall likewise bee neerest to attain the perfection of Armes: And that wherein this Knight bewrayed most his Prudence, Valour, Courage, Patience, Constancie and Love, was when he retyred himself to doe penance, being disdained by his Lady Oriana, to the Poor Rock, changing his name unto that of Beltenebros, a name certainly most significative and proper for the life which he had at that time willingly chosen. And I may more easily imitate him herein, then in cleaving of Gyants, beheading of Serpents, killing of Monsters, over-throwing of Armies, putting•• Navies to flight, and finishing of Inchantments. And seeing that this Mountain is so fit for that purpose, there is no reason why I should overslip the occasion, which doth so commodiously proffer me her Locks.

In effect, quoth Sancho, what is it you meane to doe in these remote places? Have not I told thee already, said Don-Quixote, that I meane to follow Amadis, by play∣ing here the despayred, wood, and furious man? To imitate likewise the valiant Or∣lando, where hee found the tokens by a Fountaine that Angelica the faire had abused he•• selfe with Medozo, for greefe whereof hee ran mad, and pluckt up Trees by their roots, troubled the water of cleere Fountaines, slew Sheepheards, destroyed their Flocks, fi∣red the sheep-••olds, overthrew houses, trayled Mares after him, and committed a hundred thousand other insolencies worthy of eternall fame and memorie? And al∣though I meane not to imitate Roldan, or Orlands, or Rowland (for hee had all these names) exactly in every mad pranke that hee played: Yet will I doe it the best I can, in those things which shall seeme unto mee most essentiall. And perhaps I may rest contented with the only imitation of Amadis, who without indammaging any by his ravings, and only using these of feeling laments, ariving to as great fame thereby as any one whatsoever.

I beleeve, replied Sancho, that the Knights which performed the like penances, were moved by some reasons to doe the like austerities and follies; but good Sir, what occa∣sion hath beene offered unto you to become madd? What Lady hath disdayned you? Or what arguments have you found, that the Lady Dulcinea of Toboso hath ever dallied with Moore or Christian? There is the point, answered our Knight, and therein con∣sists the perfection of mine affaires; for that a Knight Errant doe runne madd upon any just occasion, deserves neither prayse nor thanks; the wit is in waxing madd without cause, whereby my Mistresse may understand, that if drie I could doe this, what would I have done being watered? How much more seeing I have a just motive through the proli••e absence that I have made from my ever supremest Lady Dulcinea of Toboso? For as thou mightest have heard read in Marias Ambrosio his Sheepheard,

To him that absent is, All things succeede amiss.

So that friend Sancho, I would not have thee lavish time longer in advising, to let slip so rare, so happy and singular an imitation. I am madd, and will bee madd, untill thou returne againe with answere upon a Letter, which I meane to send with thee to my Lady Dulcinea; and if it bee such as my loyalty deserves, my madnesse and penance shall end; but if the contrary, I shall runne madd in good earnest, and bee in that state that I shall apprehend nor feele any thing. So that howsoever I bee answered, I shall issue out of the conflict and paine wherein thou leavest me by joying the good thou shalt bring mee, as wise, or not feeling the evill thou shalt denounce, as mad. But tell mee Sancho, keepest thou charily yet the helmet of Mambrino, which I saw thee take up from the ground the other day, when that ungratefull fellow thought to have brok∣en it into pieces, but could not; by which may be collected the excellent temper thereof?

Sancho answered to this demand, saying, I cannot suffer or bear longer, Sir Knight of the Ill-favoured face, nor take patiently many things which you say; and I beginne to suspect by your words, that all that which you have said to mee of Chivalry, and of gaining Kingdomes and Empires, of bestowing Islands and other gifts and great things, as Knights Errant are wont, are all matters of ayre and lies, all couzenage or couzening, or how else you please to term it: for he that shall hear you name a Barbers Bason, Mambrino's Helmet, and that you will not abandon that errour in more then four dayes; what other can he think, but that hee who affirms such a thing doth want wit and discretion? I carry the Bason in my Bagge all battered and boared, and will have it mended, and dresse my beard in it at home, if God shall doe me the favour that I may one day see my Wife and Barnes.

Behold, Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote, I doe likewise swear, that thou haste the shallowest pate that ever any Squire had or hath in the World: is it possible, that in all the time thou hast gone with me, thou couldest not perceive, that all the Adven∣ters of Knights Errant doe appear Chimera's, follies, and desperate things, being quite contrary? Not that they are indeed such; but rather by reason that wee are still haunt∣ed by a crue of Inchanters, which change and transforme our acts making them seem what they please, according as they like to favour or annoy us. And so this which seems to thee a Barbers Bason, is in my conceit Mambrino his Helmet, and to another will appear in some other shape. And it is doubtlesly done by the profound Science of the wise man my friend, to make that seem a Bason, which really and truely is Mambrino's Helmet; because that it being so precious a Jewell, all the world would pursue me to deprive me of it; but now seeing that it is to like a Barbers Bason, they indeavour not to gain it, as was cleerly shewed in him that thought to break it the other day, and would not carry it with him, but left it lying behinde him on the ground; for yfaith hee had never left it, did he know the worthinesse thereof. Keep it friend, for I need it not at this present, wherein I must rather di••arme my self of the Armes I weare, and remain as naked as I was at the hour of my birth, if I shall take the humour rather to imitate Orlando in doing of my penance, then Amadis.

Whilest thus hee discoursed, hee arived to the foote of a loftie Mountaine, which stood like a hewn Rock, divided from all the rest, by the skyrt whereof glyded a smooth River, hemmed in on every side by a greene and flourishing Meadow, whose verdure did marveilously delight the greedy beholding eye. There were in it also many wilde Trees, and some plants and floures, which rendred the place much more pleasing. The Knight of the illfavored face made choice of this place to accomplish therein his penance, and therefore as soone as hee had viewed it, hee began to say with a loud voice, like a distracted man, these words ensuing. This is the place where the humor of mine eyes shall increase the liquid veines of this Chrystall Current, and my continu∣all and deepe sighes shall give perpetuall motion to the leaves of these mountanie Trees, in testimony of the paine which my oppressed heart doth suffer. O you, whosoever ye bee, Rusticall Gods, which have your Mansion in this inhabitable place, give care to the plaints of this unfortunate Lover, whom a long absence, and a few imagined suspi∣cions have conducted to deplore his state among these Desarts, and make him exclame on the rough condition of that Ingrate and Faire, who is the top, the su••••••, the peri∣od, terme and end of all humane beauty. O ye Napeas and Driades, which doe wont∣edly inhabite the Thickets and Groves, so may the nimble and lascyvious Satyres, by whom (although in vaine) you are beloved, never have power to interrupt your sweet rest, as you shall assist mee to lament my disasters, or at least attend them, whilest I dolefully breathe them. O Dulcinea of Toboso, the day of my night, the glory of my paine, North of my travells, and starre of my Fortunes; so heav'n enrich thee with the highest, whensoever thou shalt demand it, as thou wilt consider the place and passe, unto which thine absence hath conducted mee, and answere my faith and desires in com∣passionate and gracious manner. O solitary Trees (which shall from henceforward keepe company with my solitude) give tokens with the soft motion of your boughs, that my presence doth not dislike you. O thou my Squire, and gratefull companion in

all prosperous and adverse successes, beare well away what thou shalt see mee doe here, to the end that thou mayest after promptly recount it as the totall cause of my ruine. And saying so, he alighted from Rozinante, and taking off in a trice his bridle and sad∣dle, he struck him on the buttock, saying, Hee gives thee Liberty that wants it himself; O horse! as famous for thy works as thou art unfortunate by thy Fates: Goe where thou pleasest; for thou bearest written in thy forehead, how that neither the Hippo∣griphon of Astolpho, nor the renowned Frontino, which cost Bradamant so deerly, could compare with thee for swiftnesse.

When Sancho had viewed and heard his Lord speak thus, hee likewise said, Good be••ide him that freed us from the pains of unpannelling the gray Asse; for if he were here yfaith he should also have two or three claps on the buttocks, & a short Oration in his praise: yet if he were here, I would not permit any other to unpannell him, seeing there was no occasion why; for he good Beast was nothing subject to the passions of Love, or despair, no more then I, who was his Master when it pleased God: And in good sooth, Sir Knight of the Ill-favoured face, if my departure and your madnesle bee in good earnest, it will bee needfull to saddle Rozinante again, that he may supply the want of mine Asse; for it will shorten the time of my departure and return again: And if I make my voyage afoot, I know not when I shall arrive there, or return here back unto you; for in good earnest I am a very ill footman.

Let it be as thou likest, quoth Don-Quixote, for thy designe displeaseth me nothing; and therefore I resolve that thou shalt depart from hence after three dayes; for in the mean space thou shalt behold what I will doe and say for my Ladies sake, to the end thou mayest tell it to her. Why, quoth Sancho, what more can I view then that which I have seen already? Thou art altogether wide of the matter, answered Don-Quixote, for I must yet teare mine apparrell, throw away mine Armour, and beat my head about these Rocks, with many other things of that kinde that will strike thee into admiration. Let me beseech you, quoth Sancho, see well how you give your self those knocks about the Rocks; for you might happen upon some one so ungracious a Rock, as at the first rap would dissove all the whole Machina of your Adventures and Pen∣ance; and therefore I would be of opinion, seeing that you doe hold it necessary that some knocks be given with the head, and that this enterprize cannot be accomplished without them, that you content your self, seeing that all is but seigned, counterfeited, and a Jest, that you should, I say, content your self with striking it on the water, or on some other soft thing, as Cotten, or Wooll, and leave to my charge the exaggera∣tion thereof; for I will tell to my Lady, that you strike•• your head against the point of a Rock which was harder then a Diamond.

