The history of the renown'd Don Quixote de la Mancha written in Spanish by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra ; translated from the original by several hands ; and publish'd by Peter Motteux ... ; adorn'd with sculptures.

THE SECOND PART OF THE HISTORY Of the Renowned DON QUIXOTE DE LA MANCHA. (Book 3 (of part 2))

Part II. Vol. III. (Book 3 (of part 2))

CHAP. I. What pass'd between the Curate, the Barber, and Don Quixote; concerning his Indispo∣sition.

CID HAMET Benengeli relates in the Se∣cond Part of this History, and Don Quixote's third Salley, that the Curate and the Barber were almost a whole Month without giving him

a Visit; lest calling to mind his former Extrava∣gancies, he might take occasion to renew 'em. However, they fail'd not every Day to see his Niece, and his House-keeper, whom they charg'd to treat and cherish him with great Care, and to give him such Diet as might be most proper to chear his Heart, and comfort his Brain, whence in all likelyhood his Disorder wholly proceeded. They answered, that they did so, and would continue it to their utmost power; the rather be∣cause they observ'd, that sometimes he seem'd to be in his right Senses. This News was very welcome to the Curate and the Barber, who look'd on this Amendment as an Effect of their contri∣vance, in bringing him home in the Inchanted Waggon, as 'tis Recorded in the last Chapter of the first Part of this most important, and no less punctual History. Thereupon they resolv'd to give him a Visit, and make tryal themselves of the progress of a Cure, which they thought al∣most impossible. They also agreed not to speak a Word of Knight-Errantry, lest they should en∣danger a Wound so lately clos'd and so tender. In short, they went to see him, and found him sitting up in his Bed in a Waste-coat of green Bays, and a red Toledo-Cap on his Head: But the poor Gentleman was so wither'd and wasted, that he look'd like a meer Mummy. He receiv'd 'em very civilly, and when they enquir'd of his Health, gave 'em an account of his Condition, expressing himself very handsomly, and with a great deal of Judgment. After they had dis∣cours'd a while of several Matters, they fell at last on State-Affairs and Forms of Government, Correcting this Grievance, and Condemning that, Reforming one Custom, Rejecting another, and Establishing new Laws, as if they had been the

Lycurgus's or Solon's of the Age; till they had re∣fin'd and new modell'd the Common-wealth at such a rate, that they seem'd to have clapp'd it into a Forge, and drawn it out wholly different from what it was before. Don Quixote reason'd with so much Discretion on every Subject, that his two Visitants now undoubtedly believ'd him in his right Senses.

His Niece and House-keeper were present at these Discourses; and hearing him give so many marks of a sound Understanding, thought they could never return Heaven sufficient thanks, for so extraordinary a Blessing. But the Curate, who wonder'd at this strange amendment, being re∣solv'd to try whether Don Quixote was perfectly recover'd, thought fit to alter the Resolution he had taken to avoid entering into any Discourse of Knight-Errantry; and therefore began to talk to him of News, and among the rest, that it was credibly reported at Court, that the Grand Seig∣nior was advancing with a vast Army, and no Body knew where the Tempest would fall; that all Christendom was alarm'd, as it us'd to be almost every Year; and that the King was providing for the Security of the Coasts of Sicily and Naples, and the Island of Malta. His Majesty, said Don Quix∣ote, acts the part of a most prudent Warriour, in putting his Dominions betimes in a Posture of Defence; for by that Precaution he prevents the surprizes of the Enemy: But yet if my Counsel were to be taken in this Matter, I would advise another sort of Preparation which I fancy his Ma∣jesty little thinks of at present. Now Heaven assist thee, poor Don Quixote, (said the Curate to himself, hearing this) I am afraid thou art now tumbling from the top of thy Madness, to the very bottom of Simplicity. Thereupon the Barber,

who had presently made the same Reflection, de∣sir'd Don Quixote to Communicate to 'em this mighty Project of his; for, said he, who knows but after all, it may be one of those that are only to find a Place in the List of impertinent Admo∣nitions usually given to Princes. No, good Mr. Trimmer, answer'd Don Quixote, my Project is not impertinent, but highly adviseable. I meant no harm in what I said, Sir, reply'd the Barber, only we generally find, most of these Projects that are offer'd to the King, are either Impracticable or Whimsical, or tend to the detriment of the King or Kingdom. But mine, said Don Quixote, is nei∣ther impossible nor Ridiculous; far from that, 'tis the most easie, the most thoroughly weigh'd, and the most concise, that ever can be devis'd by Man. Methinks you are too long before you let us know it, Sir, said the Curate. To deal freely with you, reply'd Don Quixote, I should be loath to tell it you here now, and have it reach the Ear of some Privy-Counsellor to morrow, and so afterwards see the fruit of my Invention reap'd by some Body else. As for me, said the Barber, I give you my Word here, and in the Face of Heaven, never to tell it, either to King, Queen, Rook, Pawn, or Knight, or any earthly Man: An Oath I learn'd out of the Romance of the Curate, in the Preface to which he tells the King who it was that Robb'd him of his hundred Doublons, and his Ambling Mule. I know nothing of the Story, said Don Quixote; but I have reason to be satisfied with the Oath, because I'm confident Master Barber is an honest Man. Tho' he were not, said the Curate, I'll be his Surety in this matter, and will engage for him, that he shall no more speak of it, than if he were dumb, under what Penalty you please. And who shall answer for you, Mr. Curate, an∣swer'd

Don Quixote? My Profession, reply'd the Curate, which binds me to Secrecy. Body of me then! cry'd Don Quixote, what has the King to do more but to cause publick Proclamation to be made, enjoyning all the Knight-Errants that are dispers'd in this Kingdom, to make their Personal appearance at Court upon a certain Day. For though but half a dozen should meet, there may be some one among 'em, who even alone might be able to destroy the whole united Force of Turkey. For pray observe well what I say, Gen∣tlemen, and take me along with ye. Do you look upon it as a new thing for one Knight-Errant alone to Rout an Army of two hundred thousand Men, with as much ease as if all of 'em joyn'd to∣gether had but one Throat, or were made of Sugar-paste? You know how many Histories are full of these Wonders. Were but the Renown'd Don Bellianis living now, with a Vengeance on me, (for I'll Curse no Body else) or some Knight of the innumerable Race of Amadis de Gaul, and he met with these Turks, what a•• woeful Condition would they be in! However, I hope Providence will in Pity look down upon his People, and raise up, if not so prevalent a Champion as those of former Ages, at least, some one who may perhaps rival them in Courage; Heaven knows my mean∣ing; I say no more. Alas! said the Niece, bear∣ing this, I'll lay my Life, my Uncle has still a han∣kering after Knight-Errantry. I will die a Knight-Errant, cry'd Don Quixote, and so let the Turks Land where they please, how they please, and when they please, and with all the Forces they can Muster; once more I say, Heaven knows my mean∣ing. Gentlemen, said the Barber, I beg leave to tell you a short Story of somewhat that happen'd at Sevil: Indeed it falls out as pat as if it had

been made for our present purpose, and so I have a great mind to tell it. Don Quixote gave Consent, the Curate and the rest of the Company were wil∣ling to hear; and thus the Barber began.

A certain Person being Distracted, was put into the Mad-house at Sevil by his Relations. He had Studied the Civil-Law, and taken his Degrees at Ossuna; though, had he taken 'em at Salamanca, many are of opinion he would have been mad too. After he had liv'd some Years in this Con∣finement, he was pleas'd to fancy himself in his right Senses, and upon this conceit wrote to the Archbishop, beseeching him with great earnestness, and all the colour of Reason imaginable, to re∣lease him out of his Misery by his Authority, since by the Mercy of Heaven he was wholly freed from any disorder in his Mind; only his Relati∣ons, he said, kept him in still to enjoy his Estate, and design'd, in spight of Truth, to have him Mad to his dying Day. The Archbishop, per∣swaded by many Letters, which he wrote to him on that Subject, all Penn'd with Sense and Judg∣ment, order'd one of his Chaplains to enquire of the Governour of the House into the truth of the matter, and also to Discourse with the Party, that he might set him at large, in case he found him free from Distraction. Thereupon the Chaplain went, and having ask'd the Governor what condi∣tion the Graduate was in? Was answer'd, that he was still Mad, that sometimes indeed he would talk like a Man of excellent Sense, but presently after he would relapse into his former Extrava∣gancies, which at least ballanc'd all his rational Talk, as he himself might find, if he pleas'd to Discourse him. The Chaplain being resolv'd to make the Experiment, went to the Mad-man, and convers'd with him above an Hour, and in all

that time could not perceive the least disorder in his Brain; far from that, he deliver'd himself with so much sedateness, and gave such direct and pertinent Answers to every Question, that the Chaplain was oblig'd to believe him sound in his Understanding; nay, he went so far, as to make a plausible Complaint against his Keeper, alledging, that, for the lucre of those Presents which his Re∣lations sent him, he represented him to those who came to see him, as one who was still distracted, and had only now and then lucid Intervals; but that after all, his greatest Enemy was his Estate, the Possession of which his Relations being un∣willing to resign, they would not acknowledge the Mercy of Heaven, that had once more made him a rational Creature. In short, he pleaded in such a manner, that the Keeper was suspected, his Relations were censur'd as Covetous and Unnatu∣ral, and he himself was thought Master of so much Sense, that the Chaplain resolv'd to take him a∣long with him, that the Archbishop might be able to satisfy himself of the Truth of the whole Bu∣siness. In order to this, the Credulous Chaplain desir'd the Governour to give the Graduate the Habit which he had brought with him at his first coming. The Governour us'd all the Arguments which he thought might disswade the Chaplain from his Design, assuring him, that the Man was still Frantick and disorder'd in his Brain. But he could not prevail with him to leave the Mad-man there any longer, and therefore was forc'd to com∣ply with the Archbishop's Order, and return'd the Man his Habit, which was neat and decent.

Having now Put off his Madman's Weeds, and finding himself in the Garb of rational Creatures, he begg'd of the Chaplain, for Charity's sake, to permit him to take leave of his late Companions in

Affliction. The Chaplain told him he would bear him Company, having a mind to see the Mad-folks in the House. So they went up Stairs, and with them some other People that stood by. Presently the Graduate came to a kind of a Cage, where lay a Man that was outrageously Mad, though at that Instant still and quiet; and addressing him∣self to him, Brother, said he, have you any Ser∣vice to command me? I am just going to my own House, thanks be to Heaven, which, of its infinite Goodness and Mercy, has restor'd me to my Senses. Be of good Comfort, and put your Trust in the Father of Wisdom, who will, I hope, be as Merciful to you as he has been to me. I'll be sure to send you some choice Victuals, which I would have you eat by all means; for I must needs tell you, that I have Reason to imagine, from my own Experience, that all our Madness proceeds from keeping our Stomachs empty of Food, and our Brains full of Wind. Take heart then, my Friend, and be chearful; for, this desponding in Misfortunes impairs our Health, and hurries us to the Grave. Just over against that Room lay another Mad-man, who having listen'd with an envious Attention to all this Discourse, starts up from an old Mat on which he lay stark naked; Who's that, cry'd he aloud, that's going away so well recover'd, and so wise? 'Tis I, Brother, that am going, re∣ply'd the Graduate; I have now no need to stay here any longer; for which Blessing I can never cease to return my humble and hearty Thanks to the infinite Goodness of Heaven. Dr. quoth the Mad-man, have a Care what you say, and let not the Devil delude you. Stir not a Foot, but keep snug in your old Lodging, and save your self the cursed Vexation of being brought back to your

Kennel. Nay, answer'd the other, I'll warrant you there will be no Occasion for my coming hi∣ther again; I know I am perfectly Well. You Well! cry'd the Mad-man, we shall soon see that. — Farewell, but, by the Sovereign Jupiter, whose Majesty I represent on Earth, for this very Crime alone, for setting thee at large, I say, and presum∣ptuously affirming that thou art sound in thy Intel∣lects, I will take such a severe Revenge on this whole City, that it shall be remember'd with Ter∣ror from Age to Age, and for ever and aye. Dost thou not know, my poor Brainless Thing in a Gown, that this is in my Power? I that am the Thundring Jove, that grasp in my Hands the red-hot Bolts of Heaven, with which I keep the threaten'd World in awe, and might reduce it all to Ashes. But stay, I will commute the fiery Pu∣nishment, which this ignorant Town deserves, in∣to another: I will only shut up the Flood-gates of the Skies, so that there shall not fall a Drop of Rain upon this City, nor on all the neighbouring Country round about it for three Years together; to begin from the very Moment that gives Date to this my inviolable Execration. Thou free! thou well, and in thy Senses! and I here, mad, distemper'd, and confin'd! By my Thunder, I will no more indulge the Town with Rain, than I would hang my self. As every one there was at∣tentive to these loud and frantick Threats, the Graduate turn'd to the Chaplain, and taking him by the Hand, Sir, said he, let not that Mad-man's Threats trouble you. Never mind him; for, if he be Jupiter, and will not let it Rain, I am Nep∣tune the Parent and God of the Waters, and it shall Rain as often as I please, where ever Necessi∣ty shall require it. However, answer'd the Chap∣lain, good Mr. Neptune, 'tis not convenient to pro∣voke

Mr. Jupiter: Therefore be pleas'd to stay here a little longer, and some other Time at convenient Leisure, I may chance to find a better Opportuni∣ty to wait on you, and bring you away. The Keeper and the rest of the Company could not for∣bear Laughing, which put the Chaplain almost out of Countenance. In short, Mr. Neptune was disrob'd again, stay'd where he was, and there's an end of the Story.

Well, Mr. Barber, said Don Quixote, and this is your Tale which you said came so pat to the pre∣sent purpose, that you could not forbear telling it! Ah, Good-man Cut-beard, Good-man Cut-beard! How blind must he be that can't see thro' a Sieve! Is it possible your pragmatical Worship should not know that Comparisons made between Wit and Wit, Courage and Courage, Beauty and Beauty, Birth and Birth, are always Odious and ill taken. I am not Neptune the God of the Waters, good Mr. Barber; neither do I pretend to set up for a wise Man when I am not so. All I aim at, is on∣ly to make the World sensible how much they are to blame, in not labouring to revive those most happy Times, in which the Order of Knight-Er∣rantry was in its full Glory. But indeed, this de∣generate Age of ours is unworthy the Enjoyment of so great a Happiness, which former Ages could boast, when Knights-Errant took upon themselves the Defence of Kingdoms, the Protection of Dam∣sels, the Relief of Orphans, the Punishment of Pride and Oppression, and the Reward of Humili∣ty. Most of your Knights now-a-days keep a greater Rustling with their Sumptuous Garments of Damask, Gold-Brocade, and other costly Stuffs, than with the Coats of Mail, which they should glory to wear. No Knight now will lie on the hard Ground in the open Field, expos'd to the in∣jurious

Air, from Head to Foot enclos'd in pon∣derous Armour: Where are those now, who with∣out taking their Feet out of the Stirrups, and on∣ly leaning on their Lances, like the Knights-Er∣rant of Old, strive to disappoint invading Sleep, rather than indulge it? Where is that Knight, who having first travers'd a spacious Forest, climb'd up a steep Mountain, and journey'd over a dismal bar∣ren Shore, wash'd by a turbulent tempestuous Sea, and finding on the Brink a little Skiff destitute of Sails, Oars, Mast, or any kind of Tackling, is yet so bold as to throw himself into the Boat with an undaunted Resolution, and resigns himself to the implacable Billows of the Main, that now mount him to the Skies, and then hurry him down to the most profound Recesses of the Waters; till, with his insuperable Courage, surmounting at last the Hurricane, even in its greatest Fury, he finds him∣self above three thousand Leagues from the Place where he first embark'd, and leaping ashore in a remote and unknown Region, meets with Adven∣tures that deserve to be recorded, not only on Parchment, but on Corinthian Brass. But now, alas! Sloth and Effeminacy triumph over Vigilance and Labour, Idleness over Industry, Vice over Vertue, Arrogance over Valour, and the Theory of Arms over the Practice, that true Practice, which only liv'd and flourish'd in those Golden Days, and a∣mong those Professors of Chivalry. For, where shall we hear of a Knight more Valiant and more Honourable than the Renowned Amadis de Gaul? Who more discreet than Palmerin of England? Who more Affable and Complaisant than Tirante the White? Who more Gallant than Lisuarte of Greece? Who more Cut and Hack'd, or a greater Cutter and Hacker than Don Bellianis? Who more intrepid than Perion of Gaul? Who more Daring than Felixmarte of Hyrcania? Who more Sincere

than Esplandian? Who more Courteous than Ciri∣ongilio of Thrace? Who more Brave than Rodomont? Who more Prudent than King Sobrino? Who more Desperate than Rinaldo? Who more Invincible than Orlando? And who more Agreeable or more Courteous than Rogero? from whom, (according to Turpin in his Geography) the Dukes of Ferrara are Descended? All these Champions, Mr. Curate, and a great many more that I could mention, were Knights-Errant, and the very Light and Glory of Chivalry; now, such as these are the Men I would advise the King to employ; by which means his Majesty would be effectually serv'd, and freed from a vast Expence, and the Turk would tear his very Beard for Madness. For my part, I don't design to stay where I am, because the Chaplain will not fetch me out; tho', if Jupiter, as Mr. Barber said, will send no Rain, here stands one that will, and can Rain, when he pleases. This I say, that Good-man Bason here may know I understand his mean∣ing. Truly, good Sir, said the Barber, I meant no ill, Heaven is my Witness, my Intent was good; and therefore I hope your Worship will take no∣thing amiss. Whether I ought to take it amiss or no, reply'd Don Quixote, is best known to my self. Well, said the Curate, I have hardly spoken a Word yet; and before I go, I would gladly be eas'd of a Scruple, which Don Quixote's Words started within me, and which grates and gnaws my Con∣science. Mr. Curate may be free with me in great∣er Matters, said Don Quixote, and so may well tell his Scruple; for 'tis no Pleasure to have a Burden upon one's Conscience. With your leave then, Sir, said the Curate, I must tell you, that I can by no means prevail with my self to believe, that all this Multitude of Knights-Errant, which your Worship has mention'd, were ever real Men of

this World, and true substantial Flesh and Blood; but rather, that whatever is said of 'em is all Fa∣ble and Fiction, Lies and Dreams, related by Men rather half asleep than awake. This is indeed ano∣ther Mistake, said Don Quixote, into which many have been led, who do not believe there ever were any of those Knights in the World. And in seve∣ral Companies, I have many Times had occasion to vindicate that manifest Truth from the almost universal Error, that is entertain'd to its Prejudice, Sometimes my Success has not been answerable to the Goodness of my Cause, though at others is has; being supported on the Shoulders of Truth, which is so apparent, that I dare almost say, I have seen Amadis de Gaul with these very Eyes. He was a tall comely Personage, of a good and lively. Com∣plexion, his Beard well shaped and black, his As∣pect at once awful and affable: A Man of few Words, slowly provok'd, and quickly pacify'd. And, as I have given you the Picture of Amadis, I fancy I could readily delineate all the Knights-Errant that are to be met with in History: For once apprehending, as I do, that they were just such as their Histories report 'em, 'tis an easy mat∣ter to guess their Features, Statures and Complexi∣ons, by the Rules of ordinary Philosophy, and the Account we have of their Atchievements, and va∣rious Humours. Pray, good Sir, quoth the Bar∣ber, how tall then might the Giant Morgante be? Whether there ever were Giants or no, answer'd Don Quixote, is a Point much controverted among the Learned. However, the Holy Writ, that can∣not deviate an Atom from Truth, informs us there, were some, of which we have an Instance in the account it gives us of that huge Philistine, Goliah, who was seven Cubit•• and a half high; which is a prodigious Stature. Besides, in Sicily Thigh-bones

and Shoulder-bones have been found of so immense a Size, that from thence of Necessity we must conclude by the certain Rules of Geometry, that the Men to whom they belong'd were Giants, as big as huge Steeples. But, for all this, I cannot positively tell you how big Morgante was; though I am apt to believe he was not very tall, and that which makes me inclinable to believe so, is, that in the History which gives us a particular account of his Exploits, we read, that he often us'd to lie under a Roof. Now if there were any House that could hold him, 'tis evident he could not be of an extraordinary bigness. That must be granted, said the Curate, who took some Pleasure in hearing him talk at that strange Rate, and therefore ask'd him what his Sentiments were of the Faces of Rinaldo of Montalbon, Orlando, and the rest of the twelve Peers of France, who had all of 'em been Knights-Errant? As for Rinaldo, answer'd Don Quixote, I dare venture to say, he was broad-fac'd, of a rud∣dy Complexion, his Eyes sparkling and large, very Captious, extremely Cholerick, and a Favourer of Robbers and profligate Fellows. As for Rolando, Rotolando, or Orlando (for all these several Names are given him in History) I am of Opinion and as∣sure my self, that he was of a mean Stature, broad-shoulder'd, somewhat bandy-legg'd, brown-visag'd, red-bearded, very hairy on his Body, surly-look'd, no Talker, but yet very civil and good-humour'd. If Orlando was no handsomer than you tell us, said the Curate, no wonder if the fair Angelica slighted him, and preferr'd the brisk, pretty, charming, downy-chinn'd young Moor before him; neither was she to blame to neglect the Roughness of the one for the soft Embraces of the other. That An∣gelica, Mr Curate, said Don Quixote, was a dissolute Damsel, a wild flirting wanton Creature, and

somewhat capricious to boot. She left the World as full of her Impertinences as of the Fame of her Beauty. She despis'd a thousand Princes, a thou∣sand of the most valiant and discreet Knights in the whole World, and took up with a paultry beardless Page, that had neither Estate nor Honour, and who could lay Claim to no other Reputation, but that of being grateful, when he gave a Proof of his Affection to his Friend Dardinel. And indeed, even that great Extoller of her Beauty, the cele∣brated Ariosto, either not daring, or rather not de∣siring to rehearse what happen'd to Angelica, af∣ter she had so basely Prostituted her self (which Passages doubtless could not be very much to her Reputation) that very Ariosto, I say, dropp'd her Character quite, and left her with these Verses.

Perhaps some better Lyre shall sing, How Love and she made him Cataya's King.

And without doubt this was a kind of a Pro∣phecy; for the Denomination of Vates, which sig∣nifies a Prophet, is common to those whom we otherwise call Poets. Accordingly indeed this Truth has been made evident; for in Process of Time, a famous Andalusian Poet wept for her, and celebrated her Tears in Verse; and another emi∣nent and choice Poet of Castile, made her Beauty his Theme. But, pray Sir, said the Barber, among so many Poets that have written in that Lady An∣gelica's Praise, did none of 'em ever write a Satyr upon her? Had Sacripante, or Orlando been Poets, answer'd Don Quixote, I make no Question but they would have handl'd her to some purpose; for there's nothing more common than for cast Poets, when disdain'd by their feign'd or false Mistresses, to revenge themselves with Satyrs and

Lampoons; a Proceeding certainly unworthy a ge∣nerous Spirit. However, I never yet did hear of any Defamatory Verses on the Lady Angelica, tho' she made to much Mischief in the World. That's a Miracle indeed, cry'd the Curate. But here they were interrupted by a Noise below in the Yard, where the Niece and the House-keeper, who had left 'em some Time before, were very Obstrepe∣rous, which made 'em all hasten to know what was the Matter.

