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

CHAP. V.

Treating of that which befell all Don-Quixote his Traine in the Inne.

THe Dinner being ended, they sadled and went to horse presently, and travailed all that day, and the next, without incountring any Ad∣venture venture of price, untill they arived at the only bugg and scar-crow of Sancho Panca; & though he would full fain have excused his entry into it, yet could hee in no wise avoid it: The Inn-Keeper, the Hostesse, her Daughter, and Maritornes seeing Don-Quixote and Sancho return, went out to receive them with tokens of great love and joy, and he entertained them with grave countenance and applause, and bade them

to make him ready a better Bed then the other which they had given unto him the time before. Sir, quoth the Hostesse, if you would pay us better then the last time, wee would give you one for a Prince, Don-Quixote answered, that he would: They pre∣pared a reasonable good bed for him in the same wide room where he lay before; and he went presently to bed, by reason that he arived much tyred, and void of wit. And scarce was he gotten into his chamber, when the Hostesse leaping suddainly on the Bar∣ber, and taking him by the beard, said, Now by my self blessed, thou shalt use my taile no more for a beard, and thou shalt turne me my taile; for my husbands combe goes thrown up and down the floor, that it is a shame to see it: I mean the combe that I was wont to hang up in my good taile. The Barber would not give it unto her for all her drawing, untill the Licentiat bade him to restore it, that they had now no more use thereof, but that he might now very well discover himself, and appear in his own shape, and say to Don-Quixote, that after the Gally-slaves had rob'd him, he fled to that Inne: And if Don-Quixote demanded by chance for the Princesse her Squire, that they should tell him, how she had sent him before to her Kingdome, to give intel∣ligence to her Subjects, that she returned, bringing with her him that should free and give them all libertie. With this the Barber surrendred the taile willingly to the Hostesse, and likewise all the other borrowed wares which she had lent for Don-Qui∣xotes deliverie. All those of the Inne rested wonderfull amazed at Doroteas beautie, and also at the comelinesse of the Sheepheard Cardenio. Then the Curate gave order to make readie for them such meat as the Inne could afford: and the Inn-keeper, in hope of better payment, did dresse very speedily for them, a reasonable good Dinner. Don-Quixote slept all this while, and they were of opinion to let him take his rest, seeing sleep was more requisite for his disease then meat. At the Table they discoursed (the Inn-keeper, his Wife, Daughter, and Marito••nes, and all the other Travailers being present) of Don-Quixotes strange Frenzie, and of the manner wherein they found him. The Hostesse eftsoons recounted what had hapned there between him and the Carrier; and looking to see whether Sancho were present, preceiving that he was away, she told likewise all the story of his canvasing, whereat they conceived no little content and pastime: And, as the Curate said, that the originall cause of Don-Quixotes madnesse proceeded from the reading of Books of Knighthood. The Inn-keeper answered;

I cannot conceive how that can bee, for (as I beleeve) there is no reading so de∣lightfull in this world, and I my selfe have two or three bookes of that kinde with o∣ther papers, which doe verily keepe mee alive, and not only mee but many other. For in the reaping times, many of the Reapers repayre to this place in the heates of mid day, and there is evermore some one or other among them that can reade, who takes one of these bookes in hand, and then some thirty or more of us doe compasse him about, and doe listen to him with such pleasure, as it hinders a thousand hoary haires; for I dare say at least of my selfe, that when I heard tell of those furious and terrible blowes that Knights Errant give, it inflames mee with a desire to become such a one my selfe, and could finde in my heart to bee hearing of them day and night. I am just of the same minde, no more, nor no lesse, said the Hostesse, for I never have any quiet houre in my house, but when thou art hearing those bookes whereon thou art so besotted, as then thou dost only forget to chide, which is thy ordinary exercise at other times. That is very true said Maritornes. And I in good sooth doe take great delight to heare those things, for they are very fine, and especially when they tell how such a Ladie lies embra∣ced by her Knight under an Orange tree, and that a certaine Damzell keepeth Watch all the while, readie to burst for envie that shee hath not likewise her sweete-heart; and very much afraid. I say that all those things are as sweete as honey to mee. And you, quoth the Curate to the Inn-keepers daughter, what doe you thinke? I know not in good sooth, Sir quoth shee, but I doe likewise give eare, and in truth although I under∣stand it not, yet doe I take some pleasure to heare them, but I mislike greatly those blows which please my father so much, and only delight in the lamentations that Knights make being absent from their Ladies; which in sooth doe now and then make mee weepe,