I thank thee, Sancho, for thy good will, quoth Don-Quixote; but I can assure thee that all these things which I doe, are no Jests, but very serious Earnests; for otherwise wee should transgresse the Statutes of Chivalry, which command us not to avouch any untruth, on pain of relapse, and to doe one thing for another, is as much as to lye. So that my head-knocks must be true, firm, and sound ones, without any sophisticall or fantasticall shaddow: and it will be requisite that thou leave me some lint to cure me, seeing that Fortune hath deprived us of the Balsamum which we lost. It was worse to have lost the Asse, quoth Sancho, seeing that at once with him we have lost our Lint, and all our other provision: and I intreat you most earnestly not to name again that accursed drink; for in only hearing it mentioned, you not only turn my guts in me, but also my soul. And I request you moreover, to make account that the terme of three dayes is already expired, wherein you would have me take notice of your fol∣lies; for I declare them already for seen, and will tell wonders to my Lady; where∣fore goe write your Letter, and dispatch me with all haste; for I long already to re∣turn, and take you out of this Purgatory wherein I leave you.

Doest thou call it a Purgatory, Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote? Thou had'st done better, had'st thou called it Hell; or rather worse, if there be any thing worse then that. I call it so (quoth Sancho) Quia in inferno nulla est retentio, as I have heard say.

I unddrstand not, said Don-Quixote, what retentio meaneth. Retentio (quoth Sancho) is that, whosoever is in Hell, never comes, nor can come out of it. Which shall fall out contrary in your person, or my feet shall goe ill, if I may carry spurs to quicken Rozinante: and that I may safely arrive before my Lady Dulcinea in To∣boso, for I will recount unto her such strange things of your follies and madnesse (for they be all one) that you have, and doe daily, as I will make her as soft as a Glove, although I found her at the first harder then a Cork tree: with whose sweet and hony answer, I will return in the ayre as speedily as a Witch, and take you out of this Purgatory, which is no Hell, although it seems one, seeing there is hope to escap from it; which as I have said, they want which are in hell: and I beleeve you will not contradict me herein.

Thou hast reason, answered The Knight of the illfavoured face, but how shall I write the Letter, and the warrant for the receipt of the Colts also? added Sancho. All shall bee inserted together, quoth Don-Quixote; and seeing wee have no paper, wee may doe well, imitating the ancient men of times past, to write our minde in the leaves of Trees or waxe, yet waxe is as hard to bee found here as paper. But now that I remem∣ber my selse, I know where wee may write our minde well, and more then well, to wit, in Cardinio's Tablets, and thou shalt have care to cause the letters to bee written out againe fairely, in the first Village wherein thou shalt finde a Schoole master; or if such a one bee wanting, by the Cleark of the Church; and beware in any sort that thou give it not to a Notary or Court-Clearke to bee copied, for they write such an intan∣gling-confounding processe Letter, as Satan himself would scarce bee able to reade it. And how shall wee doe for want of your name and subscription, quoth Sancho? Why answered Don-Quixote, Amadis was never wont to subscribe to his Letters. I, but the warrant to receive the three Asses must forcibly bee subsigned; and if it should af∣terward bee copied, they would say the former is false, and so I shall rest without my Colts, The Warrant shall bee written and firmed with my hand in the Tablets, which as soone as my Neece shall see, shee shall make no difficulty to deliver thee them. And as concerning the love-letter, thou shalt put this subscription to it; Yours untill death, The Knight of the ill-favored face; and it makes no matter though it bee written by any stranger; for as much as I can remember, Dulcinea can neyther write nor read, nor hath shee seene any Letter, no, not so much as a Character of my writing all the dayes of her life: For my love and hers have beene ever Platonicall, never extending them∣selves farther then to an honest regard and view the one of the other, and even this same so rarely, as I dare boldly sweare, that in these dozen yeeres which I love her more deerely then the light of these mine eyes, which the earth shall one day devour. I have not seen her four times, and perhaps of those same four times shee hath scarce perceived once that I beheld her. Such is the case and closenesse wherewithall her parents Lorenco Corcuelo and her Mother Aldonca Nogales, have brought her up. Ta, ta, quoth Sancho, that the Lady Dulcinea of Toboso is Lorenco Corcuelo his Daughter, called by another name Aldonca Loreno? The same is shee, quoth Don-Quixote, and it is shee that merits to bee Empresse of the vast Universe. I know her very well, replyed Sancho, and I dare say, that she can throw an Iron barr as well as any the strongest Lad in our Parish. I vow by the giver, that 'tis a Wench of the mark, tall and stout, and so sturdy withall, that she will bring her chinn out of the mire, in despite of any Knight Errant, or that shall err, that shall honour her as his Lady. Out upon her, what a strength and voyce shee hath? I saw her on a day stand on the topp of the Church steeple, to call certain servants of her Fathers, that laboured in a fallow field; and although they were half a league from thence, they heard her as well as if they were at the foot of the Steeple: And the best that is in her is, that shee is nothing coy; for shee hath a very great smack of Courtship, and playes with every one, and Jibes and Jests at them all. And now I affirm, Sir Knight of the Ill•• favoured face, that not only you may, and ought to commit raving follies for her sake; but eke you may with just title also despair and hang your self: For none shall hear thereof, but will say you did very well, although the Divell carried you away. And fain would I

bee gone, if it were for nothing else but to see her: for it is many a day since I saw her, and I am sure shee is changed by this; for womens beauty is much impaired by going alwaies to the field, exposed to the Sunne and weather.

And I will now, Sir Don-Quixote, confesse a truth unto you, that I have lived untill now in a marvellous errour, thinking well and faithfully that the Lady Dulcinea was some great Princesse, on whom you were enamoured, or such a person as merited those rich presents which you bestowed on her, as well of the Biscaines, as of the Slaves, and many others that ought to bee, as I suppose, correspondent to the many victories which you have gained, both now and in the time that I was not your Squire. But pondering well the matter, I cannot conceive why the Lady Aldonea Lorenco; I mean the Lady Dulcinea of Toboso, of these should care whether these vanquished men which you send or shall send, doe goe and kneel before her. For it may befall, that she at the very time of their arrivall bee combing of Flax or threshing in the Barn, whereat they would be ashamed, and shee likewise laugh, and bee somewhat displeased at the present.

I have oft told thee, Sancho, many times that thou art too great a prattler, quoth Don-Quixote, and although thou hast but a grosse wit, yet now and then thy frumps nip••: But to the end thou mayest perceive the faultinesse of thy brain, and my discre∣tion, I will tell thee a short History, which is this: There was once a widow fair, young, free, rich, and withall very pleasant and jocund, that fell in Love with a cer∣tain round and well-set servent of a Colledge: his Regent came to understand it; and therefore said on a day to the Widow, by the way of fraternall correction, Mistriss, I doe greatly marvell, and not without occasion, that a woman so principall, so beau∣tifull, so rich, and specially so wittie, could make so ill a choise, as to waxe enamoured on so foul, so base, and foolish a man as such a one, we having in this house so many Masters of Art, Graduates and Divines, amongst whom you might have made choise as among Peers, saying. I will take this, and I will not have that. But shee answered him thus, with a very pleasant and good grace: You are, Sir, greatly deceived, if you deem that I have made an ill choise in such a one, let him seem never so great a fool: for to the purpose that I mean to use him, hee knows as much or rather more Philo∣sophy then Aristotle. And so, Sancho, is likewise Dulcinea of Toboso as much worth as the highest Princesse of the World, for the effect I mean to use her: For all the Poets which celebrate certain Ladies at pleasure, thinkest thou that they all had Mi∣strisses? No: Doest thou believe that the Amarillis, the Files, Silvias, Dianas, Galateas, Alcidas, and others such like, wherewithall the Books, Ditties, Barbers Shops, and Theaters are filled, were truely Ladies of flesh and bones, and their Mistrisses which have and doe celebrate them thus? No certainly, but were for the greater part ••eigned, to serve as a subject of their Verses, to the end the Authours might be ac∣counted amorous, and men of courage enough to bee such. And thus it is also suffi∣cient for me to believe and think that the good Aldonca Lorenco is fair and honest: As for her Parentage it matters but little; for none will send to take information thereof, to give to her an habit; and I make account of her as of the greatest Princesse in the World: For thou oughtest to know, Sancho, if thou knowest it not already, that two things alone incite men to love more then all things else, and those be sur∣passing beauty, and a good name: And both these things are found in Dulcinea in their prime; For none can equall her in fairnesse, and few come neer her for a good report. And for a finall conclusion, I imagine, that all that which I say, is really so, without adding or taking ought away. And I doe imagine her in my fantasie to bee such, as I could with her, as well in beauty as principality: And neither can Helen approach, nor Lucrece come neer her; no, nor any of those other famous women, Greek, Barbarous, or Latine, of foregoing ages. And let every one say what hee pleaseth; For though I should be reprehended for this by the ignorant, yet shall I not therefore be chastised by the more observant and rigorous sort of men.

