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

CHAP. VII.

What passed betwixt Don-Quixote and his Squire, with other most famous Accidents.

THe old woman, as soone as she saw her Master and Sancho locked to∣gether, began to smell their drift, and imagining that his third sally would result from that consultation, and taking her mantle, full of sorrow and trouble, she went to seeke the Bachelour Samson Carrasco, supposing, that as he was well spoken, and a late acquaintance of Don-Quixotes, he might perswade him to leave his doting purpose; she found him walking in the Court of his house, and seeing him, she fell down in a cold sweat, (all troubled) at his feet. When Carrasco saw her so sorrowfull and af∣frighted, he asked her: Whats the matter? what accident is this? Me thinks thy heart is at thy mouth. Nothing (said she) Master Samson, but my Master is run out, doubt∣lesse, he is run out. And where runs he, said he? hath he broken a hole in any part of his body? He runnes not out (answered she) but out of the dore of his madnesse: I meane, sweete Sir Batchelour, hee meanes to bee a gadding againe, and this is his third time hee hath gone a hunting after those you call Adventures; I know not why they give um this name. The first time they brought him us athwart upon an Asse, bea∣ten to peeces. The second time hee came clapt up in an Oxe-waine, and locked in a Cage, and hee made us beleeve hee was enchanted, and the poore Soule was so chan∣ged, that his mother that brought him forth would not have known him; so leane, so wan, his eyes so sunke in his head, that I spent above six hundred egges to recover him, as God ••is my witnesse and all the World, and my Henns that will not let mee lie. That I well beleeve (quoth the Batchelor) for they are so good, and so fat, and so well nur••ured, that they will not say one thing for another if they should burst for it. well, is there ought else? hath there any other ill luck hapned more then this you feare, that your Master will abroad? No Sir (said shee) Take no care (quoth he) but get you home on Gods name•• and get me some warme thing to breakfast, and by the way as you goe, pray me the Orison of St. Apolonia, if you know it, and Ile goe thither pre∣sently, and you shall see wonders.

Wretch that I am (quoth she) the Orison of St. Apolonia quoth you, that were, if my Master had the Toothache, but his paine is in his head. I know what I say (quoth hee) and doe not you dispute with me since you know I have proceeded Batchelor at Sala∣mancha: doe you thinke there is no more then to take the Degree (said he?) With that, away she goes: and he went presently to seek the Vicar, and communicate with him, what shall be said hereafter.

At the time that Don-Quixote and Sancho were locked together, there passed a discourse between them, which the history tels with much punctuality, and a true relation.

Sancho said to his Master, I have now reluc't my wife to let me goe with you whi∣ther soever you please; reduct you would say, Sancho (quoth Don-Quixote.) I have bid you more then once (if I have not forgotten) said Sancho, that you doe not cor∣rect my words, if so be you understand my meaning, and when you doe not under∣stand them, cry, Sancho, or Devill, I understand thee not: and if I doe not expresse my self, then you may correct me, for I am so focible.

I understand thee not, Sancho (quoth Don-Quixote) for I know not the mean∣ing of your focible. So focible is (said Sancho) I am so, so. Lesse and lesse doe I understand (said Don-Quixote.) Why if you do not understand (said Sancho) I can∣not do withall, I know no more, and God be with me. Thou meanest docible I be∣leeve,

and that thou art so pliant and so taking, that thou wilt apprehend what I shall tell thee, and learn what I shall instruct thee in.

I'le lay a wager (said Sancho) you searched and understood me at first, but that you would put me out, and hear me blunder out a hundred or two of follies. It may bee so (quoth Don-Quixote) but what saies Teresa? Teresa bids me make sure work with you, and that wee may have lesse saying and more doing; for great sayers are small doers: A Bird in the hand is worth two in the bush: And I say a womans advice is but slender, yet hee that refuseth it is a mad-man. I say so too (quoth Don-Quixote:) But say friend Sancho, proceed; for to day thou speakest preciously.