through the compassion I take of them. Well then quoth Dorotea, belike, faire may∣den you would remedie them, if such plaints were breathed for your owne sake? I know not what I would doe, answered the Gyrle, only this I know, that there are some of those Ladies so cruell, as their Knights call them Tygers and Lyons, and a thou∣sand other wilde-Beasts. And good Iesus, I know not what un-Souled folke they bee, and so without Conscience, that because they will not once behold an honourable man, they suffer him eyther to die or run mad. And I know not to what end serves all that coynesse. For if they doe it for honesties sake, let them marry with them, for the Knights desire nothing more. Peace childe, quoth the Hostesse; for it seems that thou knowest too much of those matters, and it is not decent that Maidens should know or speak so much. I speak, quoth she, by reason that this good Sir made me the de∣mand; and I could not in courtesie omit to answer him. Well, said the Curate, let me intreat you, good mine Host, to bring us here those Books; for I would fain see them.

I am pleased, said the Inn-keeper: And then entring into his Chamber, he brought forth a little old Malet shut up with a chain; and opening thereof, hee took out three great Books and certain Papers written with a very fair Letter. The first Book hee opened was that of Don Cirongilio of Thracia: The other Felixmarte of Hircania: And the third, The History of the great Captain, Goncalo Hernandez of Cordova, with the life of Diego Garcia of Paredes adjoyned. As soon as the Curate had read the Titles of the two Books, he said to the Barber, We have now great want of our friends, the old woman and Neece. Not so much as you think, quoth the Barber; for I know also the way to the yard or the chimney, and in good sooth, there is a fire in it good enough for that purpose. Would you then, quoth the Host, burn my Books? No more of them, quoth the Curate, but these first two of Don Cirongilio and Felixmarte, are my Books. Perhaps, quoth the Inn-keeper, Hereticall or Flegmaticall, that you would thus roughly handle them. Schismaticall thou wo••ldest have said, quoth the Barber, and not Flegmaticall. It is so, said the Inn-keeper; but if you will needs burn any, I pray you, rather let it be that of the great Captain, and of that Diego Garcia; for I would rather suffer one of my Sonnes to bee burned then any one of those other two. Good friend, these two Books are lying, and full of follies and vanities; but that of the great Captain is true, and containeth the arts of Goncalo Hernandez of Cordova, who for his sundrie and noble acts merited to be tearmed by all the world The great Captain, a name famous, illustrious, and only deserved by himself and this other Diego Garcia of Paredes was a noble Gentleman, born in the City of Truxillo in Estremadura, & was a most valourous Souldier; and of so surpassing force, as he would detain a Mill∣wheele with one hand from turning in the midest of the speediest motion: And stand∣ing once at the end of a Bridge with a two-handed Sword, defended the passage against a mighty Armie that attempted to passe over it; and did so many other things, that if another who were a stranger and unpassionate had written them, as he did himself who was the relater and Historiographer of his own Acts, and therefore recounted them with the modestie of a Gentleman and proper Chronicler, they would have drowned all the Hectors, Achillises and Rollands in oblivion.

There is a Jest, quoth the Inn-keeper, deale with my father, I pray you see at what you wonder: A wise tale at the with-holding of the wheele of a Mill. I swear you ought to read that which is read in Felixmarte of Hircania, who with one thwart blow cut five mighty Gyants in halfes, as if they were of Beans, like to the little Friers that Children make of Bean-cods: And set another time upon a great and most powerfull Army of more then a Million and six hundred thousand Souldiers, and overthrew and scattered them all like a Flock of Sheep. What then can you say to me of the good Don Cirongilio of Thracia, who was so animous and valiant as may bee seen in his Book; wherein is laid down, That as he sailed along a River, there issued out of the midest of the water a Serpent of fire, and he, as soon as he perceived it, leaped upon her, and hanging by her scalie shoulders, he wrung her throat so straitly between both his armes, that the Serpent perceiving her self to be well-nigh strangled, had no

other way to save her self but by diving down into the deeps, carrying the Knight away with her, who would never let goe his gripe, and when they came to the bottom, hee found himself by a Palace in such faire and pleasant gardens, as it was a wonder; and presently the Serpent turned into an old man, which said to him such things as there is no more to be desired. Two figs for the Great Captain, and that Diego Garcia, of whom you speake.