I avouch, quoth Sancho, that you have great reason in all that you say, and that I am my self a very Asse, But alas! why doe I name an Asse with my mouth, seeing one

should not mention a Rope in ones house that was hanged? but give me the Letter, and farewell, for I will change. With that Don-Quixote drew out his Tablets, and going aside, began to indite his Letter with great gravity; which ended, he called Sancho to read it to him, to the end he might bear it away in memory, left by chance hee did lose the Tablets on the way, for such were his crosse fortunes, as made him fear every event. To which Sancho answered, saying, Write it there twice or thrice in the book, and give me it after; for I will carry it safely by Gods grace. For to think that I will be able ever to take it by rote, is a great folly; for my memory is so short, as I doe many times forget mine own name: But yet for all that read it to me, good Sir; for I would bee glad to hear it, as a thing which I suppose to be as excellent, as if it were cast in a mould. Hear it then, said Don-Quixote, for thus it sayes.

The Letter of DON-QUIXOTE to DULCINEA of Toboso.

Soveraign Ladie,

THE wounded by the poynt of absence, and the hurt by the Darts of thy heart, sweetest Dulcinea of Toboso, doth send thee that health which hee wanteth himself. If thy beauty disdain me; if thy valour turn not to my benefit; if thy disdains con∣vert themselves to my harm, maugre all my patience, I shall bee ill able to sustein this care; which, besides that it is violent, is also too durable. My good Squire, Sancho, will give thee certain relation, O beautifull, ingrate, and my deerest beloved enemy of the State wherein I remain for thy sake: If thou please to favour me, I am thine; and if not, doe what thou likest: For by ending of my life, I shall both satisfie thy Cruelty and my Desires.

Thine untill death, The Knight of the Illfavored face.

By my fathers life, quoth Sancho, when he heard the Letter, it is the highest thing that ever I heard. Good God •• how well doe you say every thing in it? and how excel∣lently have you applyed the subscription of The Knight of the Ill-favoured face? I say a∣gain in good earnest that you are the Divell himself, and there's nothing but you know it. All is necessary, answered Don-Quixote, for the Office that I professe. Put then (quoth Sancho) in the other side of that leafe, the Warrant of the three Colts, and firm it with a legible Letter, that they may know it at the first sight. I am pleased, said Don-Quixote; and so writing it, he read it after to Sancho, and it said thus.

YOV shall please, good Neece, for this first of Colts, to deliver unto my Squire Sancho Pança, three of the five that I left at home, and are in your charge; the which three Colts I command to bee delivered to him, for as many others counted and received here: for with this, and his acquittance, they shall bee justly delivered. Given in the bowels of Sierra Morena, the two and twentieth of August, of this present yeer.

It goes very well (quoth Sancho;) subsign it therefore, I pray you. It needs no seal (quoth Don-Quixote) but only my Rubrick, which is as valible as if it were sub∣scribed; not only for three Asses, but also for three hundred. My trust is in you, an∣swered Sancho, permit me, for I will goe saddle Rozinante, and prepare your self to give me your blessing; for I purpose presently to depart before I see any madd prank of yours; for I will say that I saw you play so many, as no more can bee desired. I will have thee stay, Sancho (and that because it is requisite) at least to see me stark naked, playing a dozen or two of raving tricks; for I will dispatch them in lesse then half an hour; because that thou having viewed them with thine own eyes, mayest safely swear all the rest that thou pleasest to add; and I assure thee, that thou canst not tell so many as I mean to perform. Let me intreat you, good Sir, that I may not see you naked, for it will turn my stomack, and I shall not bee able to keep my self from weeping; and my head is yet so sore since yester night through my lamentations, for the losse of the gray beast, as I am not strong enough yet to indure new plaints; but if your plea∣sure bee such, as I must necessarily see some follies, doe them in Ioves name in your clothes briefly, and such as are most necessary; chiefly, seeing none of these things are requisite for me: And as I have said, wee might excuse time (that shall now bee la∣vished in these trifles) to return speedily with the news you desire and deserve so much. And if not, let the ••ady Dulcinea provide her self well; for if shee answer not accor∣ding to reason, I make a solemn vow to him that I may, that I'le make her disgorge out of her stomack a good answer, with very kicks and fists: For how can it bee suffered that so famous a Knight Errant as your self should thus runn out of his wits, without, nor for what, for one? Let not the Gentlewomen constrain me to say the rest; for I will out with it, and venter all upon twelve, although it never were sold.

In good faith, Sancho (quoth Don-Quixote) I think thou art grown as mad as my self. I am not so mad, replyed Sancho, but I am more cholerick. But setting that aside, say, What will you eat untill my return? Doe you mean to doe as Cardenio, and take by the high-wayes side perforce from the Sheepheards? Care thou not for that, replyed Don-Quixote; for although I had it, yet would I not eat any other thing then the Hearbs and Fruits that this Field and Trees doe yield; for the perfection of mine affair consists in fasting, and the exercise of other castigations. To this Sancho replyed, Doe you know what I fear? that I shall not finde the way to you again here where I leave you, it is so difficult and obscure. Take well the marks, and I will en∣devour to keep here-about, quoth Don-Quixote, untill thou come back again; and will moreover about the time of thy return mount to the tops of these high Rocks, to see whether thou appearest: but thou shouldest doe best of all, to the end thou mayest not stay and misse me, to cut down here and there certain boughs, and strew them on the way as thou goest, untill thou beest out in the Plains, and those may after serve thee as bounds and marks, by which thou mayest again finde me when thou returnest, in imitation of the clue of Theses Labyrinth.

I will doe so, quoth Sancho, and then cutting downe certaine boughes, hee deman∣ded his Lords blessing, and departed not without teares on both sides. And mount∣ing upon Rozinante, whom Don-Quixote commended very seriously to his care, that hee should tender him as hee would his owne person, hee made on towards the Plaines, strewing here and there on the way his branches, as his Master had advised him; and with that departed, although his Lord importuned him to behold two or three follies ere hee went away: But scarce had hee gone a hundred paces, when hee returned and said, I say Sir, that you said well, that to the end I might sweare with a safe Consci∣ence that I have seene you play these mad tricks, it were necessary that at least I see you doe one, although that of your abode here, is one great enough.

Did not I tell thee so, quoth Don-Quixote? Stay Sancho, for I will doe it in the space of a Creede; and taking off with all haste his ho••e, hee remained the halfe of him maked, and did instantly give two or three jerks in the ayre, and two tumbles ove•• and over on the ground, with his head downeward, and his legs aloft, where hee dis∣covered such things, as Sancho, because he would not see them againe, turned the bri∣dle

and rode away, resting contented and satisfied that hee might sweare that his Lord was madd. And so wee will leave him travelling on his way, untill his returne, which was very soone after.

CHAP. XII.

Wherein are prosecuted the prankes played by Don-Quixote in his amorous humors, in the Mountaines of Sierra Mo∣rena.

AND turning to recount what The Knight of the ill-favoured face did when hee was all alone, the History sayes, that after Don-Quixote had ended his friskes and leapes, naked from the gyrdle downward, and from that upward aparelled; seeing that his Squire Sancho was gone, and would behold no more of his mad pranks; hee ascended to the top of a high Rock, and began there to thinke on that whereon hee had thought often times before, without ever making a full reso∣lution therein, to wit, whether were it better to imitate Orlando in his unmeasurable furies, then Amadis in his melancholy moodes; and speaking to himselfe would say, If Orlando was so valorous and good a Knight, as men say, what wonder seeing in fine hee was inchanted and could not bee slaine, if it were not by clapping a pinne to the soale of his foot; and therefore did weare shooes still that had seven folds of yron in the soales? although these his draughts stood him in no stead at Roncesuales against Ber∣nardo del Carpio, which understanding them, pressed him to death betweene his armes. But leaving his valour apart, let us come to the losing of his wits, which it is certaine hee lost through the signes hee found in the Forrest, and by the news that the Sheep-heard gave unto him, that Angelica had slept more then two noone-tydes with the lit∣tle Moore Medoro of the curled locks, him that was Page to King Argamante: and if hee understood this, and knew his Lady had played beside the cushion, what wonder was it that hee should runne madd? But how can I imitate him in his furies, if I can∣not imitate him in their occasion? for I dare sweare for my Dulcinea of Toboso, that all the dayes of her life shee hath not seene one Moore, even in his owne attyre as hee is, and shee is now right as her mother bore her: and I should doe her a manifest wrong, if upon any false suspicion I should turne madd, of that kinde of folly that did distract furious Orlando.