CHAP. II. Of the memorable Quarrel between Sancho Pança, and Don Quixote's Niece and House-keeper; with other pleasant Pas∣sages.

THE History informs us, that the Occasion of the Noise which the Niece and House-keeper made, was Sancho Pança's endeavouring to force his way into the House, while they at the same Time held the Door against him to keep him out. What have you to do in this House, ye Paunch gutted Squob, cry'd one of 'em? Go, go, keep to your own home, Friend. 'Tis all along of you, and no body else, that my poor Master is Distracted; Debauch'd, and carry'd a Rambling all the Country over. Thou House-keeper for the Devil, reply'd Sancho, 'Tis I that am Distracted, Debauch'd, and carried a Rambling, and not your Master. 'Twas ••he led me the Jaunt; for you are

wide of the Matter. 'Twas he that inveigled me from my House and Home with his Colloguing, and saying he would give me an Island, which is not come yet, and I still wait for. May'st thou be Choak'd with thy Plaguy Islands, cry'd the Niece, thou cursed Paunch! And what are your Islands? Any thing to Eat, Good-man Greedy-gut, ha? Hold you there, answer'd Sancho! They are not to Eat, but to Govern; and better Governments than any four Cities. or as many Heads of the King's best Corporations. For all that, quoth the House-keeper, thou com'st not within these Doors, thou Bundle of Wickedness, and Sack-full of Roguery! Go, govern your own House, Work you la∣zy Rogue! To the Plough, and ne'er trouble your Jolter-head about Islands or Oylets. The Curate and the Barber took a great deal of Pleasure to hear this Dialogue. But Don Quixote fearing lest Sancho should not keep within Bounds, but blun∣der-out some Discoveries prejudicial to his Repu∣tation, while he ripp'd up a pack of little foolish Slander, call'd him in, and enjoyn'd the Women to be silent Sancho enter'd, and the Curate and the Barber took leave of Don Quixote, despair∣ing of his Cure, considering how deep his folly was rooted in his Brain, and how bewitch'd he was with his silly Knight-Errantry. Well, Neigh∣bour, said the Curate to the Barber, now do I ex∣pect nothing better of our Gentleman, than to hear shortly he is gone upon another Ramble. Nor I neither, answer'd the Barber; but I don't wonder so much at the Knight's Madness, as at the Silliness of the Squire, who thinks himself so sure of the Island, that I fancy all the Art of Man cou'd never beat it out of his Scull. Heaven mend 'em, said the Curate! In the mean time let us observe 'em; we shall find what will be the Event of ••ao

Extravagance of the Knight, and the foolishess of the Squire. One wou'd think they had been cast in one Mould; and indeed the Master's Madness without the Man's Impertinence, were not worth a Rush. 'Tis so, said the Barber, and now they are together, methinks I long to know what passes between 'em. I don't doubt but the two Women will be able to give an account of that, for they are not of a Temper to withstand the Temptation of Listening. Mean while Don Quixote having Lock'd himself up with his Squre, they had the following Colloquy. I take it very ill, said he, Sancho, that you shou'd report, as you do, that I enticed you out of your paltry Hut, when you know, that I my self, left my own Mansion-House. We set out together, continu'd together, and tra∣vell'd together. We ran the same Fortune, and the same Hazards together. If thou hast been toss'd in a Blanket once, I have been batter'd and bruis'd a hundred Times, and that's all the Advan∣tage I have had above thee. And reason good, an∣swer'd Sancho; for you your self use to say, that Ill-luck and Cross-Bitings are oftner to light on the Knights than on their Squires. Thou art mis∣taken, Sancho, reply'd Don Quixote; for the Pro∣verb will tell thee, that Quando caput dolet, &c. Nay, quoth Sancho, I understand no Language but my own. I mean, said Don Quixote, that when the Head akes, all the Members partake of the Pain: So then, as I am thy Master, I am also thy Head; and as thou art my Servant, thou art one of my Members; it follows therefore, that I cannot be sensible of Pain, but thou too ought'st to be affec∣ted with it; and likewise that nothing of ill can befall thee, but I must bear a Share. Right, quoth Sancho; but yet when I, as a Limb of you, was toss'd in a Blanket, my Head was pleas'd to stay

a' t'other side the Wall, and saw me frisking in the Air, without going Snacks in my Bodily Trou∣ble. Thou art greatly mistaken, Sancho, answer'd Don Quixote, if thou think'st I was not sensible of thy Suff'rings: For I was then more Tortur'd in Mind, than thou wast tormented in Body; but let us adjourn this Discourse till some other Time, which doubtless will afford us an Opportunity to redress past Grievances I pray thee tell me now what does the Town say of me? What do the Neighbours, what do the People think of me? What say the Gentry, and the better sort? How do the Knights discourse of my Valour, my high Feats of Arms, and my courteous Behaviour? What Thoughts do they entertain of my Design to raise from the Grave of Oblivion the Order of Knight-Errantry, and restore it to the World? In short, tell me freely and sincerely whatever thou hast heard; neither enlarg'd with flattering Com∣mendations, nor lessen'd by any Omission of my Dispraise; for 'tis the Duty of Faithful Servants to lay Truth before their Masters in its Honourable Nakedness. And I would have thee know, Sancho, that if it were to appear before Princes, in its Na∣tive Simplicity, and disrobed of the odious Dis∣guise of Flattery, we should see happier Days; this Age would be chang'd into an Age of Gold, and former Times compar'd to this, would be call'd the Iron Age. Remember this, and be ad∣vis'd, that I may hear thee impart a faithful Ac∣count of these Matters. That I will, with all my Heart, answer'd Sancho, so your Worship will not take it amiss, if I tell what I have heard, just as I heard it, and neither better nor worse. Nothing shall provoke me to Anger, answer'd Don Quixote; speak freely, and without any Circumlocution. Why then, quoth Sancho, first and foremost you

are to know, that the common People take you for a downright Mad-man, and me for one that has not much Guts in his Brains. The Gentry say, that not being content to keep within the Bounds of Gentility, you have taken upon you to be a Don, and set up for a Knight, and Right Worshipful, with a small Vineyard, and two Acres of Land, a Tatter before, and another behind. The Knights forsooth, take Pepper i'th' Nose, and say, they don't like to have your small Gentry think them∣selves as good as they, especially your Old-fashion'd Country Squires that mend and Lamp-black their own Shoes, and darn ye their old black Stockings themselves with a Needleful of Green Silk. All this does not affect me, said Don Quixote, for I always wear good Cloaths, and never have 'em patch'd. 'Tis true, they may be a little torn some∣times, but that's more with my Armour than my long Wearing. As for what relates to your Prow∣ess, (said Sancho proceeding) together with your Feats of Arms, your courteous Behaviour, and your Undertaking, there are several Opinions about it. Some say he's Mad, but a pleasant sort of a Mad-man; others say he's Valiant, but his Luck is nought; others, he's Courteous, but damn'd Impertinent. And thus they spend so many Ver∣dicts upon you, and take us both so to pieces, that they leave neither you nor me a sound Bone in our Skins. Consider Sancho, said Don Quixote, that the more eminently Vertue shines, the more 'tis expos'd to the Persecution of Envy. Few or none of those Famous Heroes of Antiquity, could es∣cape the Venomous Arrows of Calumny. Julius Caesar, that most Couragious, Prudent and Valiant Captain, was mark'd, as being Ambitious, and neither so clean in his Apparel, nor in his Man∣ners as he ought to have been. Alexander, whose

mighty Deeds gain'd him the Title of the Great, was charg'd with being addicted to Drunkenness. Hercules, after his many Heroick Labours was-ac∣cus'd of Voluptuousness and Effeminacy. Don Galaor, the Brother of Amadis de Gaul, was tax'd with being Quarrelsome, and his Brother himself with being a Whining, Blubbering Lover. And therefore, my Sancho, since so many Worthies have not been free from the Attacks of Detraction, well may I be content to bear my Share of that Epide∣mical Calamity, if it be no more than thou hast told me now. Body of my Father! quoth Sancho, there's the Business; you say well, if this were all: But they don't stop here. Why, said Don Quixote, what can they say more? More, cry'd Sancho, Oddsnigs! we are still to flea the Cat's Tail. You have had nothing yet but Apple-Pies and Sugar-Plumbs. But if you have a Mind to hear all those Slanders and Back-bitings that are about Town concerning your Worship, I'll bring you one anon that shall tell you every kind of thing that's said of you, without bating you an Ace on't; Bartholomew Carrasco's Son I mean, who has been a Scholard at the Versity of Salamanca, and is got to be a Batchelor of Arts. He came last Night, you must know, and as I went to bid him welcome home, he told me, that your Wor∣ship's History is already in Books, by the Name of the most Renowned Don Quixote de la Mancha. He says I am in too, by my own Name of Sancho Pan∣ça, and eke also my Lady Dulcinea del Toboso; nay, and many things that pass'd betwixt no body but us two, which I was amaz'd to hear, and cou'd not for my Soul imagine, how the Devil he that set 'em down cou'd come by the Knowledge of 'em. I dare assure thee, Sancho, said Don Quixote, that the Author of our History must be some

Sage Inchantor, and one of those, from whose uni∣versal Knowledge, none of the things which they have a Mind to Record can be conceal'd. How should he be a Sage and an Inchanter, quoth San∣cho? The Batchelor Sampson Carrasco, for that's the Name of my Tale's Master, tells me, he that wrote the History, is call'd Cid Hamet,* 1.1 Berengenas. That's a Moorish Name, said Don Quixote. Like enough, quoth Sancho; your Moors are main Lov∣ers of Berengenas. Certainly, Sancho, said Don Quix∣ote, thou art mistaken in the Sirname of that Cid, that Lord, I mean; for Cid in Arabick, signifies Lord. That may very well be, answer'd Sancho. But if you'll have me fetch you the young Scho∣lard, I'll fly to bring him hither. Truly, Friend, said Don Quixote, thou wilt do me a particular Kindness; for what thou hast already told me, has so sill'd me with Doubts and Expectations, that I shall not eat a Bit that will do me good till I am inform'd of the whole Matter. I'll go and fetch him, said Sancho. With that, leaving his Master, he went to look for the Batchelor, and having brought him along with him a while after, they all had a very pleasant Dialogue.

CHAP. III. The pleasant Discourse between Don Quix∣ote, Sancho Pança, and the Batchelor Sampson Carrasco.

DON Quixote remain'd strangely pensive, ex∣pecting the Batchelor Carrasco, from whom he hop'd to hear News of himself, Recorded and Printed in a Book, as Sancho had inform'd him: He could not be perswaded that there was such a History extant, while yet the Blood of those Ene∣mies he had cut off had scarce done reeking on the Blade of his Sword; so that they could not have already finish'd and printed the History of his Mighty Feats of Arms. However, at last he con∣cluded, that some Learned Sage had, by the way of Inchantment, been able to commit them to the Press, either as a Friend, to extol his Heroick At∣chievements above the Noblest Performances of the most Famous Knights-Errant, or as an Enemy, to fully and annihilate the Lustre of his great Ex∣ploits, and debase 'em below the most inferiour Actions that ever were mention'd of any of the meanest Squires. Though (thought he to himself) the Actions of Squires were never yet Recorded; and after all, if there were such a Book Printed, since it was the History of a Knight-Errant, it could not chuse but be Pompous, Lofty, Magni∣ficent and Authentick. This Thought yielded him a while some small Consolation; but then he relaps'd into Melancholick Doubts and Anxieties,

when he consider'd that the Author had given himself the Title of Cid, and consequently must be a Moor: A Nation from whom no Truth could be expected, they all being given to impose on others with Lies and fabulous Stories, to Falsify and Counterfeit, and very fond of their own Chi∣mera's. He was not less uneasie, lest that Writer should have been too lavish in treating of his A∣mours, to the Prejudice of his Lady Dulcinea del Toboso's Honour. He earnestly wish'd, that he might find his own inviolable Fidelity celebrated in the History, and the Reservedness and Decency which he had always so Religiously observed in his Passion for her; slighting Queens, Empresses, and Damsels of every degree for her sake, and sup∣pressing the dangerous impulses of natural Desire. Sancho and Carrasco found him thus agitated and perplex'd with a thousand melancholick Fancies, which yet did not hinder him from receiving the Stranger with a great deal of Civility.

This Batchelour, though his Name were Samp∣son, was none of the biggest in Body, but a very great Man at all manner of Drollery; he had a Pale and bad Complexion, but good Sense. He was about four and twenty years of Age, round Visag'd, flat Nos'd, and wide Mouth'd, all signs of a malicious Disposition, and of one that would delight in nothing more than in making Sport for himself, by Ridiculing others; as he plainly dis∣cover'd when he saw Don Quixote. For, falling on his Knees before him, admit me to kiss your Honour's Hand, cry'd he, most Noble Don Quix∣ote; for by the Habit of St. Peter, which I wear, (though indeed I have as yet taken but the four first of the Holy Orders) you are certainly one of the most Renowned Knights-Errant that ever was, or ever will be through the whole extent of the

habitable Globe. Blest, may the Sage Cid Hamet Benengeli be, for inriching the World with the History of your mighty Deeds; and more than Blest, that curious Virtuoso, who took care to have it Translated out of the Arabick into our vulgar Tongue, for the universal Entertainment of Mankind! Sir, said Don Quixote, making him rise, is it then possible that my History is extant, and that it was a Moor, and one of the Sages that Penn'd it? 'Tis so notorious a Truth, said the Batchelour, that I do not in the least doubt but at this Day there have already been Publish'd a∣bove twelve thousand Copies of it. Portugal, Barce∣lona, and Valencia, where they have been Printed, can Witness that, if there were occasion. 'Tis said, that 'tis also now in the Press at Antwerp. And I verily believe there's scarce a Language into which it is not to be Translated. Truly, Sir, said Don Quixote, one of the things that ought to yield the greatest Satisfaction to a Person of emi∣nent Virtue, is to live to see himself in good Re∣putation in the World, and his Actions publish'd in Print. I say in good Reputation, for otherwise there's no Death but would be preferable to such a Life. As for a good Name and Reputation, re∣ply'd Carrasco, your Worship has gain'd the Palm from all the Knight-Errants that ever liv'd: For, both the Arabian in his History, and the Christian in his Version, have been very Industrious to do Justice to your Character; your peculiar Gallan∣try, your Intrepidity and greatness of Spirit in af∣fronting Danger; your Constancy in Adversities, your Patience in suffering Wounds and Afflictions; your Modesty and Continence in that Amour, so very Platonick, between your Worship and my Lady Donna Dulcinea del Toboso. Odsbobs! cry'd Sancho, I never heard her call'd so before, that

Donna is a new kick; for she us'd to be call'd only my Lady Dulcinea del Toboso; in that, the History is out already. That's no material Objection, said Carrasco. No, certainly, added Don Quixote; But pray, good Mr. Batchelor, on which of all my Adventures does the History seem to lay the greatest stress of Remark? As to that, answer'd Carrasco, the Opinions of Men are divided accord∣ing to their Tastes: Some cry up the Adventure of the Wind-mills, which appear'd to your Wor∣ship so many Briareus's and Giants. Some are for that of the Fulling-mills: Others stand up for the Description of the two Armies, that afterwards prov'd two Flocks of Sheep. Others prize most the Adventure of the dead Corps that was carry∣ing to Segovia. One says that none of them can compare with that of the Galley-Slaves; another, that none can stand in Competition with the Ad∣venture of the Benedictine Giants and the Valorous Biscayner. Pray, Mr. Batchelor, quoth Sancho, is there nothing said of that of the Yanguesians, an't please you, when our precious Rozinante was so Mawl'd for offering to take a little Carnal Recrea∣tion with their Mares? There's not the least thing omitted, answer'd Carrasco; the Sage has in∣serted all with the nicest punctuality imaginable; so much as the Capers which honest Sancho fetch'd in the Blanket. I fetch'd none in the Blanket quoth Sancho, but in the Air; and that too, oftner than I cou'd ha' wish'd, the more my Sorrow. In my Opinion, said Don Quixote, there is no man∣ner of History in the World, where you shall not find variety of Fortune; much less any Story of Knight-Errantry, where a Man cannot always be sure of good Success. However, said Carrasco, some who have read your History, wish that the Author had spar'd himself the pains of Regist'ring

some of that infinite number of Drubs which the Noble Don Quixote receiv'd. There lies the Truth of the History, quoth Sancho. Those things in human Equity, said Don Quixote, might very well have been omitted; for Actions that neither impair nor alter the History, ought rather to be bury'd in Silence than related, if they redound to the Discredit of the chief Person. Certainly Aeneas was never so Pious as Virgil represents him, nor Ulysses so Prudent as he is made by Homer. I am of your Opinion said Carrasco; but 'tis one thing to write like a Poet, and another thing to write like an Historian. 'Tis sufficient for the first to deliver matters as they ought to have been, whereas the last must relate 'em as they were really transacted, without adding or omitting any thing, upon any pretence whatever. Well, quoth Sancho, if this same Moorish Lord be once got into the Road of Truth, a hundred to one but among my Master's Rib-roastings he has not forgot mine; for they never took Measure of his Worship's Shoulders, but they were pleas'd to do as much for my whole Body: But 'twas no Wonder; for 'tis his own Rule, that if once his Head aches, every Limb must suffer too. Sancho, said Don Quixote, you are an arch unlucky Knave; upon my Honour you can find Memory when you have a mind to have it. Nay, quoth Sancho, though I were minded to forget the Rubs and Drubs I ha' suffer'd, the Bumps and Tokens that are yet fresh on my Ribs would not let me. Hold your Tongue, said Don Quixote, and let the Learned Batchelor proceed, that I may know what the History says of me. And of me too, quoth Sancho, for they tell me I am one of the top Parsons in't. Persons, you should say, Sancho, said Carrasco, and not Par∣sons. Hey-day! quoth Sancho, have we got ano∣ther

Corrector of hard Words. If this be the Trade, we shall never ha' done. May I be curs'd, said Carrasco, if you be not the second Person in the History, honest Sancho; nay, and some there are who had rather hear you talk than the best there; though some there are again that will say, you were horribly Credulous to flatter your self with having the Government of that Island, which your Master here present promis'd you. While there's Life there's Hope, said Don Quixote; when Sancho is grown Mature with Time and Experi∣ence, he may be better qualify'd for a Govern∣ment, than he is yet. Odsbodikins! Sir, quoth Sancho, if I been't fit to Govern an Island at these Years, I shall never be a Governor, though I live to the Years of Methusalah; but there the Mis∣chief lies, we have Brains enough, but we want the Island. Come, Sancho, said Don Quixote, hope for the best; trust in Providence; all will be well, and perhaps better than you imagine: But know, there's not a Leaf on any Tree that can be mov'd without the permission of Heaven. That's very true, said Carrasco; and I dare say, Sancho shall not want a thousand Islands to Go∣vern, much less one, that is, if it be Heaven's Will. Why not, quoth Sancho? I ha' seen Go∣vernors in my time, who, to my thinking, could not come up to me passing the Sole of my Shooes, and yet forsooth, they call'd them your Honour, and they eat their Victuals all in Silver. Ay, said Carrasco, but these were none of your Governors of Islands, but of other easie Governments: Why, Man, these ought at least to know their Gram∣mar. Ay, ay, quoth Sancho, give me but a gray Mare once, and I shall know her well enough, I'll warrant ye. But leaving the Government in the Hands of him that will best provide for me, I

must tell you, Master Batchelor Sampson Carrasco, I am huge glad that as your Author has not forgot me, so he has not given an Ill Character of me; for by the Faith of a trusty Squire, had he said any thing that did not become* 1.2 an Old Christian as I am, I had rung him such a Peal, that the Deaf should have heard me. That were a Mira∣cle, said Carrasco. Miracle me no more Miracles, cry'd Sancho, let every Man take care how he talks, or how he writes of other Men, and not set down at Random, Higgle-de-piggledy, what ever comes into his Noddle. One of the faults found with this History, said Carrasco, is, that the Au∣thor has thrust into't a Novel, which he calls The Curious Impertinent; not that 'tis ill Writ; or the Design of it to be mislik'd; but because it is not in its right place, and has no coherence with the Story of Don Quixote. I'll lay my Life, quoth Sancho, the Son of a Mungrel has made a Galli∣mawfry of it all. Now, said Don Quixote, I per∣ceive that he who attempted to write my History, is not one of the Sages, but some ignorant prating Fool, who would needs be meddling and set up for a Scribbler, without the least grain of Judg∣ment to help him out; and so he has done like Orbaneja, the Painter of Ubeda, who being ask'd what he Painted, answer'd, as it may hit; and when he had scrawl'd out a Mis-shapen Cock, was forc'd to write underneath it in Gothick Letters, This is a Cock. At this rate, I believe he has per∣form'd in my History, so that it will require a Commentary to explain it. Not at all, answer'd Carrasco, for he has made every thing so plain,

that there's not the least thing in't but what any one may understand. Children handle it, Young∣sters read it, Men understand it, and Old People Applaud it. In short, 'tis universally so thumb'd, so glean'd, so studi'd, and so known, that if the People do but see a Lean Horse, they presently cry, there goes Rozinante. But none apply them∣selves to the reading it more than your Pages: There's ne'er a Nobleman's Antichamber where you shan't find a Don Quixote. No sooner has one laid it down, but another takes it up. One asks for it here, and there 'tis snatch'd up by another. In a Word, 'tis esteem'd the most Pleasant and least Dangerous Diversion that ever was seen, as being a Book that does not betray the least indecent Ex∣pression, nor so much as a profane Thought. To write after another manner, said Don Quixote, were not to write Truth but Falshood; and those His∣torians who are guilty of that, should be punish'd like those who Counterfeit the Lawful Coin. But I cannot conceive what could move the Author to stuff his History with Foreign Novels and Ad∣ventures, not at all to the Purpose, while there was a sufficient Number of my own to have exer∣cis'd his Pen. Without doubt they should observe the Proverb. Ne'er stuff the Cushion with Straw, if you have Down enough. And certainly, had he alto∣gether confin'd himself to my Thoughts, my Sighs, my Tears, my laudable Designs, my Adventures, he might yet have swell'd his Book to as great a Bulk at least as all Tostatus's Works. I have also reason to believe, Mr Batchelor, that to compile a History or write any Book whatsoever, is a more difficult Task than Men imagine. There's need of a vast Judgement and a ripe Understanding. It belongs to none but great Genius's to express themselves with Grace and Elegance, and draw