The businesse is (quoth Sancho) that, as you better know then I, we are all mortall here to day, and gone to morrow; as soon goes the young Lambe to the roast as the old Sheep; and no man can promise himself more dayes then God hath given him; for death is deaf, and when shee knocks at lifes doors, shee is in haste, neither thrats, nor entreaties, nor Scepters, nor Miters can stay her, as the common voyce goes, and as they tell us in Pulpits.

All this is true (said Don-Quixote) but I know not where thou meanest to stop. My stop is (quoth Sancho) that your Worship allow me some certain Wages by the moneth, for the time that I shall serve you [The custome of Spain is to pay their Ser∣vants Wages by the moneth;] and that the said Wages bee paid me out of your sub∣stance; for I'le trust no longer to good turnes, which come either slowly, or meanly, or never; God give me joy of mine own: In a word I must know what I may gain, little or much: for the Hen layes as well upon one eg as many, and many littles make a mickle; and whilest something is gotten nothing is lost: Indeed if it should so happen (which I neither beleeve nor hope for) that your Worship should give me the Island you pro∣mised me, I am not so ungratefull, nor would carrie things with such extremitie, as not to have the rent of that Island prized, and so to discount for the Wages I received, cantitie for cantitie. Is not quantitie as much worth as cantitie friend Sancho, answer∣ed Don-Quixote? I understand you now, said Sancho, and dare lay any thing that I should have said quantitie, and not cantitie: but that's no matter, seeing you have understood me. I understand you very well (answered Don-Quixote) and have pe∣netrated the utmost of your thoughts, and know very well what marke you ayme at, with the innumerable arrows of your Proverbs.

Look yee Sancho, I could willingly afford you Wages, if I had found in any Histories of Knights Errant any example that might give me light through the least chink, of any Wages given monethly or yeerly: but I have read all or the most part of their Hi∣stories, and doe not remember that ever I have read, that any Knight Errant hath allowed any set Wages to his Squire: Only I know that all lived upon countenance, and when they least dreamt of it, if their Masters had good luck, they were rewarded, either with an Island or some such thing equivalent, and at least they remained with Honour and Title.

If you Sancho, upon these hopes and additaments have a minde to return to my ser∣vice, a Gods name; but to think that I will pluck the old use of Knight Errantry out of his bounds, and off the hinges, is a meet impossibilitie: So that Sancho, you may goe home and tell your Teresa mine intentention; and if that shee and you will relie upon my favour, bene quidem; and if not, let's part friends; for if my Pigeon-house have Comyns, it will want no Doves: And take this by the way, A good expectation is better then a bad possession, and a good demand better then an ill pay. I speake thus Sancho, that you may plainly see I know as well as you to sprinkle Proverbs like rain∣showres. Lastly, let me tell you; if you will not trust to my reward, and runne the same Fortune with me, God keep you, and make you a Saint; for I shall not want more obedient Squires, and more carefull, and not so irksome, nor so talkative as you.

When Sancho heard his Masters firm resolution, hee waxed clowdie, and the wings of his heart began to stoop; for hee thought verily his Master would not goe without him for all the treasure in the World. Thus being doubtfull and pensative, Samson

Carrasco entred, and the Neece desirous to heare how he perswaded her Master that hee should not returne to his Adventures.