On the otherside, I see that Amadis du Gaule, without losing his wits, or using a∣ny other raving tricke, gained as great fame of being amorous, as any one else whatso∣ever. For that which his Historie recites was none other, then that seeing himself dis∣dained by his Lady Oriana, who had commanded him to withdraw himselfe from her presence, and not appeare againe in it untill shee pleased: hee retyred himselfe in the company of a certaine Hermit, to the poore-Rock, and there crammed himselfe with weeping, untill that heav'n assisted him in the midst of his greatest cares and necessitie. And this being true, as it is, why should I take now the paines to stripe my selfe all na∣ked, and offend these Trees, which never yet did mee any harme? Nor have I any reason to trouble the cleere waters of these brookes, which must give mee drinke when I am thirsty. Let the remembrance of Amadis live, and bee imitated in ev'ry thing as much as may bee, by Don-Quixote of the Mancha: of whom may bee said what was said of the other, that though hee atchieved not great things, yet did hee die in their pursuite. And though I am not contemned or disdained by my Dulcinea, yet it is sufficient as I have said already, that I bee absent from her; therefore hands to your

take, and yee famous actions of Amadis, occur to my remembrance, and instruct me where I may best beginne to imitate you. Yet I know already, that the greatest thing hee did use was Prayer, and so will I. And saying so, hee made him a payre of Beades of great Gaules, and was very much vexed in minde for want of an Eremite, who might heare his confession, and comfort him in his afflictions; and therefore did enter∣taine himselfe walking up and downe the little greene field, writing and graving in the rindes of Trees, and on the smoothe sands many verses, all accommodated to his sad∣nesse, and some of them in the prayse of Dulcinea, But those that were found tho∣rowly finished, and were legible after his owne finding againe in that place, were only these ensuing.

OYe Plants, ye Hearbs, and ye Trees, That flourish in this pleasant site; In loftie and verdant degrees, If my harmes doe you not delight, Hea••e my holy Plaints, which are these. And let not my griefe you molest, Though it ever so feelingly went, Since here for to pay your rest, Don-Quixote his teares hath addrest, Dulcineaes want to lament of Toboso.

In this very place was first spied The loyallest Lover and true, Who himselfe from his Lady did ••ide: But yet felt his sorrowes anew, Not knowing whence they might 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Love doth him cruelly wrest; With a passion of evill discent; Which rob'd Don-Quixote of rest, Till a pipe with teares was full prest, Dulcineaes want to lament of Toboso.

Hee searching Adventures blinde, Among these dearne Woods and Rocks, Still curseth an pi••ttilesse mind; For a Wretch amidst bushie lo••ks, And Crags may misfortunes find. Love, with his whip, wounded his brest, And not with soft hands him pent, And when hee his Noddle had prest, Don-Quixote his teares did forth wrest, Dulcineaes want to lament of Toboso.

The addition of Toboso to the name of Dulcinea, did not cause small laughter in those which found the Verses recited, because they imagined that Don-Quixote conceived, that if in the naming of Dulcinea hee did not also add that Of Toboso, the time could not bee understood; and in truth it was so, as hee himself did afterward confesse. Hee composed many others; but as we have related, none could be well copied or found intire but these three Stanza's. In this, and in sighing, and invoking the Fa••nes and Silvanes of these woods, and the Nymphs of the adjoyning streams, with the doloro••s and hollow Ecch••, that it would answer, and they consort and listen unto him; and

in the search of some hearbs to sustein his languishing forces, he entertained himself all the time of Sancho his absence; who had he staid three weeks away as hee did but three dayes, The Knight of the Ill-favoured face should have remained so disfigured, as the very mother that bore him would not have known him.

But now it is congruent, that leaving him swallowed in the gulfs of sorrow and verifying, we turn and recount what hapned to Sancho Panca in his Embassage; which was, that issuing out to the high-way, hee presently took that which led towards Toboso, and arrived the next day following to the Inn where the disgrace of the Coverlet befell him; and scarce had he well espied it, but presently hee imagined that he was once again flying in the aire; and therefore would not enter into it, although his arrivall was at such an hour as hee both might and ought to have stayed, being dinner time, and he himself likewise possest with a marvelous longing to taste some warme meat; for many dayes past he had fed altogether on cold Viands. This desire enforced him to approach to the Inn, remaining still doubtfull, notwithstanding, whether hee should enter into it or no. And as hee stood thus suspended, there issued out of the Inn two persons which presently knew him, and the one said to the other, Tell me, Master Licentiate, is not that horseman that rides there Sancho Panca, hee whom our Adventurers old woman said departed with her Master for his Squire? It is, quoth the Licentiat, and that is our Don-Quixote his horse: And they knew him so well, as those that were the Curate and Barber of his own Village, and were those that made the search and formall pro∣cesse against the Books of Chivalry: and therefore as soon as they had taken full no∣tice of Sancho Panca and Rozinante, desirous to learn news of Don-Quixote, they drew neer unto him; and the Curate called him by his name, saying, Friend Sancho Panca, where is your Master? Sancho Panca knew them instantly, and desirous to conceal the place and manner wherein his Lord remained, did answer them, that his Master was in a certain place with-held by affairs for a few dayes, that were of great consequence and concerned him very much, and that hee durst not for both his eyes discover the place to them. No, no (quoth the Barber) Sancho Panca, if thou doest not tell us where hee sojourneth, wee must imagine (as wee doe already) that thou hast rob'd and slain him, specially seeing thou commest thus on his horse; and therefore thou must in good faith get us the horses owner, or else stand to thine answer. Your threats fear me nothing, quoth Sancho, for I am not a man that Robs or Murthers any one: every man is slain by his destinie, or by God that made him. My Lord remains doing of penance in the midest of this Mountain ••with very great pleasure. And then hee presently recounted unto them, from the beginning to the end, the fashion wherein he had left him, the Adventures which had befaln, and how hee carried a Letter to the Lady Dulcinea of Toboso, who was Larenco Corcuelo his daughter, of whom his Lord was enamoured up to the Livers.

Both of them stood greatly admired at Sancho's relation, and although they knew Don-Quixote's madnesse already, and the kinde thereof, yet as often as they heard speak thereof, they rested newly amazed. They requested Sancho to shew them the Letter that he carried to the Lady Dulcinea of Toboso. Hee told them that it was written in Tablets, and that hee had expresse order from his Lord to have it fairly copied out in paper, at the first Village whereunto he should arrive. To which the Curate answered, bidding shew it unto him, and he would write out the copie very fairly.

Then Sancho thrust his hand into his bosome, and searched the little book, but could not finde it, nor should not, though hee had searched till Dooms-day; for it was in Don-Quixote's power, who gave it not to him, nor did hee ever remember to demand it. When Sancho perceived that the book was lost, hee waxed as wan & pale as a dead man, and turning again very speedily to feel all the parts of his body, hee saw cleerly that it could not bee found; and therefore without making any more adoe, hee laid hold on his own beard with both his fists, and drew almost the one half of the hair away, and afterward bestowed on his face and nose in a momento half a dozen such cuffs, as hee bathed them all in blood: which the Curate and Barber beholding, they asked him what had befalne him, that hee intreated himself so ill? What should befall me, an∣swered

swered Sancho, but that I have lost at one hand, and in an instant three Colts, whereof the least was like a Castle? How so, quoth the Barber? Marry, said Sancho, I have lost the Tablets wherein were written Dulcineas Letter, and a schedule of my Lords, addrest to his Neece, wherein hee commanded her to deliver unto me three Colts, of four or five that remained in his house: And saying so, hee recounted the losse of his gray Asse: The Curate comforted him, and said, that as soon as his Lord were found, hee would deal with him to renew his grant, and write it in Paper, according to the common use and practise; for as much as those which were written in Tablets, were of no value, and would never be accepted nor accomplished.

With this Sancho took courage, and said, if that was so, he cared not much for the losse of Dulcineas Letter; for he knew it almost all by rote. Say it then, Sancho, quoth the Barber, and we will after write it. Then Sancho stood still and began to scratch his head, to call the Letter to memory, and now would hee stand upon one leg, and now upon another. Sometimes hee looked on the earth, other whiles upon Heaven, and after he had gnawn off almost the half of one of his nails, and held them all the while suspended, expecting his recitall thereof, he said after a long pause; On my soul, Ma∣ster Licentiate, I give to the Divell any thing that I can remember of that Letter, al∣though the beginning was thus; High and un••avorie Lady. I warrant you, quoth the Barber, he said not, but super-humane or Sovereigne Ladie.

It is so, quoth Sancho, and presently followed, if I well remember. He that is woun∣ded and wants sleepe, and the hurt man doth kisse your worships hands, ingrate and very scornefull faire. And thus hee went roving untill hee ended in Yours untill death, The Knight of the ill-favoured face. Both of them tooke great delight to see Sancho's good memorie, and praysed it to him very much, and requested him to repeate the Letter once or twice more to them, that they might also beare it in memorie, to write it at the due season. Sancho turned to recite it againe and againe, and at every repetition said other three thousand Errors. And after this hee told other things of his Lord, but spoke not a word of his owne tossing in a Coverlet, which had befaln him in that Inne, into which hee refused to enter. Hee added besides, how his Lord, in bringing him a good dispatch from his Lady Dulcinea of Toboso, would forthwith set out to endeavour how hee might become an Emperour, or at the least a Monarch; for they had so agreed betweene themselves both, and it was a very easie matter for him to become one, such was the valour of his Person and strength of his arme. And that when hee were one, hee would procure him a good marriage; for by that time hee should bee a widower at the least; and hee would give him one of the Emperours Ladies to wife, that were an Inheritrix of some great and rich state on the firme land, for now hee would have no more Islands. And all this was related so seriously by Sancho, and so in his perfect sence, hee scratching his nose ever and anon as hee spoke, so as the two were stricken into a new amazement, pondering the vehemencie of Don-Quixotes frenzie, which carried quite away with it, in that sort, the judgement of that poore man, but would not labour to dispossesse him of that Errour, because it seemed to them, that since it did not hurt his Conscience, it was better to leave him in it; that the recitall of his fol∣lies might turn to great recreation, and therefore exhorted him to pray for the health of his Lord; for it was a very possible and contingent thing to arive in the processe of time to the dignity of an Emperor, as he said, or at least, to that of an Archbishop, or other calling equivalent to it.