the Manners and Actions of others to the Life. The most Artful Part in a Play is the Fool's, and therefore a Fool must not pretend to write it. On the other side, History is in a manner a sacred thing, so far as it contains Truth; for where Truth is, the Supreme Father of it may also be said to be, at least in as much as concerns Truth. However there are Men, that will make you Books and turn 'em loose into the World, with as much dispatch as they would do a Dish of Fritters. There's no Book so bad, said the Batchelor, but some good thing may be found in it. That's true, said Don Quixote, yet 'tis a common thing for Men, who had gain'd a very great Reputation by their Writings, before they Printed them, to lose it afterwards quite, or at least the greatest part. The Reason's plain, said Carrasco, their Faults are more easily discover'd after their Books are Printed, as being then more read, and more narrowly exa∣min'd; the rather if the Author has been much cry'd up before, the severity of the scrutiny is so much the greater. All those that have rais'd themselves a Name by their Ingenuity, great Poets and Celebrated Historians, are most commonly, if not always, envy'd by a sort of Men, who delight in Censuring the Writings of others, though they never Publish'd any of their own. That's no Wonder, said Don Quixote, for there are many Di∣vines, that could make but very dull Preachers, and yet are very quick at finding faults and superflui∣ties in other Men's Sermons. All this is truth, reply'd Carrasco; and therefore I could wish these Censurers would be more merciful and less scru∣pulous, and not dwell ungenerously upon small Spots, that are in a manner but so many Atoms on the Face of the clear Sun which they murmur at. Si aliquando bonus dormitat Homerus, let 'em

consider how many Nights he kept himself awake to bring his Noble Works to light as little darken'd with Defects as might be. Nay, many times it may happen that what is Censur'd for a Fault is rather an Ornament, like Moles that sometimes add to the Beauty of the Face. And when all is said, he that Publishes a Book runs a very great Hazard, since nothing can be more impossible than to compose one that may secure the Approbation of every Reader. Sure, said Don Quixote, that which treats of me can have pleas'd but few. Quite contrary, said Carrasco, for as Stultorum in∣finitus est numerus, so an infinite Number has admir'd your History. Only some there are who have tax'd the Author with want of Memory or Sin∣cerity; because he has forgot to give an account, who it was that stole Sancho's Dapple; for that Particular is not mention'd there; only we find by the Story that it was stol'n; and yet by and by we find him riding the same Ass again, without any previous light given us into the matter. Then they say, that the Author forgot to tell the Reader, what Sancho did with those hundred pieces of Gold he found in the Portmanteau in Sierra Morena; for there's not a Word said of 'em more; and many People have a great mind to know what he did with 'em, and how he spent 'em; which is one of the most material Points, in which the Work is defective. Master Sampson, quoth Sancho, I an't now in a condition to cast up my Accompts, for I'm taken ill of a sudden with such a wambling in the Stomach, and find my self so maukish, that if I don't see and fetch it up with a sup or two of good old Bub, I shall waste like the snuff of a farthing Candle. I have that Cordial at home, and my Chuck stays for me. When I have had my Dinner, I am for you, and will satisfy you,

or any Man that wears a Head, about any thing in the World, either as to the Loss of the Ass, or the laying out of those same Pieces of Gold. This said, without a Word more, or waiting for a Reply, away he went. Don Quixote desir'd and entreated the Batchelor to stay and do Pennance with him. The Batchelor accepted his Invitation, and stay'd. A Couple of Pigeons were got ready to mend their Commons. All Dinner-time they discours'd about Knight-Errantry, Carrasco hu∣mouring him all the while. After they had slept out the Heat of the Day, Sancho came back, and they renew'd their former Discourse.

CHAP. IV. Sancho Pança satisfies the Batchelor Samp∣son Carrasco in his Doubts and Queries, With other Passages fit to be known and re∣lated.

SAncho return'd to Don Quixote's House, and beginning again where he left off; Now, quoth he, as to what Master Sampson wanted to know, that is, when, where, and by whom my Ass was stol'n? I answer, That the very Night that we march'd off to the Sierra Morena, to avoid the Hue and Cry of the Holy Brotherhood, after the rueful Adventure of the Galley-Slaves, and that of the dead Body that was carrying to Sego∣via, my Master and I slunk into a Wood; where he leaning on his Lance, and I, without alighting

from Dapple, both saddly bruis'd and tir'd with our late Skirmishes, fell fast asleep, and slept as soundly as if we had had four Feather-beds under us; but I especially was as serious at it as any Dor∣mouse; so that the Thief, whoever he was, had Leisure enough to clap four Stakes under the four Corners of the Pack-Saddle, and then leading a∣way the Ass from between my Legs, without be∣ing perceiv'd by me in the least, there he fairly left me mounted. This is no new thing, said Don Quixote, nor is it difficult to be done: With the same Stratagem Sacripante had his Steed stol'n from under him by that notorious Thief Brunelo at the Siege of Albraca. It was broad Day, said Sancho, going on, when I, half awake and half asleep, began to stretch my self in my Pack-saddle; but with my Stirring down came the Stakes, and down came I souse, with a confounded Squelch on the Ground. Presently I look'd for my Ass, but no Ass was to be found. Oh how thick the Tears trickl'd from my Eyes, and what a piteous Moan I made! If he that made our History has forgot to set it down Word for Word, I wou'd not give a Rush for his Book, I'll tell him that. Some Time after, I can't just tell you how long it was, as we were going with my Lady the Princess Mi∣comicona, I knew my Ass again, and he that rid him, though he went like a Gypsy; and who shou'd it be, d'ye think, but Gines de Passamonte, that Son of Mischief, that Crack-Rope, whom my Master and I sav'd from the Galleys. The Mistake does not lie there, said Carrasco; but only that the Author sets you upon the same Ass that was lost, before he gives an Account of his being found. As to that, reply'd Sancho, I don't know very well what to say. If the Man made a Blun∣der who can help it? But mayhaps 'twas a Fault

of the Printer. I make no Question of that, said Carrasco; but pray what became of the hundred Pieces? were they sunk? I fairly spent 'em on my self, quoth Sancho, and on my Wife and Chil∣dren; they help'd me to lay my Spouse's Clack, and made her take so patiently my rambling and trotting after my Master Don Quixote; for had I come back with empty Pockets, and without my Ass, I must have look'd for a rueful Greeting. And now if you have any more to say to me, here am I, ready to answer the King himself; for what has any Body to meddle or make whether I found or found not, or spent or spent not? If the Knocks and Swadlings that have been bestow'd on my Carcass in our Jaunts, were to be rated but at three Maravedis apiece, and I to be satisfy'd Ready-Cash for every one, a hundred Pieces of Gold more would not pay for half of them; and therefore let every Man lay his Finger on his Mouth, and not run Hand over Head, and mistake Black for White and White for Black; for every Man is as Heaven made him, and sometimes a great deal worse. Well, said the Batchelor, if the Author prints another Edition of the History, I'll take special Care he shan't forget to insert what honest Sancho has said, which will make the Book as good again. Pray, good Mr. Batchelor, ask'd Don Quix∣ote, are there any other Emendations requisite to be made in this History? Some there are, an∣swer'd Carrasco, but none of so much Importance as those already mention'd. Perhaps the Author promises a Second Part, said Don Quixote? He does, said Carrasco; but he says he cannot find it, neither can he discover who has it: So that we doubt whether it will come out or no; as well for this Reason, as because some People say that Second Parts are never worth any thing, others cry

there's enough of Don Quixote already: However many of those that love Mirth better than Me∣lancholy, cry out, Give us more Quixotery; let but Don Quixote appear, and Sancho talk, be it what it will, we are satisfy'd. And how stands the Au∣thor affected? said the Knight. Truly, answer'd Carrasco, as soon as ever he can find out the Histo∣ry, which he is now looking for with all imagina∣ble Industry, he is resolv'd to send it immediately to the Press, though more for his own Profit than through any Ambition of Applause. What, quoth San∣cho, does he design to do it to get a Penny by't? nay, then we are like to have a rare History indeed, we shall have him botch and whip it up, like your Tay∣lors on Easter-Eve, and give us a Huddle of Flim-flams that will never hang together; for your hasty Work can never be done as it should be. Let Mr. Moor take Care how he goes to work; for, my Life for his, I and my Master will stock him with such a Heap of Stuff in Matter of Adventures and odd Chances, that he'll have enough not only to write a Second Part but an hundred. The poor Fellow, belike, thinks we do nothing but sleep on a Hay-mow; but let us once put Foot into the Stirrup, and he'll see what we are about: This at least I'll be bold to say, that if my Master would be rul'd by me, we had been in the Field by this Time, undoing of Misdeeds and righting of Wrongs, as good Knights-Errant use to do. Scarce had Sancho made an End of his Discourse, when Rozinante's Neighing reach'd their Ears. Don Quix∣ote took it for a lucky Omen, and resolv'd to take another Turn within three or four Days. He dis∣cover'd his Resolutions to the Batchelor, and con∣sulted him to know which Way he shou'd steer his Course. The Batchelor advis'd him to take the Road of Saragosa in the Kingdom of Arragon, a so∣lemn

Tournament being shortly to be perform'd at that City on St. George's Festival; where by worsting all the Arragonian Champions he might win immortal Honour, since to out-tilt them would be to out-rival all the Knights in the Universe. He also applauded his Design, but withal admo∣nish'd him not to be so desperate in exposing him∣self to Dangers, since his Life was not his own, but theirs who in Distress stood in want of his Assistance and Protection. That's it now, quoth Sancho, that makes me sometimes ready to run mad, Mr. Batchelor; for my Master makes no more to set upon an hundred armed Men, than a young hungry Taylor to guttle down half a Dozen of Cucumbers. Body of me! Master Batchelor, there's a Time to retreat as well as a Time to as∣sail; Sant Jago and hey for the Honour of Spain must not always be the Cry: For I've heard Somebody say, and, if I an't mistaken, 'twas my Master him∣self, that Valour lies just half-way between Rash∣ness and Cowheartedness; and if it be so, I would not have him run away without there's a Reason for't, nor would I have him fall on when there's no Good to be got by't. But above all things I wou'd have him to know, if he has a Mind I shou'd go with him, that the Bargain is he shall fight for us both, and that I am ty'd to nothing but to look after him and his Victuals and Cloaths: So far as this comes to, I will fetch and carry like any Water-Spaniel; but to think I'll lug out my Sword, though it be but against poor Rogues, and sorry Shirks, and Hedge-birds, y'troth I must beg his Diversion. For my Part, Mr. Batchelor, 'tis not the Fame of being thought valiant that I aim at, but that of being deem'd the very best and trustiest Squire that ever follow'd the Heels of a Knight-Errant: And if, after all my Services, my

Master Don Quixote will be so kind as to give me one of those many Islands which his Worship says he shall light on, I shall be much beholding to him; but if he does not, why then I am born, d'ye see, and one Man must not live to rely on a∣nother, but on his Maker. Mayhaps the Bread I shall eat without Government, will go down more savourily than if I were a Governour; and what do I know but that the Devil is providing me one of these Governments for a Stumbling-block, that I may stumble and fall, and so break my Jaws, and ding out my Butter-Teeth. I was born Sancho, and Sancho I mean to die; and yet for all that, if fairly and squarely, with little Trouble and less Danger, Hea∣ven would bestow on me an Island, or some such-like Matter, I'm no such Fool neither, d'ye see, as to refuse a good thing when 'tis offer'd me. No, I remember the old Saying, When the Ass is given thee, run and take him by the Halter; and when good Luck knocks at thy Door, let him in, and keep him there. My Friend Sancho, said Carrasco, you have spoken like any University-Professor: However trust in Heav'ns Bounty, and the noble Don Quixote, and he may not only give thee an I∣sland, but even a Kingdom. One as likely as the other, quoth Sancho; and yet let me tell you, Mr. Batchelor, the Kingdom which my Master is to give me, you shan't find it thrown into an old Sack; for I have felt my own Pulse, and find my self sound enough to rule Kingdoms and govern I∣slands; I ha' told my Master as much before now. Have a Care Sancho, said Carrasco, Honours change Manners; perhaps when you come to be a Gover∣nour you will scarce know your own Mother. This, said Sancho, may happen to those that were born in a Ditch, but not to those whose Souls are co∣ver'd, as mine is, four Fingers thick with good old

Christian Fat. No, do but think how good-condi∣tion'd I be, and then you need not fear I shou'd do dirtily by any one. Grant it good Heaven, said Don Quixote! we shall see when the Government comes, and methinks I have it already before my Eyes. After this he desir'd the Batchelor, if he were a Poet, to oblige him with some Verses on his design'd Departure from his Mistress Dulcinea del Toboso, every Verse to begin with one of the Let∣ters of her Name, so that joining every first Letter of every Verse together, they might make Dulcinea del Toboso. The Batchelor told him, that though he were none of the famous Poets of Spain, who, they say, were but three and a half, he would endeavour to make that Acrostick; though he was sensible this would be no easy Task, there being seventeen Letters in the Name; so that if he made four Stanzas of four Verses apiece, there wou'd be a Letter too much; and if he made his Stanzas of five Lines, so as to make a double Decima or a Re∣dondilla, there wou'd be three Letters too little; however he wou'd strive to drown a Letter, and so take in the whole Name in sixteen Verses. Let it be so by any Means, said Don Quixote, for no Woman will believe that those Verses were made for her where her Name is not plainly to be di∣scern'd. After this 'twas agreed they should set out within a Week. Don Quixote charg'd the Bat∣chelor not to speak a Word of all this, especially to the Curate, Mr. Nicholas the Barber, his Niece, and his House-keeper, lest they shou'd obstruct his honourable and valorous Design. Carrasco gave him his Word, and having desir'd Don Quixote to send an Account of his good or bad Success at his Conveniency, took his Leave, and left him; and Sancho went to get every thing ready for his Jour∣ney.

CHAP. V. The Wise and Pleasant Dialogue between San∣cho Pança, and Teresa Pança his Wife: Together with other Passages worthy of Happy Memory.

THE Translator of this History, being come to this fifth Chapter, thinks fit to inform the Reader, that he holds it to be Apocryphal; be∣cause it introduces Sancho speaking in another Style than could be expected from his slender Capacity, and saying things of so refin'd a Nature, that it seems impossible he cou'd know 'em. However, he thought himself oblig'd to render it in our Tongue, to maintain the Character of a faithful Translator, and therefore he goes on in this manner.

Sancho came home so Chearful and so Merry, that his Wife read his Joy in his Looks as far as she cou'd see him. Being impatient to know the Cause, My Dear, cry'd she, what makes you so Merry? I shou'd be more Merry, my Chuck, quoth Sancho, wou'd but Heaven so order it, that I were not so well pleas'd as I seem to be. You speak Riddles Husband quoth she; I don't know what you mean by saying, you should be more merry if you were not so well pleas'd; for, tho' I am silly enough, I can't think a Man can take Pleasure in not being Pleas'd. Look ye, Teresa, quoth Sancho, I am Merry, because, I am once more going to serve my Master Don Quixote, who is resolv'd to have t'other Frolick, and go a hunting after Adventures, and I must go with him; for he needs must, whom the Devil drives.

What should I lie starving at home for? The Hopes of finding another Parcel of Gold like that we spent, rejoices the Cockles of my Heart: But then it grieves me to leave thee, and those sweet Babes of ours; and wou'd Heaven but be pleas'd to let me live at home dry-shod, in Peace and Quietness, without gadding over Hill and Dale, through Brambles and Briars (as Heaven might well do with small Cost, if it wou'd, and with no manner of Trouble, but only to be wiling it should be so) why then 'tis a clear case that my Mirth wou'd be more firm and sound, since my present Gladness is mingl'd with a Sorrow to part with thee. And so I think I have made out what I have said, that I should be Mer∣rier if I did not seem so well pleas'd. Look you, Sancho, quoth the Wife, ever since you have been a Member of a Knight-Errant, you talk so round a∣bout the Bush, that no body can understand you. 'Tis enough, quoth Sancho, that he understands me who understands all things; and so scatter no more Words about it, Spouse. But be sure you look carefully after Dapple for these three Days, that he may be in good Case, and fit to bear Arms; dou∣ble his Pittance, look out his Pannel and all his Harness, and let every thing be set to rights; for we are not going to a Wedding, but to roam about the World, and to make our Party good with Gi∣ants, and Dragons, and Hobgoblins, and to hear nothing but hissing, and yelling, and roaring, and howling, and bellowing; all which wou'd yet be but Sugar-Plumbs, if we were not to meet with Yanguesian Carriers, and Inchanted Moors. Nay, as for that, Husband, quoth Teresa, I am apt enough to think you Squires-Errant don't eat their Mas∣ter's Bread for nothing, and therefore it shall be my daily Prayer that you may quickly be freed from that plaguy Trouble. Troth, Wife, quoth

Sancho, were not I in hopes to see my self e'er it be long, Governour of an Island, o' my Conscience I shou'd drop down Dead on the Spot. Not so, my Chicken, quoth the Wife, Let the Hen live, though it be with Pip. Do thou live, and let all the Go∣vernments in the World go to the Devil. Thou cam'st out of thy Mother's Belly without Govern∣ment, thou hast liv'd hitherto without Govern∣ment, and thou may'st be carry'd to thy long Home without Government, when it shall please the Lord. How many People in this World live with∣out Government, yet do well enough, and are well look'd upon? There's no Sauce in the World like Hunger, and as the Poor never want that, they al∣ways eat with a good Stomach. But look ye, my Precious, if it shou'd be thy good Luck to get a Government, prithee don't forget your Wife and Children. Take notice that little Sancho is already full fifteen, and 'tis thought fit he go to School, if his Uncle the Abbot mean to leave him something in the Church. Then there's Mary Sancha, your Daughter; I dare say the Burden of Wedlock will never be the Death of her, for I shrewdly guess, she longs as much for a Husband, as you do for a Government; and when all comes to all, better my Daughter ill Marry'd, than well kept. I good footh! Wife, quoth Sancho, if it be Heaven's bles∣sed Will that I get any thing by Government, I'll see and Match Mary Sancha so well, that she shall, at least, be call'd my Lady. By no means, Hus∣band, cry'd the Wife, let her Match with her Match: If from clouted Shooes you set her upon high Heels, and from her Coarse Russet Coat you put her into a Fardingale, and from plain Moll and Thee and Thou, go to call her Madam, and your La∣dyship, the poor Girl won't know how to behave herself, but will every foot make a Thousand Blun∣ders,

and shew her home-spun Country-Breeding. Tush! Fool, answer'd Sancho, 'twill be but two or three Years Prenticeship; and then you'll see how strangely she'll alter, your Ladyship and keep∣ing of State will become her, as if they had been made for her; and suppose they should not, what is it to any Body? Let her but be a Lady, and let what will happen. Good Sancho, quoth the Wife, don't look above your self; I say, keep to the Pro∣verb, that says, Birds of a Feather flock together. 'Twould be a fine thing, e'trow! for us to go and throw away our Child on one of your Lordlings, or Right Worshipfuls, who, when the Toy shou'd take him in the Head, would find new Names for her, and call her Country Joan, Plough-Jobber's Bearn, and Spinster's Web. No, no, Husband, I han't bred the Girl up as I ha' done, to throw her away at that rate, I'll warrant ye. Do thee but bring home Money, and leave me to get her a Husband. Why, there's Lope Tocho, old John Tocho's Son, a hale jolly young Fellow, and one whom we all know, I have observ'd he casts a Sheep's Eye at the Wench, he's one of our Inches, and will be a good Match for her; then we shall always have her under our Wings, and be all as one, Father and Mother, Children and Grand-Children, and Heaven's Peace and Blessing will always be with us. But ne'er talk to me of Marrying her at your Courts, and Great Men's Houses, where she'll understand no body, and no body will understand her. Why, thou Beast, cry'd Sancho, thou Wife for Barrabas, why dost thou hinder me from Marrying my Daughter to one that will get me Grand-Children that may he call'd your Honour and your Lordship? Han't I always heard my Betters say, That he who will not when he may, when he will he shall have nay? When good Luck is knocking at our Door, is't fit

to shut him out? No, no, let us make Hay while the Sun shines, and spread our Sails before this prosperous Gale. [This Mode of Locution, and the following Huddle of Reflexions and Apoph∣thegms, said to have been spoken by Sancho, made the Translator of this History say, he held this Chapter Apocryphal.] Canst thou not perceive, thou senseless Animal, said Sancho going on, that I shall venture over Head and Ears to light on some good gainful Government, that may free our Ancles from the Clog of Necessity, and Marry Mary Sancha to whom I please? Then thoul't see how Folks will call thee my Lady Teresa Pança, and thou'lt sit in the Church with thy Carpets and Cushions, and lean and loll in State, though the best Gentlewoman in the Town burst with Spight and Envy. No, no, remain as you are, still in the same Posture, neither higher nor lower, like a Pic∣ture in the Hangings Go to, let's have no more of this, little Sancha shall be a Countess in spight of thy Teeth, I say. Well, well, Husband, quoth the Wife, have a Care what you say, for I fear me these high Kicks will be my Molly's undoing. Yet do what you will, make her a Dutchess or a Prin∣cess, but I'll never give my Consent. Look ye, Yoke-Fellow, for my part, I ever lov'd to see eve∣ry thing upon the square, and can't abide to see Folks take upon them when they should not. I was Christen'd plain Teresa, without any Fiddle-faddle, or Addition of Madam, or your Ladyship. My Father's Name was Cascajo; and because I Married you, they call me Teresa Pança, though in∣deed by right I should have been call'd Teresa Cas∣cajo: But where the Kings are, there are the Laws; and I am e'en contented with that Name without a Flourish before it, to make it longer and more tedious than 'tis already; neither will I make my

self any body's Laughing-stock. I'll give 'em no Cause to cry, (when they see me go like a Countess, or a Governour's Madam,) Look, look, how Madam Hog-wash struts along! 'Twas but t'other Day she'd tug ye a Distaff, capp'd with Hemp, from Morning till Night, and would go to Mass with her Coat over her Head for want of a Hood; yet now look how she goes in her Fardingale; and her rich Trimmings and Fallals, no less than a whole Tradesman's Shop about her mangy Back, as if e∣very body did not know her. No, Husband, if it please Heaven but to keep me in my seven Senses, or my five, or as many as I have, I'll take Care to tye up People's Tongues from setting me out at this rate. You may go, and be a Governour, or an Islander, and look as big as Bull-Beef an you will; but by my Grand-mother's Daughter, neither I nor my Girl will budge a Foot from our Thatch'd House. Better a broken Leg than a Crack in my Credit; and let them seek for Jointures who can't work with their ten Fingers. March you and your Don Quixote together, to your Islands and Adventures, and leave us here to our sorry For∣tune: I'll warrant you Heaven will better it, if we live as we ought to do. I wonder tho' who made him a Don; neither his Father nor his Grandsire ever had that Feather in their Caps. The Lord help thee, Woman! quoth Sancho, what a heap of Stuff hast thou twisted together without Head or Tail! What have thy Cascajo's, thy Far∣dingales and Fallals, thy old Saws, and all this Tale of a roasted Horse, to do with what I have said? Hark thee me, Gammer Addlepate, (for I can find no better Name for thee, since thou'rt such a blind Buzzard as to miss my Meaning, and stand in thy own Light) should I ha' told thee that my Girl was to throw herself Head foremost from the

top of some Steeple, or to trot about the World like a Gypsie, or, as the Infanta Donna Urraca did, then thou might'st have some Reason not to be of my Mind. But if in the twinkling of an Eye, and while one might toss a Pan-cake, I clap you a Don and a Ladyship upon the back of her; if I fetch her out of her Straw, to sit under a Stately Bed's-Teaster; and squat her down on more Velvet-Cushions, then all the Almohada's of Morocco had Moors in their Generation, why should'st thou be against it, and not be pleas'd with what pleases me? Shall I tell you why, Husband, answer'd Teresa; 'tis because of the Proverb, He that covers thee, discovers thee. A poor Man is scarce minded, but every one's Eyes will stare upon the Rich; and if that rich Man has formerly been Poor, this sets others a grumbling and back-biting; and your evil Tongues will ne'er ha' done, but swarm about the Streets like Bees, and buz their Stories into People's Ears. Look you, Teresa, said Sancho, mind what I say to thee, I'll tell thee things that perhaps thou ne'er heard'st of in thy Life: Nor do I speak of my own Head, but what I heard from that good Father who Preach'd i' our Town all last Lent. He told us, if I an't mistaken, that all those things which we see before our Eyes do appear, hold and exist in our Memories much bet∣ter, and with a greater stress than things pass'd. [All these Reasons which are here offer'd by Sancho, are another Argument to perswade the Translator to hold this Chapter for Apocryphal, as exceeding the Capacity of Sancho.] From thence it arises, said Sancho, going on, that when we happen to see a Person well Dress'd, richly Equipp'd, and with a great Train of Servants, we find our selves mov'd and prompted to pay him Respect, in a manner, in spight of our Teeth, tho' at that very moment our