In came Samson, a notable Crack-rope, and embracing him as at first, began in his loud key: O flowre of Chivalrie, bright light of Armes, honor and mirror of our Spanish nation; may it please Almighty God of his infinite goodnesse, that hee, or they that hinder or disturbe this thy third sally, that they never finde it in the Labyrinth of their desires, nor let the ill they wish for ever bee accomplished: And turning to the old woman hee said: You need no longer pray the Orison of Saint Apolonia, for I know the determination of the Spheres, is, that Don-Quixote put in execution his lof∣ty and new designes, and I should much burden my Conscience, If I should not per∣swade and intimate unto this Knight, that hee doe no longer withdraw and hold back the force of his valorous arme, and the courage of his most valiant minde, for with his delaying he defraudes the rectifying of wrongs, the protection of Orphans, the honor of Damzels, the Bulwarke of married women, and other matters of this qualitie, which concern, apertain, depend and are annexed unto the Order of Knight-Errantry. Go on then, my beautifull, my brave Don-Quixote, rather to day then to morrow, let your Greatnesse be upon the way, and if any thing be wanting to your journey, here am I to supply with my wealth, with my person, and if need be, to bee thy Magnifi∣cence his Squire, which I shall hold a most happy fortune. Then (said Don-Quixote) turning to Sancho, Did not I tell thee Sancho, that I should want no Squires? See who offers himselfe to me; the most rare Batchelor Samson Carrasco, the perpetual darling and delighter of the Salamancan schooles, sound and active of body, silent, suffering of heates and colds, hunger and thirst, with all the abilities that belong to the Squire of a Knight errant: but heav'n forbid, that for my pleasure I hox and break off the Columne of learning, the vessel of Sciences, and that I lop off the eminent branch of the liberall Arts: Remain thou another Samsan in thy Country, honor it, and those gray hayres of thine aged Parents, for I will content my selfe with any Squire, since Sancho daignes not to attend me.

I doe daign, said Sancho, (all tender) and the tears standing in his eyes, and thus proceeds: It shall not be said Master for me, no longer pipe no longer dance; nor am I made of hardest oake, for all the world knows, and especially my town, who the Pan∣chaes were, from whom I discend; besides I know and have searched out, by many good works, and many good words, the desire that your worship hath to do me a kindnesse, and if I have been to blame to meddle in reckonings concerning my wages, it was to please my wife, who when she once fals into a vaine of perswading, ther's no hammer that doth so fasten the hoops of a Bucket as she doth, till she obtain what she would have; but howsoever the husband must be husband, & the wife wife; & since I am a man every where (I cannot deny that) I will also be so at home in spite of any: so that ther's no more to be done, but that you make your will, and set to your Codicill, in such sort, that it may not be revolked, and let's straight to our journey, that Master. Samsons Soule may not suffer; for hee saith, his Conscience is unquiet, till hee have perswa∣ded you to your third sally through the World, and I afresh offer my service faith∣fully and loyally, as well, and better then any Squire that ever served Knight errant in former times or in present:

The Batchelor wondred to heare Sanchoes manner and method of speaking: for though in the first Historie hee had read of his Master, hee never thought Sancho had beene so witty as they there paint him out, yet hearing him now mention Will and Codicill, revolking in stead of Revoking, hee beleeved all that hee had read of him, and confirmed him to bee one of the most solemnest Coxcombes of our Age, and said to himselfe, that two such mad-men, as Master and Man, were not in all the world againe.

Now Don-Quixote and Sancho embraced, and remayned friends, and with the grand Carrascoes approbation and good will (who was then their Oracle) it was Decreed, That within three dayes they should depart, in which they might have time to provide all things necessarie for their Voyage, and to get an Helmet, which Don-Quixote

said, hee must by all meanes carry. Samson offered him one, for hee knew a friend of his would not deny it him, although it were souler with mold and rust, then bright with smoothe steele.

The Neece and old woman cursed the Bachelour unmercifully, they tore their haire, scratcht their faces, and as your funerall mourners use, they howled at their Masters departure, as if he had been a dead man. The designe that Samson had to perswade him to this third sally, was, to doe what the History tels us hereafter, all by the advice of the Vicar and the Barber, to whom he had before communicated it. Well, in those three dayes, Don-Quixote and Sancho fitted themselves with what they thought they needed, and Sancho having set down the time to his wife and Don-Quixote to his Neece, and the old woman; toward night, without taking leave of any body, but the Bachelor, who would needs bring them halfe a league from the towne, they tooke their way towards Toboso. Don-Quixote upon his good Rozinante, and Sancho on his old Dapple, his wallets were stuffed with provant, and his purse with money that Don-Quixote gave him for their expences. Samson embraced him and desired him that he might heare of his good or ill fortune, to rejoyce for the one, or be sorry for the other, as the law of friendship did require; Don-Quixote made him a promise. Samson returned home, and the two went on towards the famous Citty of Toboso.