Then Sancho demanded of them, Sirs, if fortune should turne our affaires to another course, in such sort as my Lord abandoning the purpose to purchase an Empire, would take in his head that of becomming a Cardinall, I would faine learne of you here, what Cardinalls-Errant are wont to give to their Squires? They are wont to give them (quoth the Curate) some simple Benefice, or some Parsonage, or to make them Clerkes or Sextons, or Vergers of some Church, whose living amount to a good penny rent, beside the profit of the Altar, which is oft-times as much more. For that it is requisite (quoth Sancho) that the Squire bee not married, and that hee know how to helpe Masse at least: and if that bee so

unfortunate I, that both am married, and knows not besides the first letter of the A, B, C. what will then become of me, if my Master take-the humour to bee an Arch-Bishop, and not an Emperour, as is the Custome and use of Knights Errant? Doe not afflict thy minde for that, friend Sancho (quoth the Barber) for wee will deal with thy Lord here, and wee will counsell him, yea wee will urge it to him as a matter of con∣science, that hee become an Emperour, and not an Arch-Bishop; for it will bee more easie for him to bee such a one, by reason that hee is more valorous then learned.

So me thinks (quoth Sancho) although I know he hath ability enough for all. That which I mean to doe for my part is, I will pray unto our Lord to conduct him to that place wherein he may serve him best, and give me greatest rewards. Thou speakest like a discreet man (quoth the Curate) and thou shalt doe therein the dutie of a good Chri∣stian. But that which wee must indeavour now, is to devise how wee may winn thy Lord from prosecuting that unprofitable penance hee hath in hand, as thou sayest: And to the end wee may think on the manner how, and eat our dinner withall, seeing it is time, let us all enter into the Inn. Sancho bade them goe in, and hee would stay for them at the door, and that he would after tell them the reason why he had no minde to enter, neither was it in any sort convenient that he should; but he intreated them to bring him somewhat forth to eat that were warm, and some Provand for Rozinante. With that they departed into the lodging, and within a while after the Barber brought forth unto him some meat: And the Curate and the Barber, after having pondered well with themselves what course they were to take to attain their design; the Curate fell on a device very fit both for Don-Quixotes humour, and also to bring their purpose to passe; and was, as he told the Barber, that hee had bethought him, to apparell him∣self like a Lady Adventurous, and that he therefore should doe the best that he could to fit himself like a Squire, and that they would goe in that habit to the place where Don-Quixote sojourned, feigning that she was an afflicted and distressed Damzell, and would demand a boon of him, which hee as a valorous Knight Errant would in no wise denye her; and that the gift which hee meaned to desire, was to intreat her to follow her where she would carry him, to right a wrong which a naughty Knight had done unto her; and that shee would besides pray him not to command her to unmask her self, or inquire any thing of her estate, untill hee had done her that right•• against that bad Knight. And by this means he certainly hoped that Don-Quixote would grant all that he requested in this manner: And in this sort they would fetch him from thence and bring him to his Village, where they would labour with all their power, to see whether his extravagant frenzie could bee recovered by any remedy.

CHAP. XIII.

How the Curate and the Barber put their Designe in practise, with many other things, worthy to be recorded in this famous History.

THE Curates invention disliked not the Barber, but rather pleased him so well as they presently put it in execution. They borrowed there∣fore of the Inn-keepers wife a Gown and a Kerchief, leaving her in pawn thereof a fair new Cassock of the Curates. The Barber made him a great beard of a pyed Oxes tayle, wherein the Inn-keeper was wont to hang his Horse-combe. The Hostesse demanded of them the occasion why they would use these things? The Curate recoun∣ted in brief reasons of Don-Quixotes madnesse, and how that disguisement was requisite, to bring him away from the Mountain, wherein at that present he made his abode.

Presently the Inn-keeper and his wife remembred themselves how hee had been their guest, and of his Balsamum, and was the tossed Squires Lord; and then they rehearsed again to the Curate all that had passed between him and them in that Inn, without omitting the accident that had befallen Sancho himself; and in conclusion the Hostesse tricked up the Curate so handsomely, as there could bee no more de••ired; for she at∣tired him in a Gown of broad-cloth, laid over with guards of black Velvet, each being a span bredth, full of gashes and cuts; the bodies and sleeves of green Velvet, welted with white sattin; which gown and doublet, as I suspect, were both made in the time of of King Bamba. The Curate would not permit them to vaile and be kerchif him, but set on his head a white-quilted-linnen-night-cap, which hee carried for the night, and girded his fore-head with a black Taffata garter, and with the other hee masked his face wherewithall he covered his beard and visage very neatly; then did hee incask his pate in his hat, which was so broad, as it might serve him excellently for a Quitasoll; and lapping himself up handsomly in his long cloak, hee went to horse, and rode as wo∣men use. Then mounted the Barber likewise on his Mule, with his beard hanging down to the girdle, half red and half white, as that which as wee have said was made of the taile of a pyed coloured Oxe: then taking leave of them all, and of the good Mari∣tornes, who promised (although a sinner) to say a Rosary to their intention, to the end that God might give them good successe, in so Christian and difficult an adventure, as that which they undertooke. But scarce were they gone out of the Inne, when the Curate begann to dread a little that he had done ill, in apparrelling himself in that wise, accounting it a very indecent thing, that a Priest should dight himself so, although the matter concerned him never so much. And acquainting the Barber with his sur∣mise, hee intreated him that they might change attires, seeing it was much more just that hee, because a Lay-man, should faine the oppressed Lady, and himself would be∣come his Squire; for so his dignitie would be less prophaned; to which if he would not condescend, he resolved to passe on no farther, although the Divell should carrie therefore Don-Quixote away. Sancho came over to them about this season; and seeing them in that habit hee could not contain his laughter. The Barber (to bee brief) did all that which the Curate pleased, and making thus an exchange of inventions, the Curate instructed him how hee should behave himself, and what words he should use to Don-Quixote to press and move him to come away with him and forsake the pro∣pension and love of that place which hee had chosen to perform his vain penance.

The Barber answered, that he would set every thing in his due poynt and perfection, though he had never lessoned him; but would not set on the array, untill they came neer to the place where Don-Quixote abode; and therefore folded up his clothes, and Master Parson his beard, and forthwith went on their way, Sancho Panca playing the guide, who recounted at large to them all that had hapned with the mad-man whom they found in the Mountain; concealing notwithstanding the booty of the Malet, with the other things found therein: for although otherwise most simple, yet was our young man an ordinary vice of fools, and had a spice of covetousness.

They arrived the next day following to the place where Sancho had left the tokens of boughs, to finde that wherein his Master sojourned: and having taken notice thereof, hee said unto them that that was the entry; and therefore they might doe well to appar∣rell themselves, if by change that might be a mean to procure his Lords liberty; for they had told him already, that on their going and apparrelling in that manner consisted wholly the hope of freeing his Lord, out-of that wretched life hee had chosen; and therefore did charge him on his life, not to reveal to his Lord in any case what they were, nor seem in any sort to know them: and that if he demanded (as they were sure hee would) whether hee had delivered his Letter to Dulcinea, hee should say hee did, and that by reason she could not read, shee answered him by word of mouth, saying, that shee commanded, under pain of her indignation, that presently abandoning so austere a life, hee would come and see her; for this was most requisite, to the end that moved therewithall, and by what they meant likewise to say unto him, they made cer∣tain account to reduce him to a better life; and would besides perswade him to that

course instantly, which might set him in the way to become an Emperour or Monarch; for as concerning the being an Archbishoppe he needed not to feare it at all.

Sancho listned to all the talke and instruction, and bore them away well in memorie, and gave them great thanks for the intention they had to counsell his Lord to become an Emperour, and not an Archbishop; for as hee said, hee imagined in his simple judge∣ment, that an Emperour was of more abilitie to reward his Squire then an Archbishop Errant. Hee likewise added, that hee thought it were necessarie hee went somwhat be∣fore them to search him, and deliver his Ladies answere; for perhaps it alone would be sufficient to fetch him out of that place, without puting them to any farther paines. They liked of Sancho Pancaes device, and therefore determined to expect him untill his return with the news of finding his Master. With that Sancho entred in by the Clifts of the Rocks (leaving them both behinde together) by which ran a little smoothe streame, to which other Rocks, and some trees that grew neere unto it, made a fresh and plea∣sing shadow. The heats, and the day wherein they arived there, was one of those of the moneth of August, when in those places the heate is intolerable: the hour, a∣bout three in the afternoon. All which did render the place more gratefull, and invited them to remain therein untill Sancho's return. Both therefore resting there quietly under the shadow, there arrived to their hearing the sound of a voyce, which without being accompanied by any instrument, did resound so sweet and melodi∣ously, as they remained greatly admired, because they esteemed not that to be a place wherein any so good a Musician might make his abode. For although it is usually said, that in the Woods and Fields are found Shepheards of excellent voyces, yet is this rather a Poeticall indeerment, then an approved truth; and most of all when they perceived that the verses they heard him singing were not of rustick composition, but rather of delicate and Courtly invention. The truth whereof is confirmed by the verses, which were these:

WHo doth my Weale diminish thus and staine? Disdaine. And say by whom, my woes augmented be? By Iealousie. And who my patience doth by triall wrong? An absence long. If that be so then for my grievous wrong, No remedie at all I may obtain•• Since my best hopes I cruelly finde slain By Disdain, Iealousie, and Absence long.