Memory makes us call to remembrance some low Circumstances, in which we had seen that Person before. Now this Ignominy, be it either by reason of his Poverty, or mean Parentage, as 'tis already pass'd, is no more, and only that which we see before our Eyes remains. So then, if this Person, whom Fortune has rais'd to that heighth out of his former Obscurity, by his Father's means, be well-bred, Generous and Civil to all Men, and does not affect to vye with those that are of noble Descent, assure thy self, Teresa, no body will re∣member what he was, but look upon him as what he is, unless it be your envious Spirits, from whose Taunts no prosperous Fortune can be free. I don't understand you, Husband, quoth Teresa; even follow your own Inventions, and don't puzzle my Brains with your Harangues and Re∣tricks. If y'are so devolv'd to do as ye say — Resolv'd, you shou'd say, Wife, quoth Sancho, and not devolv'd. Prithee, Husband, said Teresa, let's ha' no Words about that Matter: I speak as Heaven's pleas'd I shou'd; and for hard Words, I give my share to the Curate. All I have to say now, is this; if you hold still in the Mind of being a Governour, pray e'en take your Son Sancho, along with you; and henceforth train him up to your Trade of Governing; for 'tis but fitting that the Son should be brought up to the Father's Calling. When once I am a Governour, quoth Sancho, I'll send for him by the Post, and I'll send thee Money withal; for I dare say, I shall want none; there never wants those that will lend Governours Money when they have none. But ••hen be sure you Cloath the Boy so, that he may ••ook, not like what he is, but like what he is to ••e. Send you but Money, quoth Teresa, and I'll ••ake him as fine as a May-Day Garland. So then,

Wife, quoth Sancho, I suppose we are agreed that our Moll shall be a Countess. The Day I see her a Countess, quoth Teresa, I reckon I lay her in her Grave. However, I tell you again, e'en follow your own Inventions; you Men will be Masters, and we poor Women are born to bear the clog of Obedience, tho' our Husbands have no more Sense than a Cuckoo. Here she fell a Weeping as heartily as if she had seen her Daughter already Dead and Buried. Sancho comforted her, and pro∣mis'd her, that tho' he was to make her a Coun∣tess, yet he would see and put it off as long as he cou'd. Thus ended their Dialogue, and he went back to Don Quixote, to dispose every thing for a March.

CHAP. VI. What pass'd between Don Quixote, his Niece, and the House-keeper: being one of the most important Chapters in the whole History.

WHile Sancho Pança, and his Wife Teresa Cascajo, had the foregoing impertinent Dialogue, Don Quixote's Niece and House-keeper were not idle, guessing by a thousand Signs that the Knight intended a Third Sally. Therefore they endeavour'd by all possible means to divert him from his foolish Design; but all to no purpose, for this was but Preaching to a Rock, and Hammer∣ing cold stubborn Steel. But among other Ar∣guments,

in short, Sir, quoth the House-keeper, if you will not be Rul'd, but will needs run wan∣dring over Hill and Dale, like a stray Soul be∣tween Heaven and Hell, seeking for Mischief, for so I may well call the hopeful Adventures which you go about, I'll never leave complaining to Heaven and the King, till there's a stop put to't some way or other. What Answer Heaven will vouchsafe to give thee, I know not, answer'd Don Quixote; neither can I tell what return his Majesty will make to thy Petition; this I know, that were I King, I would excuse my self from answering the infinite Number of impertinent Memorials that disturb the Repose of Princes. I tell thee, Woman, among the many other Fatigues which Royalty sustains, 'tis one of the greatest to be oblig'd to hear every one, and to give Answer to all People. Therefore pray trouble not his Majesty with any thing concerning me. But, pray Sir, tell me, reply'd she, are there not a many Knights in the King's Court? I must con∣fess, said Don Quixote, that for the Ornament, the Grandeur, and the Pomp of Royalty, many Knights are, and ought to be maintain'd there. Why then, said the Woman, would it not be better for your Worship to be one of those brave Knights, who serve the King their Master on Foot in his Court. Hear me, Sweet-heart, an∣swer'd Don Quixote, all Knights cannot be Cour∣tiers, nor can all Courtiers be Knight-Errants. There must be of all sorts in the World; and though we were all to agree in the common Ap∣pellation of Knights, yet there would be a great difference between the one and the other. For your Courtiers, without so much as stirring out of their Chambers, or the Shade and Shelter of the Court, can journey over all the Universe in a

Map, without the Expence and Fatigue of Tra∣velling, the Heat, the Cold, the Hunger and the Thirst; while we, who are the true Knight-Er∣rants, Expos'd to those Extremities, and all the Inclemencies of Heaven, by Night and by Day, on Foot as well as on Horse-back, measure the whole surface of the Earth with our own Feet. Nor are we only acquainted with the Pictures of our Enemies, but with their very Persons, ready upon all Occasions and at all Times to engage 'em, without standing upon Trifles, or the Cere∣mony of measuring Weapons, stripping, or ex∣amining whether our Opponents have any holy Relicks or other secret Charms about 'em, whether the Sun be duly divided, or any other punctilios and circumstances observ'd among private Duelists; things which thou understandest not, but I do; And must further let thee know, that the true Knight-Errant, though he meet ten Giants, whose tall aspiring Heads not only touch but o∣ver-top the Clouds, each of 'em stalking with pro∣digious Legs like huge Towers, their sweeping Arms like Masts of Mighty Ships, their staring Eyes like large Mill-wheels, and glowing like Fiery Furnaces; yet is he so far from being a∣fraid to meet them, that he must Encounter them with a Gentle Countenance, and an undaunted Courage, Assail them, Close with them, and if possible, Vanquish and Destroy 'em all in an instant; nay, though they came arm'd with the Scales of a certain Fish, which they say is harder then Ada∣mant, and instead of Swords had dreadful Sabres of keen Damask or Steel, or mighty Maces with Points of the same Metal, as I have seen them more than twice I have condescended to tell thee thus much, that thou may'st see the vast dif∣ference between Knights and Knights; and I

think 'twere to be wish'd that all Princes knew so far how to make the Distinction, as to give the Preheminence to this first species of Knight-Er∣rants, among whom there have been some whose Fortitude has not only been the Defence of our Kingdom, but of many more, as we read in their Histories. Ah! Sir, said the Niece, have a care what you say; all the Stories of Knight-Errants are nothing but a pack of Lies and Fables, and if they are not burnt, they ought at least to wear a Sanbenito, the Badge of Heresy, or some other mark of Infamy, that the World may know 'em to be wicked, and perverters of good Manners. Now by the powerful sustainer of my Being, cry'd Don Quixote, wert thou not so nearly related to me, wert thou not my own Sister's Daughter, I would take such Revenge for the Blasphemy thou hast uttered, as would resound thro' the whole Universe. Who ever heard of the like Impudence! That a young Baggage, who scarce knows her Bobbins from a Bodkin, shou'd presume to put in her Wood, and Censure the Histories of Knight-Errants! What would Sir Amadis have said, had he heard this! But he undoubtedly would have forgiven thee, for he was the most Courteous and Complaisant Knight of his Time, especially to the fair Sex, being a great Protector of Damsels; but thy Words might have reach'd the Ears of some, that would have Sacrific'd thee to their In∣dignation; for all Knights are not possess'd of Civility or good Nature, some are Rough and Revengeful; and neither are all those that assume the Name, of a Disposition suitable to the Functi∣on; some indeed were of the right Stamp, but others are either Counterfeit, or of such an Allay as cannot bear the Touch-stone, though they de∣ceive the Sight. Inferiour Mortals there are, who

aim at Knighthood, and strain to reach the height of Honour; and High-born Knights there are, who seem fond of groveling in the Dust, and being lost in the Crowd of inferiour Mortals. The first raise themselves by Ambition or by Vertue, the last debase themselves by Negligence or by Vice; so that there is need of a distinguishing Understanding to judge between these two sorts of Knights, so near ally'd in Name, and so dif∣ferent in Actions. Bless me! dear Uncle, cry'd the Niece, that you should know so much, as to be able if there was Occasion to get up into a Pulpit, or Preach* 1.3 in the Streets, and yet be so strangely mistaken, so grosly blind of Under∣standing, as to fancy a Man of your Years and In∣firmity can be strong and Valiant, that you can set every thing right, and force stubborn Malice to bend, when you your self stoop beneath the Burden of Age, and what's yet more odd, that you are a Knight, when 'tis well known, you are none? For tho' Gentlemen may be Knights, a poor Gentleman can't purchace a Knight-hood. Therefore you say well, Niece, answer'd Don Quixote; and as to to this last Observation, I could tell you things that you would admire at con∣cerning Families; but because I will not mix Sacred things with Profane, I wave the Discourse. However, listen both of you, and for your further Instruction know, that all the Lineages and De∣scents of Mankind, are reduceable to these four Heads; First, of those, who like a Pyramid re∣vers'd, from a very small and obscure beginning,

have rais'd themselves to a spreading and prodi∣gious Magnitude, of which the Family of the Ottomans is an Instance, while they derive the greatness of their present Power and Empire from the base and groveling beginning of a poor groveling Shepherd. A Second, are the Coun∣ter-part to this, whose Honours from large Foun∣dations, have dwindl'd into less compass, and at last been extenuated till vanish'd into nothing, of which there is an infinite number of Exam∣ples; for all your Egyptian Monarchs, your Pha∣raohs and Ptolemies, your Caesars of Rome, and all the Swarm (if I may use that Name) of Mo∣narchs, Princes and Potentates, Medes, Assyrians, Persians, Greeks and Barbarians, and all these migh∣ty things are ended in a Point; the shadow of their greatness serves now only to obscure their mean Successors, who are lost in the ignoble Crowd of vulgar Mortals. A third sort there are, who, deriving their greatness from a Noble Spring, still preserve the Dignity and Character of their original Splendour. The last is, of those whose Beginning, Continuance and Ending, are Mean, and altogether Obscure, such are the com∣mon People, which I hate to mention, being only the Lumber and Ballast of the World, and only thrown in as Ciphers to encrease the general Summ, their utmost Attempts deserving no further Renown nor Elogy. Now, my good natur'd Souls, you may at least draw this reasonable In∣ference from what I have said of this promiscuous dispensation of Honours, and this uncertainty and confusion of Descent, That Vertue, Wealth, and Liberality in the present Possessor, are the most just and undisputable Titles to Nobility; for the advantages of Pedigree without these qualifications, serve only to make Vice more conspicuous. The

great Man that is Vicious, will be greatly Vici∣ous, and the rich Miser is only a covetous Beg∣gar; for, not he who possesses, but that spends and enjoys his Wealth, is the rich and the happy Man; nor he neither who barely spends, but who does it with Discretion. The poor Knight indeed, cannot shew he is one by his Magnificence, but yet by his Vertue, Affability, Civility, and cour∣teous Behaviour, he may display the chief In∣gredients that enter into the Compositions of Knight-hood; and though he cannot claim Li∣berality, wanting Riches to support it, his Charity may recompence that Defect; for an Alms of two Maravedis cheerfully bestow'd upon an in∣digent Beggar, by a Man in poor Circumstances, speaks him as Liberal as the larger Donative of a Vain-glorious Rich-man before a Fawning Crowd. These Accomplishments will always shine thro' the Clouds of Fortune, and at last break through 'em with Splendor and Applause. There are two paths to Dignity and Wealth, Arts and Arms. Arms I have chosen, and the Influence of the Planet Mars that presided at my Nativity, led me to that adventurous Road. So that all your At∣tempts to shake my Resolution are in vain; for in spight of all Mankind, I will pursue what Heaven has fated, Fortune ordain'd, what Reason re∣quires, and (which is more) what my Inclination demands. I am sensible of the many Troubles and Dangers that attend the prosecution of Knight-Errantly, but I also know what infinite Honours and Rewards are the consequence of the Per∣formance. The path of Vertue is narrow, and the way of Vice easie and open; but the difference in the end is as considerable. The latter is a broad Road indeed, and down-hill all the way, but Death and Contempt are always met at the end of

the Journey; whereas the former leads to Glory and Life, not a Life that soon must have an end, but an immortal Being. For I know, as our great* 1.4 Castilian Poet expresses it, that

Thro' steep Ascents, thro' straight and rugged Ways, Our selves to Glory's lofty Seats we raise: In vain he hopes to reach the bless'd Abode, Who leaves the narrow path, for the more easy road.

Alack aday! cry'd the Niece, my Uncle is a Poet too! He knows every thing. I'll lay my Life he might turn Mason in case of Necessity. If he would but undertake it, he could build a House as easie as a Bird-cage. Why truly, Niece, said Don Quixote, were not my Understanding wholly involv'd in Thoughts relating to the ex∣ercise of Knight-Errantry, there is nothing which I durst not engage to perform, no Curiosity should escape my Hands, especially Cages and Tooth-pickers. By this some body knock'd at the Door, and being ask'd who it was, Sancho answer'd, 'twas he. Whereupon the House-keeper slipp'd out of the way, not willing to see him, and the Niece let him in. Don Quixote receiv'd him with open Arms; and locking themselves both in the Closet, they had another Dialogue as pleasant as the former.

CHAP. VII. An Account of Don Quixote's Conference with his Squire, and other most famous Passages.

THE House-keeper no sooner saw her Master and Sancho lock'd up together, but she pre∣sently surmis'd the Drift of their close Conference, and concluding that no less than Villanous Knight-Errantry would prove the Result of this private Interview, she flung her Veil over her Head, and quite cast down with Sorrow and Vexation, trudg'd away to seek Sampson Carrasco, the Batchelor of Arts; depending on his Wit and Eloquence, to dis∣swade his Friend Don Quixote from his frantick Re∣solution. She found him walking in the Yard of his House, and fell presently on her Knees before him in a cold Sweat, and with all the Marks of a disorder'd Mind. What's the Matter, Woman, said he, (somewhat surpriz'd at her Posture and Confusion) what has befallen you, that you look as if you were ready to give up the Ghost? No∣thing said she, dear Sir, but that my Master's de∣parting, he's departing, that's most certain. How! cry'd Carrasco. What d'you mean? Is his Soul de∣parting out of his Body? No, answer'd the Wo∣man, but all his Wits are quite and clean depart∣ing. He means to be Gadding again into the wide World, and is upon the Spur now the third Time to hunt after Ventures, as he calls 'em, though I don't know why he calls those Chances so. The

first time he was brought home was athwart an Ass, and almost cudgel'd to pieces. T'other Bout he was forc'd to ride home in a Waggon, coop'd up in a Cage, where he would make us believe he was Inchanted; and the poor Soul look'd so dis∣mal, that the Mother that bore him would not have known the Child of her Bowels; so meager, wan, and wither'd, and his Eyes so sunk and hid in the utmost nook and corner of his Brain, that I am sure I spent about six hundred Eggs to cocker him up again; ay, and more too, as Heaven and all the World's my Witness, and the Hens that laid 'em can't deny it. That I believe said the Batchelor, for your Hens are so well bred, so fat and so good, that they won't say one thing and think another for the World. But is this all? Has no other ill Luck befaln you, besides this of your Master's intended Ramble? No other, Sir, quoth she. Then trouble your Head no farther, said he, but get you home, and as you go, say me the Pray∣er of St Apollonia, if you know it, then get me some warm Bit for Breakfast, and I'll come to you presently, and you shall see Wonders. Dear me, quoth she, the Prayer of St. Polonia! Why, 'tis on∣ly good for the Tooth-ach, but his Ailing lies in his Skull. Gammer, said he, don't dispute with me: I know what I say. Have I not commenc'd Batchelour of Arts at Salamanca, and do you think I have my Degree for nothing? With that away she goes, and he went presently to find the Cu∣rate, to consult with him about what shall be de∣clar'd in due Time.

When Sancho and his Master were lock'd up to∣gether in the Room, there pass'd some Discourse between them, of which the History gives a very punctual and impartial Account. Sir, quoth San∣cho to his Master, I have at last reluc'd my Wife,

to let me go with your Worship where-ever you'll have me. Reduc'd, you would say, Sancho, said Don Quixote, and not reluc'd. Look you, Sir, quoth Sancho, if I an't mistaken, I have wish'd you once or twice not to stand correcting my Words, if you understand my Meaning: If you don't, why then do but say to me, Sancho, Devil, or what you please, I understand thee not; and if I don't make out my Meaning plainly, then take me up; for I am so forcible — I understand you not, said Don Quixote interrupting him, for I can't guess the Meaning of your Forcible. Why, so Forcible, quoth Sancho, is as much as to say, Forcible. That is, I am so and so as it were. Less and less do I un∣derstand thee, said the Knight. Why then, quoth Sancho, there's an end of the Matter, it must e'en stick there for me, for I can speak no better. Oh! now, quoth Don Quixote, I fancy I guess your Meaning, you mean Docible, I suppose, implying that you are so ready and apprehensive, that you will presently observe what I shall teach you. I'll lay an even Wager now, said the Squire, you un∣derstood me well enough at first, but you had a Mind to put me out, meerly to hear me put your fine Words out-a-joint. That may be, said Don Quixote, but prithee tell me, what says Teresa? Why, an't please you, quoth Sancho, Teresa bids me make sure Work with your Worship, and that we may have less Talking and more Doing; that 'tis good to be certain; that Paper speaks when Beards never wag; that a Bird in Hand is worth two in the Bush. One Hold-fast is better than two I'll give thee; and I say a Woman's Counsel is not worth much, yet he that despises it, is no wiser than he should be — I believe so too, said Don Quixote; but pray good Sancho, proceed; for thou art in an excellent Strain; thou talk'st most sententiously to Day. I say, quoth

Sancho, as you better know your-self than I do, that we're all mortal Men, here to Day and gone to Morrow; as soon goes the young Lamb to the Spit, as the old Weather; no Man can tell the Length of his Days; for Death is deaf, and when he knocks at the Door, Mercy on the Porter. He's in Post haste, neither fair Words nor foul, Crowns, nor Mitres can stay him, as the Report goes, and as we are told from the Pulpit. All this I grant, said Don Quixote: But what would you infer from hence? Why, Sir, quoth Sancho, all I would be at is, that your Worship allow me so much a* 1.5 Month for my Wages, whilst I stay with you, and that the aforesaid Wages be paid me out of your Estate. For I'll trust no longer to Rewards, that mayhaps may come late, and mayhaps not at all. I'd be glad to know what I get, be 't more or less. A lit∣tle in one's own Pocket, is better than much in a∣nother Man's Purse. 'Tis good to keep a Nest-Egg. Every little makes a mickle; while a Man gets he never can lose. Should it happen indeed, that your Worship should give me this same Island, which you promis'd me, though 'tis what I dare not so much as hope for, why then I an't such an ungrateful, nor so unconscionable a Muck-worm, but that I am willing to strike off upon the In∣come, for what Wages I receive, Cantity for Can∣tity. Would not Quantity have been better than Cantity, ask'd Don Quixote? ho! I understand you now, cry'd Sancho? I dare lay a Wager I should have said Quantity and not Cantity; but no mat∣ter for that, since you knew what I meant. Yes, Sancho, quoth the Knight, I have div'd to the very

bottom of your Thought, and understand now the aim of all your numerous shot of Proverbs. Look you, Friend Sancho, I shou'd never scruple to pay thee Wages, had I any Example to warrant such a Practice. Nay, could I find the least glimmer∣ing of a Precedent thro' all the Books of Chivalry that ever I read, for any Yearly or Monthly Sti∣pend, your Request should be granted. But I have read all, or the greatest part of the Histories of Knight-Errants, and find that all their Squires depended purely on the Favour of their Masters, for a Subsistence; till by some surprizing turn in the Knight's Fortune, the Servants were ad∣vanc'd to the Government of some Island, or some equivalent Gratuity, at least they had Ho∣nour and a Title conferr'd on 'em as a Reward. Now Friend Sancho, if you will depend upon these hopes of Preferment, and return to my Service, 'tis well; if not, get you home, and tell your Im∣pertinent Wife, that I will not break through all the Rules and Customs of Chivalry, to satisfy her sordid Diffidence and yours; and so let there be no more words about the Matter, but let us part Friends; and remember this, that if there be Vetches in my Dove-house, 'twill want no Pigeons. Good Arrears are better than ill Pay; and a Fee in Reversion is better than a Farm in Possession. Take notice too, there's Proverb for Proverb, to let you know that I can pour out a Volley of 'em as well as you. In short, if you will not go along with me upon Courtesy, and run the same For∣tune with me, Heav'n be with you and make you a Saint; I do not question but I shall get me a Squire, more Obedient, more Careful, and less Saucy and Talkative than you.