Dorotea hearing him speake thus, said to Cardenio, Mee thinks our Host wants but little to make up a second part of Don-Quixote. So it seemes to mee likewise, replyed Cardenio, for as wee may conjecture by his words, hee certainly beleeves that every thing written in those bookes, passed just as it is laid downe, and barefooted-Friers would bee scarce able to perswade him the contary. Know friend (quoth the Curate to the In-keeper) that there was never any such man as Felixmarte of Hircania, or Don-Chirongilio of Thracia, nor other such Knights as bookes of Chivalry recount; for all is but a device and fiction of idle wits that composed them, to the end that thou sayest, to passe over the time, as your readers doe in reading of them: For I sinceerely sweare unto thee, that there were never such Knights in the world, nor such Adventures and ravings hapned in it. Cast that bone to another dog quoth the In-keeper, as though I knew not how many numbers are five, and where the shooe wrests mee now. I pray you Sir, goe not about to give mee pap, for by the Lord I am not so white. Is it not a good sport that you labour to perswade mee, that all that which these good bookes say are but ravings and fables, they being printed by Grace and Favour of the Lords of the Privie Councell; as if they were folke that would permit so many lies to bee printed at once, and so many Battells and Enchantments, as are able to make a man run out of his wits: I have told thee already friend (said the Curate) that this is done for the re∣creation of our idle thoughts, and so even as in well governed Comonwealths, the playes at Chesse, Tennis and Trucks are tolerated for the pastime of some men which have none other occupation, and either ought not or cannot worke, even so such books are permitted to bee printed; presuming (as in truth they ought) that no man would be found so simple and ignorant, as to hold any of these bookes for a true Historie. And if my leisure permitted, and that it were a thing requisite for this Auditory, I could say many things concerning the subject of bookes of Knighthood, to the end that they should bee well contrived, and also bee pleasant and profitable to the Readers; but I hope somtime to have the commodity to communicate my conceit with those that may redresse it. And in the meane while you may beleeve good mine Host, what I have said, and take to you your books, and agree with their truths or leasings as you please, and much good may it doe you; and I pray God that you halt not in time on the foote that your guest Don-Quixote halteth. Not so quoth the In-keeper, for I will never bee so wood as to become a Knight Errant, for I see well, that what was used in the times of these famous Knights is now in no use nor request.

Sancho came in about the midst of this discourse, and rested much confounded and Pensative of that which hee heard them say, that Knights Errant were now in no re∣quest, and that the bookes of Chivalry only conteined follies and lies, and purposed with himselfe to see the end of that voyage of his Lords, and that if it sorted not the wished successe which hee expected, hee resolved to leave him and return home to his wife and children and accustomed labour. The Inn-keeper thought to take away his bookes and budget, but the Curate withheld him saying. Stay a while, for I would see what papers are those which are written in so faire a Character. The Host tooke them out and gave them to him to read, being in number some eight sheetes with a title writ∣ten in text letters, which said, The Historie of the curious Impertinent. The Curate read two or three lines softly to himselfe, and said after, Truly the title of this History doth not mislike mee, and therefore I am about to reade it through. The Inn-keeper hea∣ring him said, Your reverence may very well doe it, for I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 you that some guests which have read it here, as they travelled, dis••ommend it exceedingly, and have beg'd it of mee as earnestly, but I would never bestow it, hoping some day to restore it to the owner of this Malet, who forgot it here behinde him with those bookes and papers, for

it may bee that hee will somtime return, and although I know that I shall have great want of the bookes, yet will I make to him restitution, for although I am an In-keeper, yet God be thanked I am a Christian therewithall. You have great reason my friend, quoth the Curate, but yet notwithstanding if the taste like me, thou must give me leave to take a copie thereof. With all my heart replyed the Host. And as they two talked, Cardenio taking the booke, began to reade a little of it, and it pleasing him as much as it had done the Curate, he requested him to reade it in such sort as they might all heare him. That I would willingly doe said the Curate, if the time were not now more fit for sleeping then reading. It were sufficient repose for me, said Dorotea, to passe away the time listening to some tale or other, for my spirit is not yet so well quieted as to a∣ford me licence to sleepe, even then when nature exacteth it. If that bee so, quoth the Curate, I will reade it, if it were but for curiositie, perhaps it containeth some delight∣full matter. Master Nicholas and Sancho intreated the same. The Curate seeing and knowing that he should therein doe them all a pleasure, and hee himselfe likewise receive as great, said, Seeing you will needes heare it, be all of you attentive, for the History be∣gineth in this manner.