Who in my minde, those dolours still doth move? Dire Love. And who my glories ebb doth most importune? Fortune. And to my Plaints, by whom increase is giv'n? By Heav'n. If that be so, then my mistrust jumps ev'n, That of my wondrous evill I must die; Since in my harme joyn'd and united be, Love, wavering Fortune, and a rig'rous Heaven.

Who better hap can unto me bequeath? Death. From whom his favours doth not Love estrange? From change. And his too serious harms, who cureth wholy? Folly.

If that bee so, it is no wisedome truly, To think by humane means to cure that care, Where th'only Antidotes, and Med'cines are, Desired Death, light Change, and endlesse Folly.

The hour, the time, the solitarinesse of the place, voice, and art of him that sung, struck wonder and delight in the Hearers mindes, which remained still quiet, listning whether they might hear any thing else: But perceiving that the silence continued a prettie while, they agreed to issue and seek out the Musician, that sung so harmoniously. And being ready to put their resolution in practise, they were again arrested by the same voyce, the which touched their ears anew with this Sonnet.

A SONNET.

HOly Amitie! which with nimble wings Thy semblance leaving here on earth behinde, Among the blessed Souls of Heaven, up-flings, To those Imperiall rooms to cheer thy minde: And thence to us is (when thou lik'st) assign'd Iust Peace, whom shadie vail so cover'd brings; As oft, instead of her, Deceit wee find Clad in the weeds of good and vertuous things. Leave Heav'n, O Amitie! doe not permit Foul Fraud, thus openly, thy Robes t'invest; With which, sincere intents destroy does it: For if thy likenesse from't thou do'st not wrest, The World will turn to the first conflict soon, Of Discord, Cha••••, and Confusion.

The Song was concluded with a profound sigh; and both the others lent atten∣tive eare to heare if hee would sing any more; but perceiving that the Musick was converted into throbs and dolefull plaints, they resolved to goe and learn who was the wretch, as excellent for his voyce, as dolorous in his sighs: and after they had gone a little at the doubling of the poynt of a cragg, they perceived one of the very same form and fashion that Sancho had painted unto them, when hee told them the History of Cardenio; which man espying them likewise, shewed no semblance of fear but stood still with his head hanging on his breast like a male-content, not once lifting up his eyes to behold them from the first time, when they unexpectedly arrived.

The Curate who was a man very well spoken (as one that had already intelligence of his misfortune; for he knew him by his signes) drew neerer to him, and prayed and perswaded him with short, but very forcible reasons, to forsake that miserable life, left hee should there eternally lose it, which of all miseries would prove the most miserable. Cardenio at this season was in his right sense, free from the furious accident that distra∣cted him so often; & therefore viewing them both attyred in so strange & unusuall a fa∣shion from that which was used among those Desarts, he rested somewhat admired; but chiefly hearing them speak in his affair, as in a matter known (for so much he gathered out of the Curates speeches:) and therefore answered in this manner. I perceive well, good Sirs (whosoever you be) that Heaven which hath alwayes care to succour good men; yea even and the wicked many times, hath without any desert, addrest unto me by these Desarts and places so remote from vulgar haunt; persons, which laying be∣fore mine eyes with quick and pregnant reasons, the little I have to lead this kinde of life, doe labour to remove me from this place to a better: And by reason they know not as much as I doe, and that after escaping this harme, I shall fall into a far greater, they account me perhaps for a man of weak discourse; and what is worse for one

wholly devoid of judgement? And were it so, yet is it no marvell; for it seems to me that the force of the imagination of my disasters is so bent and powerfull in my destru∣ction, that I, without being able to make it any resistance, doe become like a stone, void of all good feeling and knowledge: and I come to know the certainty of this truth, when some men doe recount and shew unto me tokens of the things I have done whilest this terrible accident over-rules me; and after I can doe no more, then be grieved, though in vain, and curse, without benefit, my too froward fortune; and render as an excuse of my madnesse the relation of the cause thereof, to as many as please to hear it: for wise men perceiving the cause, will not wonder at the effects. And though they give me no remedie, yet at least will not condemn me; for it will convert the anger they conceive at my mis-rules, into compassion of my disgraces: And Sirs, if by chance it be so, that you come with the same intention that others did, I re∣quest you, e're you inlarge farther your discreet perswasions, that you will give eare a while to the relation of my mis-haps; for perhaps when you have understood it, you may save the labour that you would take, comforting an evill wholy incapable of con∣solation.

Both of them, which desired nothing so much as to understand from his own mouth the occasion of his harmes, did intreate him to relate it, promising to doe nothing else in his remedie or comfort, but what himselfe pleased. And with this the sorrowfull Gentleman began his dolefull Historie, with the very same words almost that hee had rehearsed it to Don-Quixote and the Goat-heard a few dayes past, when by occasion of Master Elisabat and Don-Quixotes curiositie in observing the Decorum of Chivalrie, the tale remained imperfect, as our Historie left it above. But now good fortune so dis∣posed things, that his foolish fit came not upon him, but gave him leisure to continue his Storie to the end; and so ariving to the passage that spoke of the Letter Don Ferdi∣nando found in the booke of Amadis du Gaule, Cardenio said that hee had it very well in memorie; and the sence was this.

LUSCINDA to CARDENIO.

I Discover daily in thee worths that obliege and inforces mee to hold thee deere: and therefore if thou desirest to have mee discharge this Debt, without serving a Writ on my Honour, thou mayst easily doe it. I have a Father that knowes thee and loves mee likewise well; who without forcing my Will, will ac∣complish that which justly thou oughtest to have: if it bee so, that thou esteemest mee as much as thou sayest, and I doe beleeve.

This Letter moved mee to demand Luscinda of her father for my wife, as I have al∣ready recounted; and by it also Luscinda remayned in Don Ferdinandoes opinion crow∣ned, for one of the most discreete women of her time. And this billet Letter was that which first put him in minde to destroy mee ere I could effect my desires. I told to Don Ferdinando wherein consisted all the difficultie of her fathers protracting of the mariage, to wit, in that my father should first demand her; the which I dared not to mention unto him, fearing lest hee would not willingly consent thereunto; not for that the qualitie, bountie, virtue and beautie of Luscinda were to him unknowne, or that shee had not parts in her able to ennoblish and adorne any other linage of Spayne whatsoe∣ver: But because I understood by him, that he desired not to marry mee, untill he had

seen what Duke Ricardo would doe for me. Finally, I told him that I dared not re∣veale it to my father, as well for that inconvenience, as for many others that made me so afraid, without knowing what they were, as me thought my desires would never take effect.

To all this Don Ferdinando made mee answere, that hee would take upon him to speake to my father, and perswade him to treate of that affaire also with Luscindaes. O ambitious Marius! O cruell Cataline! O facinorous Quila! O trecherous Ga∣lalon! O trayterous Vellido! O revengefull Iulian! [one, who for the Rape of his daughter, committed by Roderick King of Spayne, brought in the Moores, and destroyed all the Countrie.] O covetous Iudas! Traytor, cruell, revengefull and couzening, what indeserts did this wench commit, who with such plaines discovered to thee the secrets and delights of her heart? What offence committed I against thee? What words did I speake, or councell did I give, that were not all addrest to the increasing of thine honour and profit? But on what doe I (the worst of all Wretches) complain! seeing that when the current of the Starres doth bring with it mishaps, by reason they come downe precipitately from above, there is no earthly force can withhold, or hu∣mane industry prevent or evacuate them. Who would have imagined that Don Ferdi∣nando, a noble Gentleman, discreete, oblieged by my deserts, and powerfull to ob∣taine whatsoever the amorous desire would exact of him, where and whensoever it sei∣zed on his heart, would (as they say) become so corrupt, as to deprive mee of one only sheepe, which yet I did not possesse? But let these considerations bee laid apart as un∣profitable, that wee may knit up againe the broken thred of my unfortunate History. And therefore I say that Don Ferdinando beleeving, that my presence was a hindrance to put his treacherous and wicked designe in execution, hee resolved to send mee to his eldest brother, under pretext to get some money of him, for to buy sixe great Horses, that hee had of purpose, and only to the end I might absent my selfe, bought the very same day that hee offered to speake himselfe to my father, and would have mee goe for the money (because hee might bring his treacherous intent the better to passe) could I prevent this Treason? Or could I perhaps but once imagine it? No truely; but rather glad for the good Merchandize hee had made, did make preffer of my selfe to depart for the money very willingly. I spoke that night to Luscinda, and acquainted her with the Agreement past betweene mee and Don Ferdinando, biding her to hope firmly, that our good just desires would sort a wished and happy end. Shee answered mee againe (as little suspecting Don Ferdinandoes treason as my selfe) biding mee to returne with all speede, because shee beleeved that the conclusion of our affections should bee no longer deferred, then my father deferred to speake unto hers. And what was the cause I know not, but as soone as shee had said this unto mee, her eyes were filled with tears, and somwhat thwarting her throat, hindred her from saying many other things, which mee thought shee strived to speak.