Sancho hearing his Master's firm Resolution, 'twas cloudy weather with him in an instant, he

was struck dumb with Disappointment, and down sunk at once his Heart to his Girdle, for he verily thought he could have brought him to any terms, through a vain opinion that the Knight would not for the World go without him. While he was thus dolefully bury'd in Thought, in came Sampson Carrasco and the Niece, very eager to hear the Batchelor's Arguments, to disswade Don Quixote from his intended Sally. But Sampson, who was a rare Comedian, presently embracing the Knight, and beginning in a high strain, soon disappointed her. O Flower of Chivalry, cry'd he, refulgent glory of Arms, living Honour and Mirrour of our Spanish Nation, may all those who prevent the third Expedition which thy Heroick Spirit medi∣tates, he lost the Labyrinth of their perverse Desires, and find no thread to lead 'em to their Wishes. Then turning to the House-keeper, you have no need now to say the Prayer of St. Apollo∣nia, said he, for I find it written in the Stars, that the Illustrious Champion must no longer delay the prosecution of Glory; and I should injure my Conscience, shou'd I presume to disswade him from the Benefits that shall redound to Mankind by exerting the strength of his formidable Arm, and the innate Vertues of his Heroick Soul. Alas! his Stay deprives the oppress'd Orphans of a Pro∣tector, Damsels of a Deliverer, Champions of their Honour, Widows of an obliging Patron, and Marry'd Women of a vigorous Comforter; and delays a thousand other important Exploits and Atchievements, which are the Duty, and necessary Consequences of the honourable Order of Knight-Errantry. Go on then, my Graceful, my Valo∣rous Don Quixote, rather this very Day than the next, let your Greatness be upon the Wing, and if any thing be wanting towards the compleating

of your Equipage, I stand forth to supply you with my Life and Fortune, and ready, if it be thought expedient, to attend your Excellence as a Squire, an Honour which I am ambitious to at∣tain. Well, Sancho, (said Don Quixote, hearing this, and turning to his Squire) did I not tell thee I should not want Squires; behold who of∣fers me his Service, the most excellent Batchelor of Arts, Sampson Carrasco, the perpetual Darling of the Muses and Glory of the Salamanca-Schools, sound and active of Body, patient of Labour, in∣ur'd to Abstinence, silent in Misfortune, and in short, endow'd with all the Accomplishments that constitute a Squire. But forbid it Heav'n, that to indulge my private Inclinations I should pre∣sume to weaken the whole Body of Learning, by removing from it so substantial a Pillar, so vast a Repository of Sciences, and so eminent a Branch of the Liberal Arts. No, my Friend, remain thou another Sampson in thy Country, be the ho∣nour of Spain, and the delight of thy ancient Pa∣rents; I shall content my self with any Squire, since Sancho does not vouchsafe to go with me. I do, I do, (cry'd Sancho relenting with Tears in his Eyes) I do vouchsafe; it shall never be said of Sancho Pança, no longer Pipe no longer Dance. Nor have I a heart of Flint, Sir; for all the World knows, and especially our Town, what the whole Generation of the Pança's has ever been: Besides, I well know, and have already found by a many good Turns, and more good Words, that your Worship has had a good will towards me all along; and if I have done otherwise than I should, in standing upon Wages, or so, it was meerly to humour my Wife, who, when once she's set upon a thing, stands digging and hammering at a Man like a Cooper at a Tub, till she clinches the

Point. But hang it, I am the Husband, and will be her Husband, and she's but a Wife, and shall be a Wife. None can deny but I am a Man every Inch of me, where-ever I am, and I will be a Man at home in spight of any Body; so that you've no more to do, but to make your Will and Testa∣ment; but be sure you make the Conveyance so firm, that it can't be rebuk'd, and then let's be gone as soon as you please, that Master Sampson's Soul may be at Rest; for he says his Conscience won't let him be quiet, till he has set you upon another Journey thro' the World; and I here again offer my self to follow your Worship, and pro∣mise to be Faithful and Loyal, as well, nay, and better than all the Squires that ever waited on Knight-Errants. The Batchelor was amaz'd to hear Sancho Pança express himself after that man∣ner; and though he had read much of him in the first part of his History, he could not believe him to be so pleasant a Fellow as he is there repre∣sented. But hearing him now talk of rebuking instead of revoking Testaments and Conveyances, he was induc'd to Credit all that was said of him, and to conclude him one of the most solemn Mad∣men of the Age, nor could he imagine that the World ever saw before so extravagant a Couple as the Master and the Man.

Don Quixote and Sancho embrac'd, becoming as good Friends as ever, and so with the approbation of the Grand Carrasco, who was then the Knight's Oracle, it was decreed, that they should set out at the expiration of three Days, in which time all Necessaries should be provided, especially a whole Helmet, which Don Quixote said he was resolv'd by all means to purchase. Sampson offer'd him one which he knew he could easily get of a Friend, and which look'd more dull with the Mold and

Rust, than bright with the lustre of the Steel. The Niece and the House-keeper made a woful Out-cry, they tore their Hair, scratch'd their Faces, and howl'd like common Mourners at Fu∣nerals, lamenting the Knight's departure, as it had been his real Death, and Cursing Carrasco most unmercifully, though his Behaviour was the result of a contrivance Plotted between the Curate the Barber and himself. In short, Don Quixote and his Squire having got all things in a readiness, the one having pacify'd his Wife, and the other his Niece and House-keeper, towards the Evening, without being seen by any Body but the Batchelor, who would needs accompany them about half a League from the Village, they set forward for Toboso. The Knight mounted his Rozinante, and Sancho his trusty Dapple, his Wallet well stuff'd with Provi∣sions, and his Purse with Money, which Don Quix∣ote gave him to defray Expences. At last Sampson took his Leave, desiring the Champion to give him from time to time an Account of his Success, that according to the Laws of Friendship, he might sympathize in his good or evil Fortune. Don Quixote made him a Promise, and then they parted; Sampson went home, and the Knight and Squire continu'd their Journey for the great City of Toboso.

CHAP. VIII. Don Quixote's Success in his Journey to visit the Lady Dulcinea del Toboso.

BBessed be the mighty Alla, says Hamet Benen∣geli, at the beginning of his eighth Chap∣ter; blessed be Alla. Which Ejaculation he thrice repeated, in consideration of the Blessing, that Don Quixote and Sancho had once more taken the Field again, and that from this Period the Readers of their delightful History may date the Knight's Atchievements, and the Squire's Pleasantries; and he entreats 'em to forget the former heroical Transactions of the wonderful Knight, and six their Eyes upon his future Exploits, which take Birth from his setting out for Toboso, as the former began in the Fields of Montiel. Nor can so small a Request be thought unreasonable, considering his performance in prospect, which begins in this manner.

Don Quixote and his Squire were no sooner part∣ed from the Batchelor, but Rozinante began to neigh, and Dapple to bray; which both the Knight and the Squire interpreted as good Omens, and most fortunate Presages of their success; tho' the truth of the Story is, that as Dapple's braying exceeded Rozinante's neighing, Sancho concluded that his Fortune shou'd out-rival and eclipse his Master's; which inference I will not say he drew from some Principles in Judicial Astrology, in which he was undoubtedly well grounded, tho'

the History is silent in that particular; however 'tis recorded of him, that oftentimes upon the falling or stumbling of his Ass, he wish'd he had not gone abroad that Day, and from such acci∣dents prognosticated nothing but dislocation of Joints, and breaking of Ribs, and notwithstand∣ing his foolish Character, this was no bad Obser∣vation. Friend Sancho, said Don Quixote to him, I find the approaching Night will overtake us, e'er we can reach Toboso, where before I enter upon any Expedition, I am resolv'd to pay my Vows, receive my Benediction, and take my Leave of the Peerless Dulcinea; being assur'd after that of happy Events, in the most dangerous Adven∣tures; for nothing in this World inspires a Knight-Errant with so much Valour, as the Smiles and favourable Aspects of his Mistress. I am of your Mind, quoth Sancho, but I am afraid, Sir, you will hardly come at her, to speak with her, at least not meet her in a place where she may give you her Blessing, unless she throw it you over the Mud-Wall of the Yard, where I first saw her, when I carried her the news of your Mad Pranks, in the midst of Sierra Morena. Mud-Wall, dost thou say, cry'd Don Quixote! Mistaken Fool, the Wall cou'd have no existence but in thy muddy Understanding: 'Tis a meer Creature of thy dirty Fancy; for that never duly celebrated Paragon of Beauty and Gentility, was then un∣doubtedly in some Court, in some stately Gallery, or Walk, or as 'tis properly call'd in some sump∣tuous and Royal Palace. It may be so, said Sancho, tho' so far as I can remember, it seem'd to me neither better nor worse than a Mud-Wall. 'Tis no matter, reply'd the Knight, let us go thither; I will visit my dear Dulcinea; let me but see her▪ tho' it be over a Mud-Wall, thro' a Chink of a

Cottage, or the Pales of a Garden, at a Lettice, or any where; which way soever the least Beam from her bright Eyes reaches mine, it will so enlighten my Mind, so fortify my Heart, and invigorate every faculty of my Being, that no Mortal will be able to rival me in Prudence and Valour. Troth! Sir, quoth Sancho, when I beheld that same Sun of a Lady, methought it did not shine so bright, as to cast forth any Beams at all; but mayhaps the reason was, that the Dust of the Grain she was winnowing, rais'd a Cloud about her Face, and made her look somewhat dull. I tell thee again, Fool, said Don Quixote, thy Ima∣gination is dusty and foul; will it never be beaten out of thy stupid Brain, that my Lady Dulcinea was winnowing? Are such Exercises us'd by Persons of her Quality, whose Recreations are always noble, and such as display an air of great∣ness suitable to their Birth and Dignity? Can'st thou not remember the Verses of our Poet, when he recounts the Employments of the four Nymphs at their Chrystal-Mansions, when they advanc'd their Heads above the Streams of the lovely Tagus, and sat upon the Grass, working those rich Em∣broideries, where Silk and Gold, and Pearl em∣boss'd, were so curiously interwoven, and which that ingenious Bard so Artfully describes? So was my Princess employ'd when she bless'd thee with her sight, but the envious malice of some base Necromancer fascinated thy Sight, as it re∣presents whatever is most grateful to me in dif∣ferent and displeasing Shapes. And this makes me fear, that if the History of my Atchievements, which they tell me is in Print, has been written by some Magician who is no well-wisher to my Glory, he has undoubtedly deliver'd many things with Partiality, misrepresented my Life, inserting

a hundred falshoods for one truth, and diverting himself with the relation of idle Stories, foreign from the purpose; and obnoxious to the continua∣tion of a true History. Oh Envy, Envy! Thou gnawing worm of Virtue, and Spring of infinite Mischiefs! There is no other Vice, my Sancho, but pleads some pleasure in its excuse; but Envy is always attended by Disgust, Rancour, and dis∣tracting Rage. I am much of your Mind, said Sancho, and I think, in the same Book which Neighbour Carrasco told us he had read of our Lives, the Story makes bold with my Credit, and has handl'd it at a strange rate, and has dragg'd it about the Kennels, as a body may say. Well, now as I'm an honest Man, I never spoke an ill Word of a Magician in my born Days; and I think they need not envy my Condition so much. The truth is, I am somewhat malicious; I have my roguish Tricks now and then; but I was ever counted more Fool than Knave for all that, and so indeed I was bred and born; and if there were nothing else in me but my Religion (for I firmly believe whatever our holy Roman Catholick Church be∣lieves, and I hate the Jews mortally) these same Historians should take pity o' me, and spare me a little in their Books. But let 'em say on to the end of the Chapter, naked I came into the World, and naked must go out. 'Tis all a case to Sancho, I can neither win nor lose; and so they put me in their Books, and toss my Name from Post to Pillar. I care not a Fig for the worst they can say. What thou say'st, Sancho, an∣swer'd Don Quixote, puts me in mind of a Story. A celebrated Poet of our time wrote a very scur∣rilous and abusive Lampoon upon all the Intriguing Ladies of the Court, forbearing to name one, as not being sure whether she deserv'd to be put in∣to

the Catalogue or no; but the Lady not finding herself there, was not a little affronted at the Omission, and made a great Complaint to the Poet, asking him what he had seen in her, that he shou'd leave her out of his List; desiring him at the same time to enlarge his Satire and put her in, or ex∣pect to hear further from her. The Author o∣bey'd her Commands, and gave her a Character with a vengeance, and, to her great satisfaction, made her as famous for Infamy as any Woman a∣bout the Town. Such another story is that of Diana's Temple, one of the seven Wonders of the World, burnt by an ignoble Fellow meerly to eternize his Name; which, in spight of an Edict that enjoyn'd all People never to mention it, either by word of Mouth or in Writing, yet is still known to have been Erostratus. The Story of the great Emperor Charles the Fifth and a Roman Knight, upon a certain occasion, is much the same. The Emperour had a great desire to see the famous Temple once called the Pantheon, but now more happily, the Church of All Saints. 'Tis the only entire Edifice remaining of Heathen Rome, and that which best gives an Idea of the Glory and Magnificence of its great Founders. 'Tis built in the shape of a half Orange, of a vast Extent and very lightsom, tho' it admits no Light, but at one Window, or to speak more properly at a round Aperture on the top of the Roof. The Emperor being got up thither, and looking down from the Brink upon the Fabrick, with a Roman Knight by him, who shew'd all the Beauties of that vast edifice; after they were gone from the place, says the Knight, addressing the Emperor, It came in∣to my Head a thousand Times, Sacred Sir, to em∣brace your Majesty, and cast my self with you from the top of the Church to the bottom, that I

might thus purchase an immortal Name. I thank you, said the Emperor, for not doing it; and for the future I will give you no opportunity to put your Loyalty to such a Test. Therefore I banish you my Presence for ever, which done, he be∣stow'd some mighty Favour on him. I tell thee, Sancho, this desire of Honour is a strange bewitch∣ing thing. What dost thou think made Horatius, arm'd at all points, plunge headlong from the Bridge into the Rapid Tyber? What prompted Curtius to leap into the profound flaming Gulph? What made Mutius burn his Hand? What forc'd Coesar over the Rubicon, spight of all the Omens that dissuaded his Passage? And to instance a more modern Example, what made the undaunted Spaniards sink their Ships, when under the most Courteous Cortez, but that scorning the stale Honor of this so often Conquer'd World, they sought a Maiden Glory in a new Scene of Victory? These, and a multiplicity of other great Actions, are owing to the immediate thirst and desire of Fame, which Mortals expect as the proper Price and immortal Recompence of their great Actions. But we that are Christian Catholick Knight-Errants, must fix our hopes upon a higher Reward, plac'd in the Eternal and Celestial Regions, where we may expect a permanent Honour and compleat Happiness; not like the vanity of Fame, which at best is but the shadow of great Actions, and must necessarily vanish when destructive Time has eat away the Substance which it follow'd. So, my Sancho, since we expect a Christian Reward, we must suit our Actions to the Rules of Christi∣anity. In Giants we must kill Pride and Arro∣gance: But our greatest Foes, and whom we must chiefly combare, are within. Envy we must overcome by generosity and nobleness of Soul: Anger by a repos'd and easy Mind; Riot and

Drowsiness, by Vigilance and Temperance; Lasci∣viousness, by our inviolable Fidelity to those who are Mistresses of our Thoughts; and Sloth, by our indefatigable Peregrinations thro' the Universe, to seek occasions of Military, as well as Christian Honours. This, Sancho, is the Road to lasting Fame, and a good and honourable Renown. I understand passing well every Tittle you have said, answer'd Sancho; but pray now, Sir, will you dissolve me of one doubt, that's just come into my Head. Resolve thou would'st say, Sancho, reply'd Don Quixote: Well, speak, and I will endeavour to satisfy thee. Why then, quoth Sancho, pray tell me, these same Julys, and these Augusts, and all the rest of the famous Knights you talk of that are dead, where are they now? Without doubt, answer'd Don Quixote, the Heathens are in Hell. The Christians, if their Lives were answerable to their Profession, are either in Purgatory or in Heaven. So far so good, said Sancho; but pray tell me, the Tombs of these Lordlings, have they any Silver-Lamps still burning before 'em, and are their Chappel-walls hung about with Crutches, Winding-sheets, old Perriwigs, Legs and Wax-eyes, or with what are they hung? The Monu∣ments of the dead Heathens, said Don Quixote, were for the most part sumptuous pieces of Archi∣tecture. The Ashes of Julius Caesar were depo∣sited on the top of an Obelisque, all of one Stone of a prodigious bigness, which is now called Aguglia di San Pietro. The Emperor Adrian's Sepulchre was a vast Structure as big as an ordinary Village, and call'd Moles Adriani, and now the Castle of St. Angelo in Rome. Queen Artemisia buried her Husband Mausolus in so curious and magnificent a Pile, that his Monument was re∣puted one of the seven Wonders of the World.

But none of these, nor any other of the Heathen Sepulchres, had any Winding-sheets, or other Offering that might imply the Persons interr'd were Saints. Thus far we are right, quoth Sancho; now, Sir, pray tell me, which is the greatest wonder, to raise a dead Man, or kill a Giant? The answer is obvious, said Don Quixote, to raise a dead Man certainly. Then; Master, I have nick'd you, saith Sancho, for he that raises the Dead, makes the Blind see, the Lame walk, and the Sick healthy, who has Lamps burning Night and Day before his Sepulchre, and whose Chappel is full of Pilgrims, who adore his Relicks on their Knees; that Man I say has more Fame in this World and in the next, than any of your Heathenish Emperors or Knight-Errants e'er had, or will ever have. I grant it, said Don Quixote. Very good, quoth Sancho, I'll be with you anon. This Fame, these Gifts, these Rights, Pivileges, and what d'ye call 'em, the Bodies and Relicks of these Saints have; so that by the consent and good liking of our Holy Mother the Church they have their Lamps, their Lights, their Winding-sheets, their Crutches, their Pictures, their Heads of Hair, their Legs, their Eyes, and the Lord knows what, by which they stir up People's Devotion, and spread their Christian Fame. Kings will vouchsafe to carry the Bodies of Saints or their Relicks on their Shoulders, they'll kiss you the pieces of their Bones, and spare no cost to set off and deck their Shrines and Chappels. And what of all this, said Don Quixote? What's your Inference? Why, truly, Sir, quoth Sancho, that we turn Saints as fast as we can, and that's the readiest and cheapest way to get this same Honour you talk of. 'Twas but yesterday or t'other day, or I can't tell when, I'm sure 'twas not long since, that two poor bare-footed

Friars were Sainted, and you can't think what a croud of People there is to kiss the Iron-Chains they wore about their Wastes instead of Girdles, to humble the Flesh. I dare say they are more reverenc'd than Orlandosa's Sword, that hangs in the Armory of our Sovereign Lord the King, whom Heaven grant long to Reign! So that for ought I see, better it is to be a Friar, tho' but of a beggarly Order, than a valiant Errant Knight; and a dozen or two of sound Lashes, well meant, and as well laid on, will obtain more of Heaven than two thousand thrusts with a Lance; tho' they be given to Giants, Dragons, or Hobgoblins. All this is very true, reply'd Don Quixote; but all Men cannot he Friars; we have different Paths allotted us, to mount to the high Seat of Eternal Felicity. Chivalry is a Religious Order, and there are Knights in the fraternity of Saints in Heaven. However, quoth Sancho, I have heard say there are more Friars there than Knight-Er∣rants. That is, said Don Quixote, because there is a greater number of Friars than of Knights. But are there not a great many Knights-Errant too? said Sancho. There are many indeed, answer'd Don Quixote, but very few that deserve the Name. In such Discourses as these, the Knight and Squire pass'd the night and the whole succeeding day, without encountering any occasion to signalize themselves, at which Don Quixote was very much disgusted. At last, towards evening the next day, they discover'd the goodly City of Toboso, which reviv'd the Knight's Spirits Wonderfully, but had a quite contrary Effect on his Squire, because he did not know the House where Dulcinea liv'd, no more than his Master. So that the one was mad till he saw her, and the other very melan∣cholick and disturb'd in Mind because he had

never seen her; nor did he know what to do, shou'd his Master send him to Toboso. However, as Don Quixote would not make his Entry in the Day-time, they spent the Evening among some Oaks not far distant from the place, till the prefix'd moment came; then they enter'd the City, where they met with Adventures indeed.

CHAP. IX. That gives an Account of Things which you'll know when you read it.

THE sable Night had spun out half her Course, when Don Quixote and Sancho de∣scended from a Hill, and enter'd Toboso. A pro∣found Silence reign'd o'er all the Town, and all the Inhabitants were fast asleep and stretch'd out at their Ease. The Night was somewhat clear, though Sancho wish'd it dark, to hide his Master's Folly and his own. Nothing disturb'd the general Tranquility, but now and then the Barking of Dogs, that wounded Don Quixote's Ears, but more poor Sancho's Heart. Sometimes an Ass bray'd, Hogs grunted, Cats mew'd; which jarring Mix∣ture of Sounds was not a little augmented by the Stillness and Serenity of the Night, and fill'd the enamour'd Champion's Head with a thousand in∣auspicious Chimera's. However, turning to his Squire, My dear Sancho, said he, shew me the Way to Dulcinea's Palace, perhaps we shall find her still awake. Body of me, cry'd Sancho, what Pa∣lace

do you mean? When I saw her Highness she was in a little paltry Cot. Perhaps, reply'd the Knight, she was then retir'd into some Corner of the Palace, to divert her self in Private with her Damsels, as great Ladies and Princesses sometimes do. Well Sir, said Sancho, since it must be a Pa∣lace whether I will or no, yet can you think this is a Time of Night to find the Gates open, or a seasonable Hour to thunder at the Door, till we raise the House and alarm the whole Town? Are we going to a Bawdy-house, think you, like your Wenchers, that can rap at a Door any Hour of the Night, and knock People up when they list? Let us once find the Palace, said the Knight, and then I'll tell thee what we ought to do: But stay, either my Eyes delude me, or that lofty gloomy Structure which I discover yonder, is Dulcinea's Pa∣lace. Well, lead on Sir, said the Squire; and yet though I were to see it with my Eyes and feel it with my ten Fingers, I shall believe it e'en as much as I believe 'tis now Noon-Day. The Knight led on, and having rode about two hundred Paces, came at last to the Building which he took for Dulcinea's Palace; but found it to be the great Church of the Town. We are mistaken Sancho, said he, I find this is a Church. I see it is, said the Squire; and I pray the Lord we have not found our Graves; for 'tis a plaguy ill Sign to haunt Church-yards at this Time of Night, especially when I told you, if I an't mistaken, that this Lady's House stands in a little blind Alley, without any Thorough-fair. A Curse on thy distemper'd Brain! cry'd Don Quix∣ote; where, Blockhead, where did'st thou ever see royal Edifices and Palaces built in a blind Alley without a Thorough-fair? Sir, said Sancho, every Country has its several Fashions; and for ought you know they may build their great Houses and

Palaces in blind Alleys at Toboso: And therefore, good your Worship, let me alone to hunt up and down in what By-Lanes and Alleys I may strike into; may hap in some Nook or Corner we may light upon this same Palace: Wou'd Old-Nick had it for me, for leading us such a Jaunt, and plaguing a Body at this Rate. Sancho, said Don Quixote, speak with greater Respect of my Mistress's Con∣cerns; be merry and wise, and do not throw the Helve after the Hachet. Cry Mercy Sir, quoth Sancho; but wou'd it not make any Man mad, to have you put me upon finding readily our Dame's House at all times, which I never saw but once in my Life? nay, and to find it at Midnight, when you your self can't find it that have seen it a thou∣sand times? Thou wilt make me desperately an∣gry, said the Knight: Hark you, Heretick, have I not repeated it a thousand times that I never saw the peerless Dulcinea, nor ever enter'd the Portals of her Palace; but that I am in Love with her purely by Hear-say, and upon the great Fame of her Beauty and rare Accomplishments? I hear you say so now, quoth Sancho; and since you say you never saw her, I must needs tell you I never saw her neither. That's impossible, said Don Quixote; at least you told me you saw her winnowing Wheat, when you brought me an Answer to the Letter which I sent by you. That's neither here nor there Sir, reply'd Sancho; for to be plain with you, I saw her but by Hear-say too, and the An∣swer I brought you was by Hear-say as well as the rest, and I know the Lady Dulcinea no more than the Man in the Moon. Sancho, Sancho, said Don Quixote, there's a Time for all things; unseasona∣ble Mirth always turns to Sorrow. What, because I declare that I have never seen nor spoken to the

Mistress of my Soul, is it for you to trifle and say so too, when you're so sensible of the contrary?