I rested admired at this new accident, untill that time never seene in her, for alwaies as many times as my good fortune and diligence granted it, wee conversed with all sport and delight, without ever intermedling in our discourses any teares, sighes, com∣plaints, suspicions or feares. All my speech was to advance my fortune; for having received her from Heaven as my Lady and Mistresse, then would I amplifie her beautie, admire her worth, and prayse her discretion. Shee on the other side would returne mee the exchange, extolling in mee, what shee, as one enamoured, accounted worthy of laud and commendation. After this wee would recount a hundred thousand toyes and chances befaln our neighbours and acquaintance, and that to which my presumption dared farthest to extend it selfe, was sometimes to take her beautifull and Ivorie hands perforce and kisse them as well as I might, thorow the rigorous strictnesse of a nigard∣ly yron grate which divided us. But the precedent night to the day of my sad depar∣ture, shee wept, sob'd and sighed, and departed, leaving mee full of confusion and in∣ward assaults, amazed to behold such new and dolefull tokens of sorrow and feeling in Luscinda. But because I would not murder my hopes, I did attribute all these things to the force of her affection towards mee, and to the griefe which absence is wont to

stir in those that love one another deerly, To bee briefe, I departed from thence sor∣rowfull and pensive, my Soule being full of imaginations and suspicions, and yet know not what I suspected or imagined: Cleere tokens, foretelling the sad successe and mis∣fortune which attended mee. I arived to the palce where I was sent, and delivered my Letter to Don Ferdinandoes brother, and was well entertayned, but not well dispatch∣ed; for hee commanded mee to expect (a thing to mee most displeasing) eight dayes, and that out of the Duke his fathers presence; because his brother had written unto him to send him certaine moneys unknowne to his father. And all this was but false Don Ferdinandoes invention, for his brother wanted not money wherewithall to have dispatched mee presently, had not hee written the contrary.

This was so displeasing a commandement and order, as almost it brought me to terms of disobeying it, because it seemed to me a thing most impossible to sustein my life so many dayes in the absence of my Luscinda; and specially having left her so sorrowfull as I have recounted; yet notwithstanding I did obey like a good servant, although I knew it would be with the cost of my health. But on the fourth day after I had ar∣rived, there came a man in my search with a Letter, which he delivered unto me, and by the indorsement I knew it to be Luscinda's; for the hand was like hers: I opened it (not without fear and assailment of my senses) knowing that it must have been some serious occasion which could move her to write unto me, being absent, seeing shee did it so rarely even when I was present. I demanded of the Bearer, before I read, who had delivered it to him? and what time hee had spent in the way? Hee answered me, That passing by chance at mid-day through a street of the City, a very beautifull Lady did call him from a certain window: Her eyes were all be-blubbered with tears, and said unto him very hastily; Brother, if thou beest a Christian, as thou appearest to bee one, I pray thee for Gods sake, that thou doe forthwith addresse this Letter to the place and person that the superscription assigneth (for they bee well known;) and therein thou shalt doe our Lord great service.

And because thou mayest not want means to doe it, take what thou shalt finde wraped in that handcerchif: And saying so, shee threw out of the window a hand∣cerchif, wherein were laped up a hundred Rialls, this Ring of gold which I carry here, and that Letter which I delivered unto you; and presently, without expecting mine answer, shee departed, but first saw me take up the handkerchif and Letter; and then I made her signes that I would accomplish herein her command: and after perceiving the pains I might take in bringing you it, so well considered, and seeing by the indorse∣ment, that you were the man to whom it was addrest: for, Sir, I know you very well, and also oblieged to doe it by the tears of that beautifull Lady, I determined not to trust any other with it, but to come and bring it you my self in person; and in sixteen hours since it was given unto me, I have travelled the journey you know, which is at least eighteen leagues long. Whilest the thankfull new Messenger spake thus unto me I remained in a manner hanging on his words, and my thighs did tremble in such man∣ner, as I could very hardly sustein my self on foot: yet taking courage, at last I opened the Letter, whereof these were the Contents

THe word that Don Ferdinando hath past unto you to speak to your father, that hee might speak to mine, hee hath accom∣plished more to his own pleasure then to your profit. For, Sir, you shall understand that hee hath demanded me for his wife; and my fa∣ther (borne away by the advantage of worths which hee supposes to bee in Don Ferdinando more then in you) hath agreed to his demand in so good earnest, as the espousals shall bee celebrated within these two dayes, and that so secretly and alone, as only the Heavens and some folk of

the house shall bee witnesses. How I remain, imagine, and whether it bee convenient you should return, you may consider; And the successe of this affair shall let you to perceive, whether I love you well or no. I beseech Almightie God, that this may arrive unto your hands, before mine shall be in danger to joyn it self with his, which keepeth his pro∣mised faith so ill.

These were, in summe, the contents of the Letter, and the motives that perswaded me presently to depart, without attending any other answer, or other monies: for then I conceived cleerly, that it was not the buy-all of the horses, but that of his de∣lights, which had moved Don Ferdinando to send me to his brother. The rage which I conceived against him, joyned with the fear to lose the Jewell which I had gained by so many yeers service, and desires, did set wings on me, for I arrived as I had flyen next day at mine owne City, in the houre and moment fit to goe speake to Luscinda. I entred secretly, and left my Mule whereon I rode in the honest mans House that had brought mee the Letter, and my fortune purposing then to bee favourable to mee, disposed so mine affaires, that I found Luscinda siting at that yron-grate, which was the sole witnesse of our Loves. Luscinda knew mee streight and I her, but not as wee ought to know one another: But who is hee in the world that can truely vaunt that hee hath penetrated, and throughly exhausted the confused thoughts and mutable na∣ture of women? Truly none. I say then, to proceed with my tale, that as soon as Luscinda perceived me, shee said, Cardenio, I am attyred with my wedding Garments, and in the Hall doth wait for me the Traitor Don Ferdinando, and my covetous father with other witnesses, which shall rather bee such of my death, then of mine espousals; bee not troubled deer friend, but procure to bee present at this sacrifice, the which if I cannot hinder by my perswasions and reasons, I carry hidden about me a Ponyard se∣cretly, which may hinder more resolute forces by giving end to my life, and a begin∣ning to thee, to know certain the affection which I have ever borne, and doe bear unto thee. I answered her troubled and hastily, fearing I should not have the leisure to re∣ply unto her, saying, Sweet Ladie, let thy works verifie thy words; for if thou car∣riest a Ponyard to defend thy credit, I doe here likewise bear a Sword wherewithall I will defend thee, or kill my self, if fortune proove adverse and contrary. I believe that she could not hear all my words, by reason shee was called hastily away, as I per∣ceived, for that the Bridegroom expected her comming. By this the night of my for∣rows did throughly fall, and the Sunne of my gladnesse was set; and I remained with∣out light in mine eyes, or discourse in my understanding. I could not finde the way into her house, nor could I moove my self to any part: yet considering at last how important my presence was, for that which might befall in that adventure, I animated my self the best I could, and entred into the house; and as one that knew very well all the entries and passages thereof, and specially by reason of the trouble and businesse that was then in hand, I went in unperceived of any: And thus without beeing seen, I had the oportunity to place my self in the hollow room of a window of the same Hall, which was covered by the ends of two encountring pieces of Tapestry, from whence I could see all that was done in the Hall, remaining my self unviewed of any. Who could now describe the assaults and surprizals of my heart while I there abode? the thoughts which incountred my minde? the considerations which I had? which were so many and such, as they can neither bee said, nor is it reason they should. Let it suffice you to know, that the Bridegroom entred into the Hall without any ornament, wearing the ordinary array hee was wont, and was accompanied by a Cousin Germane of Lu∣scinda's, and in all the Hall there was no stranger present, nor any other then the hous∣hold Servants: Within a while after, Luscinda came out of the Parlour, accompanied by her mother and two waiting maids of her own, as richly attired and deckt as her

calling and beauty deserved, and the perfection of Courtly pomp and bravery could afford: my distraction and trouble of minde lent me no time to note particularly the apparrell shee wore, and therefore did only marke the colours, which were Carnation and White; and the splendour which the precious Stones and Jewels of her Tires, and all the rest of her Garments yeelded: yet did the singular beauty of her fair and gol∣den tresses surpasse them so much, as being in competencie with the precious Stones, and flame of four Links that lighted in the Hall, yet did the splendour thereof seem farr more bright and glorious to mine eyes. O memory! the mortall enemie of mine case, to what end serves it now to represent unto me the uncomparable beauty of that my adored enemie? Were it not better, cruell memory! to remember and represent that which shee did then, that being moved by so manifest a wrong, I may at least in∣devour to lose my life, since I cannot procure a revenge? Tire not, good Sirs, to hear the digressions I make; for my grief is not of that kinde that may bee rehearsed suc∣cinctly and speedily, seeing that in mine opinion every passage of it is worthy of a large discourse.