Here their Discourse was interrupted; a Fellow with two Mules happening to pass by them, and by the Noise of the Plough which they drew a∣long, they guess'd it might be some Country-La∣bourer going out before Day to his Husbandry; and so indeed it was. He went singing the dole∣ful Ditty of the Defeat of the French at Roncesvalles; Ye Frenchmen all must rue the woeful Day. Let me die (said Don Quixote, hearing what the Fellow sung) if we have any good Success to Night; dost thou hear what this Peasant sings Sancho? Ay mar∣ry do I, quoth the Squire; but what's the Rout at Roncesvalles to us? it concerns us no more than if he had sung the Ballad of Colly my Cow; we shall speed neither the better nor worse for't. By this Time the Plough-man being come up to them, Good Morrow honest Friend, cry'd Don Quixote to him; pray can you inform me which is the Palace of the peerless Princess the Lady Dulcinea del Toboso. Sir, said the Fellow, I am a Stranger, and but lately come into this Town; I'm Plough-man to a rich Farmer: But here right over against you lives the Curate and the Sexton, they're the likeliest to give you some Account of that Lady-Princess, as having a List of all the Folks in Town, tho' I fancy there's no Princess at all lives here; there be indeed a Power of Gentle-folk, and each of them may be a Princess in her own House for ought I know. Perhaps Friend, said Don Quixote, we shall find the Lady for whom I en∣quire among those. Why truly Master, answer'd the Plough-man, as you say, such a thing may be, and so speed you well! 'Tis Break of Day. With that switching his Mules, he stay'd for no more Questions.

Sancho perceiving his Master in Suspence, and not very well satisfy'd, Sir, said he, the Day comes on apace, and I think 'twill not be very handsome for us to stay to be star'd at, and sit sunning our selves in the Street. We had better slip out of Town again, and betake our selves to some Wood hard by, and then I will come back, and search e∣very Hole and Corner in Town for this same House, Castle, or Palace of my Lady's, and 'twill go hard if I don't find it out at long run; then will I talk to her Highness, and tell her how you do, and how I left you hard by waiting her Orders and Instructions about talking with her in Private, without bringing her Name in question. Dear Sancho, said the Knight, thou hast spoke, and in∣cluded a thousand Sentences in the Compass of a few Words; I approve and lovingly accept thy Advice. Come, my Child, let us go, and in some neighbouring Grove find out a convenient Retreat; then, as thou say'st, thou shalt return to seek, to see, and to deliver my Embassy to my Lady, from whose Discretion and most courteous Mind I hope for a thousand Favours, that may be counted more than wonderful. Sancho sat upon Thorns till he had got his Master out of Town, lest he shou'd discover the Falshood of the Account he brought him in Sierra Morena of Dulcinea's answering his Letter: So hast'ning to be gone, they were pre∣sently got two Miles from the Town into a Wood, where Don Quixote took Covert, and Sancho was dispatch'd to Dulcinea. In which Negociation some ••ccidents fell out, that require new Attention and a fresh Belief.

CHAP. X. How Sancho cunningly found out a Way to inchant the Lady Dulcinea, with other Passages no less certain than ridiculous.

THE Author of this important History being come to the Matters which he relates in this Chapter, says he would willingly have left 'em buried in Oblivion, in a Manner despairing of his Reader's Belief: For Don Quixote's Madness flies here to so extravagant a Pitch, that it may be said to have out-stripp'd by two Bow-shots all imagina∣ble Credulity. However, notwithstanding this Mistrust, he has set down every Particular, just as the same was transacted, without adding or dimi∣nishing the least Atom of Truth through the whole History; not valuing in the least such Ob∣jections as may be rais'd to impeach him of Breach of Veracity. A Proceeding which ought to be commended; for Truth indeed rather alleviates than hurts, and will always bear up against Fals∣hood, as Oil does above Water. And so continu∣ing his Narration, he tells us, That when Don Quixote was retir'd into the Wood or Forest, or ra∣ther into the Grove of Oaks near the Grand Toboso, he order'd Sancho to go back to the City, and not to return to his Presence till he had had Audience of his Lady, beseeching her that it might please her to be seen by her Captive Knight, and vouch∣safe to bestow her Benediction on him, that by the

Virtue of that Blessing he might hope for a pro∣sperous Event in all his Onsets and perillous At∣tempts and Adventures. Sancho undertook the Charge, engaging him as successful a Return of this as of his former Message.

Go then, Child, said the Knight, and have a Care of being daunted when thou approachest the Beams of that refulgent Sun of Beauty. Happy, thou, above all the Squires of the Universe! Ob∣serve and engrave in thy Memory the Manner of thy Reception; mark whether her Colour changes upon the Delivery of thy Commission; whether her Looks betray any Emotion or Concern when she hears my Name; whether she does not seem to sit on her Cushion with a strange Uneasiness, in case thou happen'st to find her seated on the pom∣pous Throne of her Authority. And if she be standing, mind whether she stands sometimes upon one Leg, and sometimes on another; whether she repeats three or four times the Answer which she gives thee, or changes it from kind to cruel, and then again from cruel to kind; whether she does not seem to adjust her Hair, though every Lock appears in perfect Order. In short, observe all her Actions, every Motion, every Gesture; for by the accurate Relation which thou giv'st of these things, I shall divine the Secrets of her Breast, and draw just Inferences in Relation to my Amour. For I must tell thee, Sancho, if thou do'st not know it already, that the outward Motions of Lovers are the surest Indications of their inward Affections, they are the most faithful Intelligen∣cers in an amorous Negociation. Go then, my trusty Squire, thy own better Stars, not mine, at∣tend thee; and meet with a more prosperous E∣vent, than that which in this doleful Desart, toss'd between Hopes and Fears, I dare expect. I'll go

Sir, quoth Sancho, and I'll be back in a Trice: Mean while cheer up, I beseech you; come, Sir, comfort that little Heart of yours, no bigger than a Hazle-Nut: Don't be cast down I say; remem∣ber the old Saying, Faint Heart ne'er won fair Lady; Where there's no Hook, to be sure there will hang no Bacon; The Hare leaps out of the Bush where we least look for her. I speak this, to give you to understand, that tho' we could not find my Lady's Castle in the Night, I may light on it when I least think on it now 'tis Day; and when I have found it, let me alone to deal with her. Well Sancho, said the Knight, thou hast a rare Talent in apply∣ing thy Proverbs; Heaven give me better Success in my Designs! This said, Sancho turned his Back, and switching his Dapple, left the Don on Horse∣back, leaning on his Lance, and resting on his Stirrups, full of melancholy and confus'd Imagi∣nations. Let us leave him too, to go along with Sancho, who was no less uneasy in his Mind. No sooner was he got out of the Grove, but turning about, and perceiving his Master quite out of Sight, he dismounted, and laying himself down at the Foot of a Tree, thus began to hold a Par∣ley with himself. Friend Sancho, quoth he, pray let me ask you whither your Worship is a going? Is it to seek some Ass you have lost? No by my Troth. What is't then thou art hunting after? Why I am looking, you must know, for a thing of nothing, only a Princess, and in her the Sun of Beauty, forsooth, and all Heaven together. Well, and where do'st thou think to find all this, Friend of mine? Where! why in the great City of Tobo∣so, And pray Sir, who set you to work? Who set me to work! There's a Question! Why who but the most renowned Knight Don Quixote de la Mancha, he that rights the Wrong'd, that gives

Drink to the Hungry, and Meat to those that are adry. Very good Sir; but pray do'st know where she lives? Not I, efackins! but my Master says 'tis somewhere in a King's Palace or stately Castle. And hast thou ever seen her trow? No marry han't I: Why my Master himself ne'er sat Eyes on her in his Life. But tell me, Sancho, what if the Peo∣ple of Toboso shou'd know that you are come to in∣veagle their Princesses, and make their Ladies run astray, and should baste your Carcass handsomely, and leave you ne'er a sound Rib, do you not think they would be mightily in the Right on't? Why, troth, they would not be much in the Wrong; tho' methinks they should consider too that I am but a Servant, and sent on another Body's Errand, and so I am not at all in Fault. Nay, never trust to that, Sancho, for your People of La Mancha are plaguy hot and toucheous, and will endure no Tricks to be put upon 'em: Body of me! if they but smoak thee, they'll mawl thee after a strange Rate. No, no, fore-warn'd fore-arm'd: Why do I go about to look for more Feet than a Cat has, for another Man's Maggot! Besides, when all's done, I may perhaps as well look for a Needle in a Bottle of Hay, or for a Scholar at Salamanca, as for Dulci∣nea all over the Town of Toboso. Well 'tis the De∣vil, and nothing but the Devil, has put me upon this troublesome Piece of Work. This was the Dialogue Sancho had with himself; and the Conse∣quence of it was the following Soliloquy. Well, there's a Remedy for all things but Death, which will be sure to lay us flat one Time or other. This Master of mine, by a thousand Tokens I ha' seen, is a downright Madman, and I think I come with∣in an Inch of him; nay, I am the greater Cods∣head of the two, to serve and follow him as I do, if the Proverb ben't a Liar, Shew me thy Compa∣ny

I'll tell thee what thou art; and t'other old Saw, Birds of a Feather flock together. Now then my Master, being mad, and so very mad as to mistake sometimes one thing for another, Black for White, and White for Black, as when he took the Wind-mills for Giants, the Friar's Mules for Dromedaries, and the Flocks of Sheep for Armies, and much more to the same Tune, I guess 't will be no hard Matter to pass upon him the first Coun∣try-Wench I shall meet with, for the Lady Dulcinea. If he won't believe, I'll swear it; if he swear a∣gain, I'll out-swear him; and if he be positive, I'll be more positive than he; and stand to't, and out-face him in't, come what will on't: So that when he finds I won't flinch, he'll either resolve never to send me more of his sleeveless Errands, seeing what a lame Account I bring him, or he'll think some one of those wicked Wizards, who, he says, owes him a Grudge, has transmogrify'd her into some other Shape out of Spight. This happy Contrivance help'd to compose Sancho's Mind, and now he look'd on his grand Affair to be as good as done. Having therefore stay'd till the Evening, that his Master might not think he had employ'd so much Time in Going and Coming, things fell out very luckily for him; for as he a∣rose to mount his Dapple, he spy'd three Country-Wenches coming towards him from Toboso, upon three young Asses, whether Male or Female the Author has left undetermin'd, tho' we may reaso∣nably suppose they were She-Asses, such being most frequently us'd to ride on by Country-Lasses in those Parts. But this being no very material Circumstance, we need not dwell any longer upon the Decision of that Point: 'Tis sufficient they were Asses, and discover'd by Sancho; who there∣upon made all the Haste he cou'd to get to his

Master, and found him breathing out a thousand. Sighs and amorous Lamentations. Well my San∣cho, said the Knight immediately upon his Ap∣proach, what News? are we to mark this Day with a white or a black Stone? E'en mark it ra∣ther with Red-Oker, answer'd Sancho, as they do Church-Chairs, that every Body may know who they belong to. Why then, said Don Quixote, I suppose thou bring'st good News. Ay marry do I, quoth Sancho; you have no more to do but to clap Spurs to Rozinante, and get into the open Fields, and you'll see my Lady Dulcinae del Toboso, with a Brace of her Damsels, coming to see your Worship. Blessed Heaven! cry'd Don Quixote, what art thou saying, my dear Sancho? Take Heed, and do not presume to beguile my real Grief with a delusive Joy. Adsookers! Sir, said Sancho, what shou'd I get by putting a Trick upon you, and being found out the next Moment? Seeing is Be∣lieving all the World over. Come Sir, put on, put on, and you'll see our Lady Princess coming, dress'd up and bedeck'd like her own sweet self in∣deed. Her Damsels and she are all one Spark of Gold, all Pearls, all Diamonds, all Rubies, all Cloth of Gold above ten Inches high. Their Hair spread over their Shoulders like so many Sun-Beams, and dangling and dancing in the Wind; and what's more, they ride upon three Flea-bitten gambling Hags; there's not a Piece of Horse-flesh can match 'em in three Kingdoms. Ambling Nags thou meanest Sancho, said Don Quixote. Gambling Hags or ambling Nags, quoth Sancho, there's no such Difference methinks; but be they what they will, I'm sure I ne'er sat Eyes on finer Creatures than those that ride upon their Backs, especially my Lady Dulcinea; 'twould make one swoon away but to look upon her. Let us move then, my

Sancho, said Don Quixote, and as a Gratification for these unexpected happy Tidings, I freely bestow on thee the best Spoils the next Adventure we meet with shall afford; and if that content thee not, take the Colts which my three Mares thou know'st of, are now ready to Foal on our Town-Common. Thank you for the Colts, said Sancho; but as for the Spoils, I am not sure they'll be worth any thing. They were now got out of the Wood, and discover'd the three Country-Lasses at a small distance. Don Quixote casting his Eyes towards To∣boso, and seeing no Body on the Road but the three Wenches, was strangely troubl'd in Mind, and turning to Sancho, ask'd him whether the Princess and her Damsels were come out of the City when he left 'em? Out of the City, cry'd Sancho! Why where are your Eyes? Are they in your Heels, in the name of Wonder, that you can't see 'em coming towards us, shining as bright as the Sun at Noon-day? I see nothing, return'd Don Quixote, but three Wenches upon as many Asses. Now Heaven deliver me from the Devil, quoth Sancho! Is't possible your Worship shou'd mistake three what-d'ye-call-ems, three Ambling Nags. I mean, as white as driven Snow, for three ragged Ass-Colts. Body of me! I'll e'en peell off my Beard by the Roots an't be so. Take it from me, Friend Sancho, said the Knight, they are either He, or She-Asses, as sure as I am Don Quixote, and thou Sancho Pança; at least, they appear to be such. Come, Sir, quoth the Squire, don't talk at that rate, but snuff your Eyes, and go pay your Ho∣mage to the Mistress of your Soul; for she's near at Hand; and so saying, Sancho hastens up to the three Country-Wenches, and alighting from Dapple, took hold of one of the Asses by the Halter, and falling on his Knees, Queen, and Princess, and

Dutchess of Beauty, quoth he, an't please your Haughtiness, and Greatness, vouchsafe to take into your good Grace and liking, yonder Knight, your Prisoner and Captive, who's turn'd of a sudden into cold Marble-Stone, and struck all of a heap, to see himself before your High and Mightiness. I am Sancho Pança, his Squire, and he himself the wand'ring Weather-beaten Knight, Don Quixote de la Mancha, otherwise call'd the Knight of the Woeful Figure. By this time, Don Quixote having plac'd himself down on his Knees by Sancho, gaz'd with dubious and disconsolate Eyes on the Crea∣ture, whom Sancho call'd Queen and Lady; and perceiving her to be no more than a plain Coun∣try-Wench, so far from being well-favour'd, that she was blubber-cheek'd, and flat-nos'd, he was lost in Astonishment, and cou'd not utter one Word. On the other side, the Wenches were no less surpriz'd, to see themselves stopp'd by two Men in such different out-sides, and on their Knees. But at last, she whose Ass was held by Sancho, took Courage, and broke Silence in an angry Tone. Come, cry'd she, get out of our way with a Mur∣rain, and let us go about our Business; for we are in haste. Oh Princess! and Universal Lady of Toboso, answer'd Sancho, why does not that great Heart of yours melt, to see the Post and Pillar of Knight-Errantry fall down before your high and mighty Presence! Hoy day (quoth another of the Females, hearing this) What's here to do! Look how your small Gentry come to jeer and flout poor Country-Girls, as if we could not give 'em as good as they bring. Go, get about your Business, and let us go about ours, and speed you well. Rise, Sancho, said Don Quixote, hearing this, for I am now convinc'd, that my malicious Stars, not yet satisfy'd with my pass'd Misfortunes, still

shed their baleful Influence, and have barr'd all the Passages that cou'd convey Relief to my mise∣rable Soul, in this frail Habitation of Animated Clay. Oh! thou Extremity of all that's valuable, Master-piece of all humane Perfection, and only Comfort of this afflicted Heart, thy Adorer; tho' now a spightful Inchanter persecutes me, ad fas∣cinates my Sight, hiding with Mists and Cataracts from me, and me alone, those Peerless Beauties, under the foul disguise of rural Deformity, if he has not transform'd thy faithful Knight into some ugly Shape to make me loathsome to thy Eyes, look on me with a smiling Amorous Eye; and in the Submission and Genuflection which I pay to thy Beauty, even under the fatal Cloud that ob∣scures it, read the Humility with which my Soul adores thee. Tittle-tattle, quoth the Country-Wench. Spare your Breath to cool your Porridge, and rid me of your idle Gibberish. Get you on, Sir, and let us go; and we shall think it a Kind∣ness. This said, Sancho made way for her, and let her pass, over-joy'd his Plot had succeeded so well. The Imaginary Dulcinea was no sooner at Liberty, but Punching her Ass with the end of a Staff which she had in her Hand, she began to scour along the Plain: But the angry Beast not being us'd to such smart Instigations, fell a Kick∣ing and Wincing at such a rate, that down came my Lady Dulcinea. Presently Don Quixote ran to help her up, and Sancho to re-settle and gird her Pack-Saddle, that hung under the Ass's Belly. Which being done, the Knight very courteously was going to take his Inchanted Mistress in his Arms, to set her on her Saddle; but she being now got on her Legs, took a run, and clapping her Hands upon the Ass's Crupper, at one Jump leap'd into her Pannel, as swift as a Hawk, and

there she sate with her Legs astride, like a Man. By St. Roque! quoth Sancho, our Lady Mistress is as nimble as an Eel. Let me be Hang'd, if I don't think she might teach the best Jockey in Cordova or Mexico to get a Horse-back. At one Jump she was vaulted into the Saddle, and with∣out Spurs makes her Nag smoke it away, like a Gray-hound; her Damsels are notable Whipsters too; adad! they don't come much short of her, for they fly like the Wind. Indeed, he said true, for when Dulcinea was once Mounted, they all made after her full speed, without so much as looking behind 'em, for above half a League. Don Quixote follow'd 'em as far as he cou'd with his Eyes; and when they were quite out of sight, turning to his Squire, now Sancho, said he, What think'st thou of this matter? Are not these base Inchanters. Inexorable! How extensive is their Spight, thus to deprive me of the Happiness of seeing the Object of my Wishes in her natural Shape and Glory. Sure I was doom'd to be an Example of Misfortunes, and the Mark against which those Caitiffs are employ'd to shoot all the Arrows of their Hatred. Note, Sancho, that these Traytors were not content to turn and Transform my Dul∣cinea, but they must do it into the vile and De∣form'd Resemblance of that Country-Wench; nay, they even took from her that sweet Scent of Fra∣grant Flowers and Amber, those grateful Odours, so essential to Ladies of her Rank; for, to tell the Truth, when I went to help her upon her Nag, as thou call'st it, (for to me it seem'd nothing but an Ass) such a Whiff, such a rank Hogo of hot Garlick Invaded my Nostrils, as had like to have overcome me, and put me into a Convulsion. Oh ye vile Wretches, cry'd Sancho! Oh ye wicked, and ill-minded Enchanters! Oh that I might but once see the whole Nest of ye threaded

together on one String, and hung up a smoaking by the Gills like so many Pilchers! You know a deal, you can do a deal, and you make a deal of Mischief. One would have thought you might have been contented, like a pack of Rogues as you are, with having chang'd the Pearls of my Lady's Eyes into Acorns, and her most pure Golden Locks into a Red Cow's Tail; but you must be medling with her Breath, by which we might have guess'd what lay hid under that course Dis∣guise; tho' for my part I must needs own, she did not appear to me Deform'd at all; but rather Fair and Beautiful; by the same Token that she had a Mole on the right side of her Upper Lip, like a Whisker, whence sprouted seven or eight red Hairs, each about a Span in length, looking like so many strings of Gold-wire. As the Moles on the Body, said Don Quixote, are generally an∣swerable to those on the Face, Dulcinea should have such another Mole on that Thigh, which is opposite to that side of her Face where that Beauty-spot is seated; but methinks, Sancho, the Hairs thou talk'st of are of a length somewhat extraor∣dinary for Moles. That's neither here nor there, quoth Sancho, there they were I'll assure you, and they look'd too as if she had brought 'em with her into the World. That I believe, said Don Quixote, for every part of Dulcinea must be natu∣rally perfect and compleat; so that though a hun∣dred Moles were scatter'd over her fair outside, and as conspicuous too as that which thou didst see, they would be no Deformities in her; but so many Moons and Stars, an additional Lustre to her Beauty. But tell me, Sancho, that Saddle which appear'd to me to be the Pannel of an Ass, was it a Pillion or a Side-Saddle? It was a Side-Saddle, answer'd Sancho, with a Field-covering, and so

rich that it might purchase half a Kingdom. And could not I see all this, cry'd Don Quixote. Well, I have said it, and must repeat it a thousand times, I am the most unfortunate Man in the Universe. The cunning Rogue of a Squire, hearing his Master talk at that rate, could hardly keep his Counte∣nance, and refrain from Laughing to see how ad∣mirably he had fool'd him. At last, after a great deal of Discourse of the same Nature, they both Mounted again, and took the Road for Saragossa, designing to be present at the most celebrated Fes∣tivals and Sports that are Solemnized every Year in that Noble City. But they met with many Ac∣cidents by the Way, and those so extraordinary, and worthy the Reader's Information, that they must not be pass'd over unrecorded nor unread; as shall appear from what follows.