To this the Curate answered, that not only they were not tyred or wearied, hearing of him; but rather they received marvellous delight to hear him recount each minuity and circumstance, because they were such as deserved not to bee past over in silence, but rather merited as much attention as the principall parts of the History. You shall then wit (quoth Cardenio) that as they thus stood in the Hall the Curate of the Parish entred, and taking them both by the hand to doe that which in such an act is required at the saying of, Will you Lady Luscinda take the Lord Don Ferdinando, who is here pre∣sent, for your lawfull Spouse, according as our holy mother the Church commands? I thrust out all my head and neck out of the Tapestry, and with most attentive ears and a trou∣bled minde setled my self to hear what Luscinda answered, expecting by it the sentence of my death, or the confirmation of my life. O! if one had dared to sally out at that time, and cried with a loud voyce; O Luscinda, Luscinda! see well what thou doest; consider withall what thou owest me! Behold how thou art mine, and that thou canst not bee any others; note that thy saying of yea, and the end of my life shall bee both in one instant. O Traytor Don Ferdinando! Robber of my Glory! Death of my Life! what is this thou pretendest? what wilt thou doe? Consider that thou canst not Christian-like atchieve thine intention, seeing Luscinda is my Spouse, and I am her hus∣band. O foolish man now that I am absent, and farre from the danger, I say what I should have done, and not what I did. Now after that I have permitted my deer J••well to bee robbed, I exclaim on the Theese, on whom I might have revenged my self, had I had as much heart to doe it as I have to complain. In fine, since I was then a coward and a fool, it is no matter though I now dye ashamed, sorry and frantic••. The Curate stood expecting Luscindaes answer a good while 〈◊〉〈◊〉 shee gave it; and in the end, when I hoped that shee would take out the Ponyard to stab her self, or would unloose her tongue to say some truth, or use some reason or perswasion that might redound to my benefit, I heard her in stead thereof answer with a dismaied and lan∣guishing voyce the word, I will: And then Don Fernando said the same; and giving her the Ring, they remained tyed with an indissoluble knot. Then the Bridegroom comming to kisse his Spouse, shee set her hand upon her heart, and fell in a trance between her Mothers armes.

Now only remains untold the case wherein I was, seeing in that ye•• which I had heard my hopes deluded, Luscindaes words and promises Falsisied, and my self wholly disabled to recover in any time the good which I lost in that instant; I rested void of counsell, abandoned (in mine opinion) by heaven, proclaimed an enemie to the earth which up-held me the aire denying breath enough for my sighs, and the water humour sufficient to mine eyes; only the fire increased in such manner, as I burned throughly with rage and jealousie. All the house was in a tumult for this suddain amazement of Luscinda; and as her Mother unclasped her bosome to give her the aire there appeared in it a paper folded up, which Don Fernando presently seized on, and went aside to read it by the light of a torch; and after hee had read it, her sate down in a chair, laying his hands

on his cheek, with manifest signes of Melancholy discontent, without bethinking him∣self of the remedies that were applyed to his Spouse to bring her again to her self. I seeing all the folk of the house thus in an uproar, did adventure my self to issue, not weighing much whether I were seen or no, bearing withall a resolution (if I were per∣ceived) to play such a rash part, as all the World should understand the just indigna∣tion of my brest, by the revenge I would take on false Don Fernando, and the mutable and dismayed Traytresse: But my destiny which hath reserved me for greater evills (if possibly there bee any greater then mine owne) ordained that instant my wit should abound, whereof ever since I have so great want; and therefore without will to take revenge of my greatest enemies (of whom I might have taken it with all facilitie, by reason they suspected so little my being there) I determined to take it on my self, and execute in my self the pain which they deserved, and that perhaps with more rigour then I would have used toward them if I had slain them at that time, seeing that the suddain death finisheth presently the pain; but that which doth lingringly torment kills alwaies, without ending the life.

To bee short, I went out of the house, and came to the other where I had left my Mule, which I caused to bee sadled, and without biding mine Host adieu, I mounted on her and rode out of the City, without daring, like another Lot, to turne back and behold it; and then seeing my selfe alone in the Fields, and that the darknesse of the night did cover mee, and the silence thereof invite mee to complaine, without respect or feare to bee heard or known; I did let slip my voice, and untyed my tongue with so many curses of Luscinda and Don Ferdinando, as if thereby I might satisfie the wrong they had done mee. I gave her the title of Cruell, Ingratefull, False and Scornefull, but specially of Covetous, seeing the riches of mine Enemy had shut up the Eyes of her affection, to deprive mee thereof, and render it to him with whom fortune had dealt more frankly and liberally; and in the midst of this tune of maledictions and scornes, I did excuse her saying; That it was no marvell that a Mayden kept close in her parents house, made and accustomed alwaies to obey them, should at last condiscend to their Will, specially, seeing they bestowed upon her for husband, so noble, so rich and pro∣per a Gentleman, as to refuse him, would bee reputed in her, to proceede eyther from want of judgement, or from having bestowed her affections else-where, which things must of force greatly prejudice her good opinion and renowne. Presently would I turne againe to say, that though shee had told them that I was her spouse, they might easily perceive that in choosing mee, shee had not made so ill an election that shee might not bee excused, seeing that before Don Ferdinando offered himselfe, they them∣selves could not happen to desire, if their wishes were guided by reason, so fit a match for their daughter as my selfe; and shee might easily have said, before shee put her selfe in that last and forcible passe of giving her hand, that I had already given her mine, which I would come out to consesse, and confirme all that shee could any way faine in this Case; and concluded in the end, that little Love, lesse Judgement, much Ambition and desire of greatnesse caused her to forget the Words where∣withall shee had deceived, entertayned and sustayned mee in my firme hopes and ho∣nest desires.

Using these words, and feeling this unquietnesse in my breast, I travelled all the rest of the night, and struck about dawning into one of the entries of these Mountaines, through which I travelled three dayes at random, without following or finding any path or way, untill I arived at last to certaine Medowes and Fields, that lye, I know not in which part of these Mountaines; and finding there certaine Heards, I demanded of them which way lay the most craggy and inaccessible places of these Rocks, and they directed mee hither; and presently I travelled towards it, with purpose here to end my life: and entring in among those Desarts, my Mule, through wearinesse and hunger, fell dead under mee, or rather as I may better suppose, to disburden himself of so vile and unprofitable a burden as hee carried of mee. I remained a foote, overcome by nature, and pierced through and through by hunger, without having any helpe, or knowing who might succour mee; and remained after that manner, I know not how

long, prostrate on the ground, and then I rose againe without any hunger, and I found neere unto mee certaine Goat-heards, who were those doubtlesly that fed mee in my hunger: for they told me in what manner they found me, and how I spake so many foolish and mad words, as gave certain argument that I was devoid of Judgement: and I have felt in my self since that time that I injoy not my wits perfectly, but rather perceive them to bee so weakned and impaired, as I commit a hundred follies, tearing mine apparrell, crying lowdly through these Desarts, cursing my fates, and idlely re∣peating the beloved name of mine enemie, without having any other intent or discourse at that time then to endeavour to finish my life e're long; and when I turne to my self, I am so broken and tyred, as I am scarce able to stir me. My most ordinary Mansion∣place is in the hollownesse of a Cork-Tree, sufficiently able to cover this wretched Car∣kasse. The Cow-heards and the Goat-heards that feed their Cattell here in these Mountains, moved by charity, gave me sustenance, leaving meat for me by the wayes and on the Rocks which they suppose I frequent, and where they think I may finde it; and so, although I doe then want the use of reason, yet doth naturall necessity induce me to know my meat, and stirreth my apppetite to covet, and my will to take it: They tell me when they meet me in my wits, that I doe other times come out to the high-wayes and take it from them violently, even when they themselves doe offer it unto me wil∣lingly. After this manner doe I passe my miserable life, untill Heaven shall bee pleased to conduct it to the last period, or so change my memorie, as I may no more remember the beauty and treacherie of Luscinda, or the injurie done by Don Ferdinando; for if it doe me this favour, without depriving my life, then will I convert my thoughts to better discourses: if not, there is no other remedy but to pray God to receive my soul into his mercie; for I neither finde valour nor strength in my self to rid my bodie out of the straights, wherein for my pleasure I did at first willingly intrude it.

This is, Sirs, the bitter relation of my disasters; wherefore judge if it bee such as may be celebrated with lesse feeling and compassion then that, which you may by this time have perceived in my self: And doe not in vain labour to perswade or counsell me that which reason should afford you may bee good for my remedie; for it will work no other effect in me then a medicine prescribed by a skilfull Physician, to a Pa∣tient that will in no sort receive it. I will have no health without Luscinda; And since shee pleaseth to alienate her self, being or seeing shee ought to be mine; so doe I also take delight to bee of the retinue of mis-hap, although I might be a retainer to good fortune. Shee hath ordained that her changing shall establish my perdition: And I will labour by procuring mine own losse, to please and satisfie her will: And it shall bee an example to ensuing ages, that I alone wanted that wherewith all other wretches abounded, to whom the impossibility of receiving comfort prooved sometimes a cure; but in me it is an occasion of greater feeling and harme, because I am perswaded that my harmes cannot end even with very death it self, Here Cardenio finished his large Discourse, and unfortunate and amourous Historie; and just about the time that the Curate was bethinking himself of some comfortable reasons to answer and perswade, him hee was suspended by a voyce arrived to his hearing, which with pittifull accents said what shall bee recounted in the fourth Part of this Narration: For in this very poynt the wise and most absolute Historiographer Cid Hamete Benengeli finished the third Part of this Historie.