CHAP. XI. Of the Stupendous Adventure that befell the Valorous Don Quixote, with the Chariot or Cart of the Court or Parliament of Death.

DON Quixote rode on very melancholick; the Malice of the Magicians in transforming his Lady Dulcinea perplex'd him strangely, and set his Thoughts upon the Rack, how to dissolve the Inchantment, and restore her to her former Beau∣ty. In this disconsolate Condition, he went on abandon'd to Distraction, carelesly giving Rozinante

the Reins: And the Horse finding himself at liberty, and tempted by the goodness of the Grass, took the opportunity to feed very heartily. Which Sancho perceiving, Sir, (said he, rouzing him from his waking Dream) Sorrow was never design'd for Beasts, but Men; but yet let me tell you, if Men give way to't too much, they make Beasts of themselves. Come, Sir, awake, awake by any means, pull up the Reins and ride like a Man; cheer up, and shew your self a Knight-Errant. What the Devil ails you; Was ever a Man so Mop'd? Are we here or are we in France, as the Saying is? Let all the Dulcinea's in the World, be doom'd to the Pit of Hell, rather than one single Knight-Errant be cast down at this rate. Hold, Sancho, cry'd Don Quixote, with more Spirit than one would have expected; hold, I say; not a Blasphemous Word against that Beauteous Inchanted Lady; for all her Misfortunes are chargeable on the unhappy Don Quixote, and flow from the Envy which those Necromancers bear to me. So say I, Sir, reply'd the Squire, for would it not vex any one that had seen her before, to see her now as you saw her! Ay, Sancho, said the Knight, thy Eyes were bless'd with a View of her Perfections in their entire Lustre, thou hast rea∣son to say so. Against me, against my Eyes only is the Malice of her Transformation directed. But now I think on't Sancho, thy Description of her Beauty was a little absurd in that particular of comparing her Eyes to Pearls; sure such Eyes are more like those of a Whiting or a Sea-Bream, than those of a fair Lady; and in my Opinion Dulcinea's Eyes are rather like two verdant Emeralds rail'd in with two Celestial Arches, which signify her Eye∣brows. Therefore, Sancho, you must take your Pearls from her Eyes, and apply 'em to her Teeth,

for I verily believe you mistook the one for the other. Troth! Sir, it might be so, reply'd Sancho, for her Beauty confounded me, as much as her Ugliness did you. But let us leave all to Heaven, that knows all things that befall us in this Vale of Misery, this wicked troublesome World, where we can be sure of nothing without some Spice of Knavery or Roguery. In the mean time, there's a thing come into my Head that puzzles me plaguily. Pray Sir, when you get the better of any Giant or Knight, and send 'em to pay Homage to the Beau∣ty of your Lady and Mistress, how the Devil will the poor Knight or Giant be able to find this same Dulcinea. I can't but think how they'll be to seek, how they'll saunter about, gaping and staring all over Toboso Town, and if they should meet her full butt in the middle of the King's High-way, yet they'll know her no more than they knew the Fa∣ther that begot me. Perhaps, Sancho, answer'd Don Quixote, the Force of her Inchantment does not extend so far as to debar Vanquish'd Knights and Giants from the Privilege of seeing her in her un∣clouded Beauties: I will try the Experiment on the first I conquer, and will command them to re∣turn immediately to me, to inform me of their Success. I like what you say main well, quoth Sancho, we may chance to find out the Truth by this means; and if so be my Lady is only hid from your Worship, she has not so much reason to com∣plain as you may have; but when all comes to all, so our Mistress be safe and sound, let us make the best of a bad Market, and e'en go seek Adven∣tures. The rest we'll leave to Time, which is the best Doctor in such Cases, nay, in worse Diseases. Don Quixote was going to return an Answer, but was interrupted by a Cart that was crossing the Road. He that drove it was a hideous Devil, and

the Cart being open, without either Tilt or Boughs, expos'd a Parcel of the most surprizing and diffe∣rent Shapes imaginable. The first Figure that ap∣pear'd to Don Quixote was no less than Death it self, though with a Humane Countenance; on the one side of Death stood an Angel with large Wings of different Colours; on the other side was plac'd an Emperor with a Crown that seem'd to be of Gold, at the Feet of Death lay Cupid with his Bow, Quiver and Arrows, but not blind-fold. Next to these a Knight appear'd compleatly Arm'd, except his Head, on which instead of a Helmet he, wore a Hat; whereon was mounted a large Plume of Party-colour'd Feathers. There were also several other Persons in strange and various Dresses. This strange Appearance at first some∣what surpriz'd Don Quixote, and frighted the poor Squire out of his Wits; but presently the Knight clear'd up on second Thoughts, imagining it some rare and hazardous Adventure that call'd on his Courage. Pleas'd with this Conceit, and arm'd with a Resolution able to affront any Danger, he plac'd himself in the middle of the Road, and with a loud and menacing Voice, You Carter, Coach∣man, or Devil, cry'd he, or whatever you be, let me know immediately whence you come, and whither you go, and what strange Figures are those which load that Carriage, which by the Fraight rather seems to be Charon's Boat, than any terrestrial Vehicle. Sir, answer'd the Devil very civilly, stopping his Cart; we are strolling Players, that belong to Angulo's Company, and it being Corpus-Christi-tide we have this Morning Acted a Tragedy call'd the Parliament of Death, in a Town yonder behind the Mountain, and this Af∣ternoon we are to Play it again in the Town you see before us, which being so near, we travel to it

in the same Cloaths we Act in, to save the trouble of new Dressing our selves. That young Man plays Death, that other an Angel: This Woman, Sir, our Poet's Bed-fellow, plays the Queen; there is one acts a Soldier, he next to him an Emperour; and I my self play the Devil, and you must know, the Devil is the best Part in the Play. If you de∣sire to be satisfy'd in any thing else, do but ask and I'll resolve you, for the Devil knows every thing. Now by the Faith of my Function, said Don Quix∣ote, I find we ought not to give Credit to Appea∣rances, before we have made the Experiment of feeling them; for at the Discovery of such a Scene, I would have sworn some strange Adven∣ture had been approaching. I wish you well, good People; drive on to Act your Play, and if I can be serviceable to you in any Particular, believe me ready to assist you with all my Heart; for in my very Childhood I lov'd Shows, and have been a great Admirer of Dramatick Representations from any Youthful Days. During this Friendly Con∣versation, it unluckily fell out, that one of the Company antickly dress'd, being the Fool of the Play, came up frisking with his Morrice-Bells, and three full-blown Cow's-Bladders fasten'd to the end of a Stick. In this odd Appearance he began to flou∣rish his Stick in the Air, and bounce his Bladders against the Ground just at Rozinante's Nose. The Jingling of the Bells, and the rattling Noise of the Bladders so startl'd and affrighted the quiet Creature, that Don Quixote cou'd not hold him in; and having got the Curb betwixt his Teeth, away the Horse hurried his unwilling Rider up and down the Plain, with much more Swiftness than his feeble Bones seemed to promise. Sancho con∣sidering the Danger of his Master's being thrown, presently alighted, and ran as fast as he cou'd to

his Assistance; but before he cou'd come up to him, Rozinante had made a false Step, and laid his Master and himself on the Ground; which was indeed the common end of Rozinante's mad Tricks and presumptuous Racing. On the other side, the Fool no sooner saw Sancho slide off to help his Mas∣ter, but he leap'd upon poor Dapple, and rattling his Bladders over the terrify'd Animal's Hide, made him fly thro' the Field towards the Town where they were to play. Sancho beheld his Master's Fall, and his Ass's Flight at the same time, and stood strangely divided in himself, not knowing which to assist first, his Master or his Beast. At length, the Duty of a good Servant and a faithful Squire prevailing, he ran to his Master, tho' every obstre∣perous Bounce with the Bladders upon Dapple's Hind-quarters, struck him to the very Soul, and he would have wish'd every Blow upon his own Eye-Balls, rather than on the least Hair of his Ass's Tail. In this Agony of Spirit, he came to Don Quixote, whom he found in far worse Circum∣stances than the poor Knight cou'd have wish'd, and helping him to remount, Oh! Sir, cry'd he, the Devil is run away with Dapple. What Devil, ask'd Don Quixote? The Devil with the Bladders, answer'd Sancho. No matter, said Don Quixote. I'll force the Traytor to restore him, tho' he were to lock him up in the most profound and gloomy Ca∣verns of Hell. Follow me, Sancho, We may easi∣ly overtake the Waggon, and the Mules shall attone for the Loss of the Ass. You need not be in such haste now, quoth Sancho, for I perceive the Devil has left Dapple already, and is gone his ways. What Sancho said was true, for both Ass and Devil tum∣bl'd for Company, in imitation of Don Quixote and Rozinante; and Dapple having left his new Rider to walk on Foot to the Town, now came himself

running back to his Master. All this, said Don Quixote, shall not hinder me from revenging the Affront put upon us by that unmannerly Devil, at the Expence of some of his Companions, tho' it were the Emperor himself. Oh good your Worship! cry'd Sancho, never mind it; I be∣seech you take my Counsel, Sir; never med∣dle with Players, there's never any thing to be got by't; they are a sort of People that always find a many Friends. I have known one of 'em taken up for two Murders, yet 'scape the Gal∣lows. You must know, that as they are a Parcel of merry Wags, and make Sport wherever they come, every Body is fond of 'em, and is ready to stand their Friend, especially if they be the King's Players, or some of the noted Gangs, who go at such a taring Rate, that one might mistake some of 'em for Gentlemen or Lords. I care not, said Don Quixote, though all Mankind united to assist 'em, that buffooning Devil shall never 'scape unpu∣nish'd, to ma••e his Boast that he has affronted me. Whereupon riding up to the Waggon, which was now got pretty near the Town, Hold, hold, he cry'd, stay my merry Sparks, I'll teach you to be civil to the Beasts that are intrusted with the honourable Burden of a Squire to a Knight-Er∣rant. This loud Salutation having reach'd the Ears of the strolling Company, tho' at a good Distance, they presently understood what it imported; and resolving to be ready to entertain him, Death pre∣sently leap'd out of the Cart; the Emperor, the De∣vil-driver, and the Angel immediately follow'd; and even the Queen, and the God Cupid, as well as the rest, having taken up their share of Flints, stood rang'd in Battle-Array ready to receive their Ene∣my, as soon as he should come within Stone-shot. Don Quixote seeing them drawn up in such excel∣lent

[illustration]

Don Quixote Encounter with the Players page. 707.

Order, with their Arms lifted up, and ready to let fly at him a furious Volley of Shot, made a Halt, to consider in what Quarter he might attack this Dreadful Battalion, with least Danger to his Person. Thus pausing, Sancho overtook him, and seeing him ready to charge, For Goodness sake, Sir, cry'd he what d'ye mean! Are you mad, Sir? There's no Fence against the Beggar's Bullets, un∣less you cou'd fight with a Brazen Bell over you. Is it not rather Rashness than true Courage, think you, for one Man to offer to set upon a whole Army? Where Death is too, and where Emperors fight in Person; nay, and where good and bad Angels are against you? But if all this weighs nothing with you, consider, I beseech you, that though they seem to be Kings, Princes and Empe∣rors, yet there's not so much one Knight-Errant among 'em all. Now thou hast hit upon the only Point, said Don Quixote, that could stop the Fury of my Arm: For indeed, as I have often told thee, Sancho, I am bound up from drawing my Sword against any below the Order of Knighthood. 'Tis thy Business to fight in this Cause, if thou hast a just Resentment of the Indignities offer'd to thy Ass; and I from this Post will encourage and assist thee with salutary. Orders and Instru∣ctions. No, I thank you, Sir, quoth Sancho, I hate Revenge; a true Christian must forgive and for∣get; and as for Dapple, I don't doubt but to find him willing to leave the Matter to me, and stand to my Verdict in the Case, which is to live peace∣ably and quietly as long as Heaven is pleas'd to let me. Nay then, said Don Quixote, if that be thy Resolution, Good Sancho, Prudent Sancho, Christian Sancho, downright Sancho, let us leave these idle Apparitions, and proceed in search of more sub∣stantial and honourable Adventures, of which, in

all Probability, this part of the World will afford us a wonderful Variety. So saying, he wheel'd off, and Sancho follow'd him. On the other side, Death with all his flying Squadron, return'd to their Cart, and went on their Journey. Thus end∣ed the most dreadful Adventure of the Chariot of Death, much more happily than could have been expected, thanks to the laudable Counsels which Sancho Pança gave his Master; who the Day fol∣lowing had another Adventure no less remarkable, with one that was a Knight-Errant and a Lover too.

CHAP. XII. The Valorous Don Quixote's Strange Ad∣venture with the Knight of the Mirrors.

DON Quixote pass'd the Night, that succeed∣ed his Encounter with Death, under the Covert of some lofty Trees; where, at Sancho's persuasion, he refresh'd himself with some of the Provisions which Dapple carried. As they were at Supper, Well, Sir, quoth the Squire, what a rare Fool I had been, had I chosen for my good News the Spoils of your first Venture, instead of the Breed of the three Mares! Troth! commend me to the saying, A Bird in Hand is worth two in the Busb. However, answer'd Don Quixote, had'st thou let me fall on, as I wou'd have done, thou might'st have shar'd at least the Emperor's Golden Crown, and Cupid's Painted Wings; for I wou'd have pluck'd 'em off, and put 'em into thy power. Ay,

but, says Sancho, your Strolling Emperor's Crowns and Scepters are not of pure Gold, but Tinsel and Copper. I grant it, said Don Quixote, nor is it fit the Decorations of the Stage should be real, but rather Imitations, and the resemblance of Re∣alities, as the Plays themselves must be; which, by the way, I wou'd have you love and esteem, Sancho, and consequently those that write, and also those that act 'em; for they are all in∣strumental to the good of the Common-wealth, and set before our Eyes those Looking-glasses that reflect a lively Representation of Humane Life; nothing being able to give us a more just Idea of Nature, and what we are or ought to be, than Comedians and Comedies. Prithee tell me, hast thou never seen a Play acted, where Kings, Emperors, Prelates, Knights, Ladies, and other Characters are introduc'd on the Stage? One acts a Ruffian, another a Soldier; this Man a Cheat, and that a Merchant; one plays a designing Fool, and another a Foolish Lover: But the Play done, and the Actors undress'd, they are all equal, and as they were before. All this I have seen, quoth Sancho. Just such Comedy, said Don Quixote, is acted on the great Stage of the World, where some play the Emperors, others the Prelates, and, in short, all the Parts that can be brought into a Dramatick Piece; till Death, which is the Catastrophe and End of the Action, strips the Actors of all their Marks of Distinction, and levels their quality in the Grave. A rare Comparison, quoth Sancho, tho' not so new, but that I have heard it over and over. Just such another is that of a Game at Chess, where while the Play lasts every Piece has it particular Office; but when the Game's over, they are all mingl'd and huddl'd to∣gether, and clapp'd into a Bag, just as when Life's

ended we are laid up in the Grave. Truly, Sancho, said Don Quixote, thy Simplicity lessens, and thy Sense improves every day. And good reason why, quoth Sancho; some of your Worship's Wit must needs stick to me; for your dry unkindly Land, with good dunging and tilling, will in time yield a good Crop. I mean, Sir, that the Dung and Muck of your Conversation being thrown on the barren ground of my Wit, together with the Time I ha' serv'd your Worship, and kept you Com∣pany; which is, as a body may say, the Tillage; I must needs bring forth blessed Fruit at last, so as not to shame my Master, but keep in the Paths of good Manners, which you have beaten in∣to my sodden Understanding. Sancho's affected Style made Don Quixote laugh, tho' he thought his words true in the main; and he could not but ad∣mire at his Improvement. But the Fellow never discover'd his weakness so much as by endeavour∣ing to hide it, being most apt to tumble when he strove to soar too high. His excellence lay chiefly in a knack at drawing Proverbs into his Discourse, whether to the purpose or not, as any one that has observ'd his manner of speaking in this History, must have perceiv'd.

In such Discourses they passed a great part of the Night, till Sancho wanted to drop the Portcullices of his Eyes, which was his way of saying he had a mind to go to sleep: Thereupon he un∣harness'd Dapple▪ and set him a grazing: But poor Rozinante was condemn'd to stand Saddl'd all Night, by his Master's Injunction and Prescription, us'd of old by all Knight-Errants, who never unsaddl'd their Steeds in the Field, but took off their Bridles, and hung 'em at the Pummel of the Saddle. How∣ever he was not forsaken by faithful Dapple, whose Friendship was so unparallell'd and inviolable, that

unquestion'd Tradition has handed it down from Father to Son, that the Author of this true History compos'd particular Chapters of the united Af∣fection of these two Beasts; tho', to preserve the Decorum due to so heroick a History, he wou'd not insert 'em in the Work. Yet sometimes he cannot forbear giving us some few Touches on that Subject; as when he writes, That the two friendly Creatures took a mighty Pleasure in being together to scrub and lick one another; and when they had had enough of that sport, Rozinante would gently lean his Head at least half a yard over Dapple's Neck, and so they wou'd stand very lovingly to∣gether, looking wistly on the ground for two or three Days; except some body made 'em leave that Contemplative Posture, or Hunger compell'd them to a Separation. Nay, I cannot pass by what is reported of the Author, how he left in writing, That he had compar'd their Friendship to that of Nysus and Euryalus, and that of Pylades and Orestes, which if it were so, deserves universal Admirati∣on; the sincere affection of these quiet Animals being a just Reflection on Men, who are so guilty of breaking their Friendship to one another. From hence came the saying, There's no Friend; all Friend∣ship's gone: Now Men hug, then fight anon. And that other, Where you see your Friend, trust to your self. Neither shou'd the World take it ill, that the cordial affection of these Animals was compar'd by our Author to that of Men; since many im∣portant Principles of Prudence and Morality have been learn'd from irrational Creatures; as, The use of Clysters from the Stork, and the Be∣nefit of Vomiting from the Dog. The Crane gave Mankind an Example of Vigilance, the Ant of Providence, the Elephant of Honesty, and the Horse of Loyalty. At last Sancho fell asleep at

the Root of a Cork-Tree, and his Master fetch'd a slumber under a spacious Oak. But it was not long e'er he was disturb'd by a Noise behind him, and starting up, he look'd and hearken'd on the side whence he thought the Voice came, and dis∣cover'd two Men on Horse-back; one of whom let∣ting himself carelesly slide down from the Saddle, and calling to the other, Alight Friend, said he, and unbridle the Horse; for methinks this place will supply them plentifully with Pasture, and me with Silence and Solitude to indulge my amorous Thoughts. While he said this, he laid himself down on the Grass; in doing which the Armour he had on made a Noise, a sure sign, that gave Don Quixote to understand he was some Knight-Er∣rant. Thereupon going to Sancho, who slept on, he pluck'd him by the Arm, and having wak'd him with much ado, Friend Sancho, said he, whispering him in his Ear, here's an Adventure. Heaven grant it be a good one! quoth Sancho. But where's that same Master Adventure's Worship? Where! dost thou ask, Sancho? Why, turn thy Head, Man, and look yonder. Dost thou not see a Knight-Errant there lying on the Ground? I have reason to think he is in Melancholick Circum∣stances, for I saw him fling himself off from his Horse, and stretch himself on the Ground in a disconsolate manner, and his Armour clash'd as he fell. What of all that, quoth Sancho? How do you make this to be an Adventure? I will not yet affirm, answer'd Don Quixote, that 'tis an Adven∣ture; but a very fair Rise to one as ever was seen. But hark! he's tuning some Instrument, and by his coughing and spitting he's clearing his Throat to sing. Troth now, Sir, quoth Sancho, 'tis e'en so in good earnest; and I fancy 'tis some Knight that's in Love. All Knight-Errants must be so,

answer'd Don Quixote. But lets us hearken, and if he sings, we shall know more of his Circumstances presently; for out of the Abundance of the Heart the Mouth speaks. Sancho wou'd have answer'd, but that the Knight of the Wood's Voice, which was but indifferent, interrupted him with the following

SONG.

1.

BRight Queen, how shall your Loving Slave Be sure not to displease? Some Rule of Duty let him crave, He begs no other Ease.

2.

Say, must I die, or hopeless live? I'll Act as you Ordain: Despair a silent Death shall give, Or Love himself complain.

3.

My Heart, tho' soft as Wax, will prov•• Like Diamonds firm and true: For, what th' Impression can remove That's stamp'd by Love and you?

The Knight of the Wood concluded his Song with a Sigh, that seem'd to be fetch'd from the very bottom of his Heart; and after some pause, with a mournful and disconsolate Voice: Oh the

most Beautiful, but most Ungrateful of Woman-kind, cry'd he, how is it possible, most Serene Casildea de Vandalia, your Heart shou'd consent that a Knight who idolizes your Charms, should waste the Flower of his Youth, and kill himself with continual Wandrings and hard Fatigues? Is it not enough, that I have made you to be ac∣knowledg'd the greatest Beauty in the World, by all the Knights of Navarre, all the Knights of Leon, all the Tartesians, all the Castilians, and, in fine, by all the Knights of La Mancha? Not so neither, said Don Quixote then; for I my self am of La Mancha, and never acknowledg'd nor ever cou'd, nor ought to acknowledge a Thing so injurious to the Beauty of my Mistress; therefore, Sancho, 'tis a plain case, this Knight is out of his Senses. But let us hearken; perhaps we shall discover something more. That you will, I'll warrant you, quoth Sancho, for he seems in Tune to hoan a Month together. But it happen'd otherwise; for the Knight of the Wood over-hearing them, ceas'd his Lamentation, and raising himself on his Feet, in a loud but courteous Tone call'd to them, Who's there? What are ye? Are ye of the Number of the Happy or the Miserable? Of the Miserable, answer'd Don Quixote. Repair to me then, said the Knight of the Wood, and be assur'd you have met Misery and Affliction it self. Upon so moving and civil an Invitation, Don Quixote and Sancho drew near him; and the Mournful Knight taking Don Quixote by the Hand, Sit down, said he, Sir Knight, for that your Profession is Chi∣valry I need no other Conviction than to have found you in this Retirement, where Solitude and the cold Night-dews are your Companions, and the proper Stations and reposing places of Knight-Errants. I am a Knight, answer'd Don Quixote,

and of the Order you mention; and tho' my Sor∣rows, and Disasters, and Misfortunes usurp the Seat of my Mind, I have still a Heart dispos'd to entertain the afflictions of others. Yours, as I gather by your Complaints, is deriv'd from Love, and, I suppose, owing to the Ingratitude of that Beauty you now mention'd. While they were thus parleying together, they sate close by one another on the hard-Ground, very peaceably and lovingly, and not like Men that by Break of Day were to break one another's Heads. And is it your Fortune to be in Love, ask'd the Knight of the Wood? 'Tis my Misfortune, answer'd Don Quixote; tho' the pleasant Reflection of having plac'd our affections Worthily, sufficiently bal∣lances the Weight of our Disasters, and turns them to a Blessing. This might be true, reply'd the Knight of the Wood, if the Disdain of some Mistresses were not often so galling to our Tem∣pers, as to inspire us with something like the Spirit of Revenge. For my part, said Don Quixote, I never felt my Mistress's Disdain. No truly, quoth Sancho, who was near them, for my Lady is as gentle as a Lamb, and as soft as Butter. Is that your Squire, said the Knight of the Wood? It is, answer'd Don Quixote. I never saw a Squire, said the Knight of the Wood, that durst presume to interrupt his Master, when he was speaking himself. There's my Fellow yonder; he's as big as his Father, and yet no Man can say he was ever so saucy as to open his Lips when I spoke. Well, well, quoth Sancho, I have talk'd, and may talk again, and before as, and perhaps—but I have done—The more ye stir, the more 'twill stink. At the same time the Squire of the Wood pulling Sancho by the Arm, come Brother, said he, let us two go where we may chat freely by our

selves, like downright Squires as we are, and let our Masters get over Head and Ears in the Stories of their Loves: I'll warrant ye they'll be at it all Night, and won't have done by that time 'tis Day. With all my Heart, quoth Sancho; and then I'll tell you who I am, and what I am, and you shall judge if I am not fit to make one among the talk∣ing Squires. With that the two Squires with-drew, and had a Dialogue, as Comical as that of their Masters was Serious.

CHAP. XIII. The Adventure with the Knight of the Wood continu'd; with the Wise, Rare and Plea∣sant Discourse that pass'd between the two Squires.

THE Knights and their Squires thus divided, the latter to tell their Lives, and the for∣mer to relate their Amours; the Story begins with the Squire of the Wood. Sir, said he to Sancho, this is a troublesome kind of Life, that we Squires of Knight-Errants lead: Well may we say, we eat our Bread with the sweat of our Brows; which is one of the Curses laid on our first Parents. Well may we say too, quoth Sancho, we eat it with a cold Shivering of our Bodies; for there are no poor Creatures that suffer more by heat or cold than we do. Nay, if we cou'd but eat at all, 'twou'd never vex one; for good Fare lessens Care; but sometimes we shall go ye a Day or two, and never

so much as breakfast, unless it be upon the Wind that blows. After all, said the Squire of the Wood; we may bear with this, when we think of the reward we are to expect; for that same Knight-Errant must be excessively Unfortunate, that has not some time or other the Government of some Island, or some good handsome Earldom, to bestow on his Squire. As for me, quoth Sancho, I have often told my Master, I wou'd be contented with the Government of any Island; and he is so Noble and Free-hearted, that he has promis'd it me over and over. For my part, quoth the other Squire, I shou'd think my self well paid for my Services with some good Canonry, and I have my Master's Word for it too. Why then, quoth Sancho, be∣like your Master is some Church-Knight, and may bestow such Living•• on his good Squires. But mine is purely Laick; some of his wise Friends in∣deed (no thanks to them for it) once upon a time counsell'd him to be an Archbishop: I fancy they wish'd him no good, but he wou'd not; for he'll be nothing but an Emperor. I was plaguily afraid he might have had a hankering after the Church, and so have spoil'd my Preferment, I not being gifted that way; for between you and I, tho' I look like a Man in a Doublet▪ I shou'd make but an Ass in a Cassock. Let me tell you, Friend, quoth the Squire of the Wood, that you are out in your Politicks; for these Island-Governments bring more Cost than Worship; there's a great Cry, but little Wool; the best will bring more Trouble and Care than they are worth, and those that take 'em on their Shoulders are ready to sink under 'em. I think it were better for us to quit this confounded Slavery, and e'en jog home, where me may have better Pastimes. There we may have Fishing, and Hunting, and the lik••;

for he's a sorry Country-Squire indeed, that wants his Horse, his couple of Hounds, or his Fishing-Tackle, to live pleasantly at Home. All this I can have at Will, quoth Sancho: Indeed I have ne'er a Nag; but I have an honest Ass here worth two of my Master's Horses any Day in the Year. A bad Christmas be my Lot, and may it be the next, if I wou'd swop Beasts with him, tho' he gave me four Bushels of Barley to boot, no marry wou'd not I: Laugh as much as you will at the value I set on my Dapple; for Dapple you must know is his Colour. Now as for Hounds we have enough to spare in our Town; and there's no Sport like Hunting at another Man's Cost. Faith and Troth! Brother Squire, quoth the Squire of the Wood, I am fully set upon't. These Vagrant Knights may e'en seek their mad Adventures by them∣selves for me. I'll Home, and breed up my Children as it behoves me; for I have three, as Precious as three Orient Pearls. I have but two, quoth Sancho; but they might be presented to the Pope himself, especially my Girl, that I breed up to be a Countess (Heaven bless her) in spight of her Mother's Teeth. And how old, pray, said the Squire of the Wood, may this same Young Lady Countess be? Why, she's about Fifteen, answer'd Sancho, a little over or a little under; but she's as ••all as a Pike, as fresh as an April-Morning, and as strong as a Porter. With these parts, quoth the other, she may set up not only for a Countess, but for one of the Wood-Nymphs! Ah, the Young Buxsome Whore's Brood! What a Spring the Met∣••lesom Quean will have with her! My Daughter's no Whore, quoth Sancho in a grumbling Tone, and her Mother was an honest Woman before her; and they shall be Honest, by Heaven's blessing, while I live and do well: So, Sir, pray keep your

Tongue between your Teeth, or speak as you ought. Methinks your Master shou'd have taught you better Manners; for Knight-Errants are the very pink of Courtesie. Alas, quoth the Squire of the Wood, how you're mistaken! how little you know the way of praising People now a-days! Have you never observ'd when any Gentleman at a Bull-Feast gives the Bull a home Thrust with his Lance, or when any Body behaves himself clever∣ly upon any Occasion; The People will Cry out, What a brisk Son of a Whore that is! a clever Dog, I'll warrant him. So what seems to be Slander, in that Sense is notable Commendation: And be advis'd by me, don't think those Children worth the owning, who won't do that which may make their Parents be commended in that Fashion. Nay, if it be so, quoth Sancho, I'll disown 'em if they don't; and henceforth you may call my Wife and Daughter all the Whores and Bawds you can think on, and welcome; for they do a thousand things that deserve all these fine Names. Heav'n send me once more to see them, and deliver me out of this Mortal Sin of Squire-Erranting, which I have been drawn into a second time, by the wicked Bait of a hundred Ducats, which the De∣vil threw in my own way in Sierra Morena, and which he still Haunts me with, and brings be∣fore my Eyes here and there and every where. Oh that plaguy Purse, 'tis still running in my Head, methinks I am counting such another o∣ver and over! Now I hug it, now I carry it home, now I'm buying Land with it; now I let Leases, now I'm receiving my Rents, and live like a Prince! Thus I pass away the time, and this lulls me on to drudge on to the end of the Chapter, with this Dunder-headed Master of mine, who to my knowledge is more a Madman than

a Knight. Truly, said the Squire of the Wood, this makes the Proverb true, Covetousness breaks the Sack. And now you talk of Madmen, I think my Master is worse than yours; for he is one of those, of whom the Proverb says, Fools will be meddling; and, who meddles with an∣other Man's Business, Milks his Cow into a Sieve. In searching after another Knight's Wits, he loses his own; and Hunts up and down for that, which may make him rue the finding. And is not the Poor Man in Love, quoth Sancho? I marry, said t'other, and with one Casildea de Vandalia, one of the oddest Pieces in the World; she'll neither Roast nor Boil, and is neither Fish Flesh nor good Red Herring. But that's not the Thing that Plagues his Noddle now. He has some other Crotchets in his Crown, and you'll hear more of it e'er long. There is no way so smooth, quoth Sancho, but it has some hole or rub in't to make a Body stumble. In some Houses they Boil Beans, and in mine are whole Kettles full. So Madness has more need of good Attendants than Wisdom. But if the old Saying be true, that it lightens Sor∣row to have Companions in our Grief, you are the fittest to comfort me; you serve one Fool and I another. My Master, quoth the Squire of the Wood, is more stout than foolish, but more Knave than either. Mine is not like yours then, quoth Sancho, he has not one grain of Knavery in him; he's as dull as an old crack'd Pitcher, hurts no Body, does all the good he can to every Body, a Child may perswade him it is Night at Noon-Day, and he is so simple, that I can't help loving him with all my Heart and Soul, and can't leave him, in spight of all his Follies. Have a care, Brother, said the Squire of the Wood, when the Blind leads the Blind, both may fall into the Ditch. 'Tis

better to wheel about fair and softly, and steal home again to our own Fire-sides; for those who follow their Nose are often led into a stink: Here the Squire of the Wood observing that Sancho spit very often and very dry, I fancy, Brother, said he, that our Tongues stick to the Palats of our Mouths with Talking; but to cure that Disease I have something that hangs to the Pummel of my Sad∣dle, as good as ever was tipp'd over Tongue. Then he went and took down a Leather-Bottle of Wine, and a cold Pye at least half a Yard long; which is no Fiction, for Sancho himself, when he laid his Hands on it, took it rather for a bak'd Goat than a Kid; though it was indeed but an over-grown Rabbit. What! said Sancho at the sight, did you bring this too abroad with you? What d'you think, said t'other? Do you take me for one of your Fresh-water Squires? I'd have you know I carry as good Provision at my Horse's Crupper, as any General upon his March. Sancho did not stay for an Invitation, but fell to in the Dark, cramming down Morsels as big as his Fift. Ay marry, Sir, said he, you are a Squire every Inch of you, a true and trusty, round and sound, noble and free-hearted Squire. This good Cheer is a proof of it, which I don't say jump'd hither by Witch-craft; but one would almost think so. Now here sits poor wretched I, that have nothing in my Knapsack but a Crust of Cheese, so hard, a Giant might break his Grinders in't, and a few Acorns, Walnuts and Filberds; a shame on my Master's Niggardly Temper, and his Cursed Mag∣got, in fancying that all Knight-Errants must live on a little dry'd Fruit and Sallets. Well, well, Brother, reply'd the Squire of the Wood, our Mas∣ters may Diet themselves, by rules of Chivalry, if they please; your Thistles, and your Herbs and

Roots don't well agree with my Stomach: I must have good Meat, i'faith! and this Bottle here still at Hand at the Pummel of my Saddle. 'Tis my Joy, my Life, the Comfort of my Soul, I hug and kiss it every Moment, and now recommend it to you as the best Friend in the World. Sancho took the Bottle, and rearing it to his thirsty Lips, with his Eyes fix'd upon the Stars, kept himself in that happy Contemplation for a quarter of an Hour together. At last, when he had taken his Draught, with a deep Groan, a Nod on one side and a cun∣ning Leer, Oh! the Son of a Whore! What rare and Catholick Bub it is! Oh ho! quoth the Squire of the Wood, have I caught you at your Son of a Whores! I told you so now that it was a way of commending a thing. I knock under, quoth San∣cho, and own 'tis no dishonour to call one a Son of a Whore when we mean to praise him. But now, by the Remembrance of her you Love best, prithee tell me, is not this your right Ciudad-Real Wine? Thou hast a rare Palate, answer'd the Squire of the Wood, 'tis the very same, and of a good standing too. I knew it faith! said Sancho, is not this strange now? Turn me loose among a parcel of Wines to find the Difference: Adad! Sir, I no sooner clap my Nose to a Taster of Wine, but I can tell the Place, the Grape, the Flavour, the Age, the Strength, and all the Qua∣lities of the Parcel: And all this is natural to me, Sir; for I had two Relations by the Father's-side that were the nicest Tasters that were known of a long time in La Mancha; of which two I'll re∣late you a Story that makes good what I said. It fell out on a time, that some Wine was drawn fresh out of a Hogshead, and given to these same Friends of mine to Taste; and they were ask'd their Opinions of the Condition, the Quality, the

Goodness, the Badness of the Wine, and all that. The one try'd it with the tip of his Tongue, the other only smell'd it; the first said the Wine tasted of Iron; the second said it rather had a Tang of Goat's Leather. The Vintner swore his Vessel was clean, and the Wine Neat, and so Pure that it could have no Taste of any such thing. Well, Time ran on, the Wine was Sold, and when the Vessel came to be empty'd, what do you think, Sir, was found in the Cask? A little Key, with a bit of Leathern Thong ty'd to't: Now, judge you by this, whether he that comes of such a Ge∣neration has not reason to understand Wine? More reason than to understand Adventures, an∣swer'd the other: Therefore since we have e∣nough, let's not trouble our selves to look after more, but e'en jog home to our little Cots, where Heav'n will find us, if it be its Will. I intend, said Sancho, to wait on my Master till we come to Saragossa, but then I'll turn over a new Leaf. To conclude: The two friendly Squires having talk'd and drank, and held out almost as long as their Bottle, it was high time that Sleep should lay their Tongues, and asswage their Thirst, for to quench it was impossible. Accordingly they had no sooner fill'd their Bellies, but they fell fast asleep, both keeping their hold on their almost empty Bottle. Where we shall for a while leave 'em to their rest, and see what pass'd between their Masters.

CHAP. XIV. A Continuation of the Adventure of the Knight of the Mirrors.

MANY were the Discourses that pass'd be∣tween Don Quixote and the Knight of the Wood: Amongst the rest, You must know, Sir Knight, said the latter, that by the appointment of Fate, or rather by my own Choice, I became Enamour'd of the Peerless Casildea de Vandalia. I call her Peerless, because she is singular in the greatness of her Stature, as well as in that of her State and Beauty. But this Lady has been pleas'd to take no other notice of my honourable Passion, than in employing me in many Perillous Adven∣tures, like Hercules's Step-mother; still promising me, after I had put an happy end to one, that the performance of the next should put me in possessi∣on of my Desires. But after a Succession of num∣berless Labours, I do not know which of her Commands will be the last, and will crown my Lawful Wishes. Once by her particular Injunc∣tion, I Challeng'd that famous Giantess La Giralda of Sevill, who is as strong and undaunted as one that is made of Brass, and who, without changing Place; is the most changeable and unconstant Woman in the World; I went, I saw, and over∣came: I made her stand still, and fix'd her in a constant Point, for the space of a whole Week; no Wind having blown in the Skies during all that time but the North. Another time she en∣joyn'd

me to remove the ancient Stones of the sturdy Bulls of Guisando; a Task more suitable to the Arms of Porters than those of Knights; then she commanded me to descend and dive into the Cave of Cabra, (a terrible and unheard of Attempt) and to bring her an account of all the Wonders in that dismal Profundity. I stopp'd the Motion of La Giralda, I weigh'd the Bulls of Guisando; and with a precipitated Fall plung'd to the distant bot∣tom of the Den, and brought to light the d••rkest secrets of that black Abyss. But still, an•• still my hopes are dead. How dead? How, because her Disdain still lives, lives to enjoyn me new Labours, new Exploits. For, lastly she has or∣der'd me to traverse the remotest Provinces of Spain, and exact a Confession from all the Knight-Errants that Roam about the Land, that her Beau∣ty alone excells that of all other. Women, and that I am the most valiant and most enamour'd Knight in the World. I have already journey'd over the greatest part of Spain on this Expedition, and over∣come many Knights who had the Temerity to con∣tradict my Assertion: But the perfection of my Glory, is the Result of my Victory over the re∣nown'd Don Quixote de la Mancha, whom I Con∣quer'd in single Combat, and compell'd to submit his Dulcinea's to my Casildea's Beauty. And now I reckon the wandring Knights of the whole Uni∣verse all vanquish'd by my Prowess: Their Fame, their Glory and their Honours being all vested in this great Don Quixote, who had before made them the Spoils of his Valorous Arm; though now they must attend the Triumphs of my Victo∣ry, which is the greater, since the Reputation of the Conquerour rises in proportion to that of the Vanquish'd; and all the latter's Laurels are trans∣ferr'd to me.

Don Quixote was amaz'd to hear the Knight run on at this rate, and had the Lye ready at his Tongue's-end to give him a thousand times; but designing to make him own his Falsity with his own Mouth, he strove to contain his Choler; and arguing the Matter very calmly, Sir Knight, said he, That your Victories have extended over all the Knights in Spain, and perhaps over the whole World, I will not dispute; but that you have van∣quish'd Don Quixote de la Mancha, you must give me leave to doubt: It might be some body like him; tho' he is a Person whom but very few can resemble. What d'ye mean? Answer'd the Knight of the Wood: By yond spangled Canopy of the Skies, I fought Don Quixote hand to hand, van∣quish'd him, and made him submit; he is a tall wither-fac'd, leathern-jaw'd Fellow, scragged, griz∣zle-hair'd, Hawk-nos'd, and wears long, black, lank Mustachio's: He is distinguish'd in the Field by the Title of the Knight of the Woeful Figure: He bestrides and manages that far-fam'd Courser Rozinante; and has for the Mistress of his Affecti∣ons, one Dulcinea del Toboso, sometimes call'd Aldon∣sa Lorenzo; as mine, whose Name was Casildea, and who is of Andalusia, is now distinguish'd by the Denomination of Casildea de Vandalia: and if all these convincing Marks be not sufficient to prove this Truth, I wear a Sword that shall force even Incredulity to Credit it. Not so fast good Sir Knight, said Don Quixote; pray attend to what I shall deliver upon this Head: you must know that this same Don Quixote is the greatest Friend I have in the World; insomuch that I may say I love him as well as I do my self. Now the Tokens that you have describ'd him by, are so agreeable to his Person and Circumstances, that one would think he should be the Person you Subdu'd. On

the other hand, I am convinc'd by the more power∣ful Argument of undeniable Sense, that it cannot be he. But thus far I will allow you, as there are many Inchanters that are his Enemies, especially one whose Malice hourly persecutes him, perhaps one of them has assum'd his Likeness, thus by a Counterfeit Conquest to defraud him of the Glory contracted by his signal Chivalry over all-the Uni∣verse. In confirmation of which I can further tell you, 'tis but two Days ago that these envious Ma∣gicians transform'd the Figure and Person of the Beautiful Dulcinea del Toboso into the base and sordid likeness of a Rustic Wench. And if this will not convince you of your Errour, behold Don Quixote himself in Person, that here stands ready to main∣tain his Words with his Arms, either a Foot or on Horseback, or in what other manner you may think convenient. As he said this, up he started, and laid his Hand to his Sword, expecting the Motions and Resolutions of the Knight of the Wood. But with a great deal of Calmness, Sir, said he, a good Pay-master grudges no Surety: He that could once vanquish Don Quixote when transform'd, needs not fear him in his proper Shape. But since Darkness is not proper for the Atchievements of Knights, but rather for Robbers and Ruffians, let us expect the Morning-light, that the Sun may be a Witness of our Valour. The Conditions of our Combat shall be, That the Conquer'd shall be wholly at the Mercy of the Conquerour, who shall dispose of him at Discre∣tion; provided always he abuses not his Power, by commanding any thing unworthy the Honour of Knighthood. Content, said Don Quixote, I like these Terms very well. With that they both went to look out their Squires, whom they found snoaring very soundly in the very same posture as

when they first fell asleep. They rouz'd them up; and order'd them to get their Steeds ready; for, the first Rays of the rising Sun must behold them engage in a Bloody and unparallell'd single Combat. This News Thunder-struck Sancho, and put him to his Wits-end for his Master's Danger; having heard the Knight of the Wood's Courage strangely magnify'd by his Squire. However, without the least reply he went with his Com∣panion to seek their Beasts, who by this time had smell'd out one another and were got lovingly all together. Well Friend, said the Squire to Sancho as they went, I find our Master's are to fight; so you and I are like to have a Brush too; for 'tis the way among us Andalusians, not to let the Se∣conds stand idly by, with Arms a-cross, while their Friends are at it. This, said Sancho, may be a Custom in your Country; but let me tell you, 'tis a damn'd Custom, Sir Squire, and none but Ruffians and Bloody-minded Fellows would stand up for't: But there's no such Practice among Squires Errant, else my Master would have minded me of it e'er this; for he has all the Laws of Knight-Errantry by Heart. But suppose there be such a Law, I will not obey it, that's flat: I'll rather pay the Penalty that's laid on such Peacea∣ble Squires: I don't think the Fine can be above two pounds of Wax, and that will cost me less than the Lint would to make Tents for my Scull, which methinks is already cleft down to my Chin. Besides, how would you have me Fight? I have ne'er a Sword, nor ever wore any. No matter, quoth the Squire of the Wood, I've a Cure for that Sore. I ha' got here a couple of Linnen-Bags, both of a size, you shall take one, and I t'other, and so we'll let drive one at one another with these equal Weapons. Ay, ay, with all my

Heart, quoth Sancho; this will dust our Jackets purely, and won't hurt our Skins. Not so nei∣ther, reply'd the Squire of the Wood; for we'll put half a dozen of smooth Stones into each Bag, that the Wind mayn't blow 'em to and fro, and they may play the better, and so we may brush one another's Coats cleverly, and yet do our selves no great hurt. Body of my Father! quoth Sancho, what soft Sable-Fur, what dainty carded Cotton and Lambs-wool he crams into the Bags, to hinder our making Pap of our Brains, and Touch-wood of our Bones! But I say again and again, I am not in a humour to Fight, though they were only full of Silk-balls. Let our Masters Fight, and hear on't in another World; but let us drink and live while we may, for why should we strive to end our Lives before their Time and Season; and be so eager to gather the Plums that will drop of themselves, when they're ripe? Well, said the Squire of the Wood, for all that, we must Fight half an Hour or so. Not a Minute, reply'd Sancho: I han't the Heart to quarrel with a Gentleman with whom I have been eating and drinking. I an'c angry with you in the least, and were I to be hang'd for't, I could never fight in cold Blood. Nay, if that be all, said the Squire of the Wood, you shall be angry enough, I'll warrant you; for, before we go to't, d'ye see, I'll walk up very handsomely to you, and lend your Worship three or four sound slaps o' the Chaps, and knock you down; which will be sure to awaken your Choler, though it slept as sound as a Dormouse. Nay then, quoth Sancho, I have a Trick for your Trick, if that be all, and you shall have as good as you bring; for I will take me a pretty middling Leaver (you understand me) and before you can waken my Choler, will

I lay yours asleep so fast, that it shall never wake more, unless in t'other World; where 'tis well known, I am one will let no Man's Fist dust my Nose. Let every Man look before he Leaps. Ma∣ny come for Wooll, that go home shorn. No Man knows what another can do: So, Friend, let every Man's Choler sleep with him; Blessed are the Peace-makers, and Cursed are the Peace-breakers. A Baited Cat may turn as fierce as a Lion. Who knows then what I that am a Man may turn to, if I'm provok'd. Take it therefore for a Warning from me, Sir Squire, that all the Mischief you may be hatching in this manner shall lie at your Door. Well, said t'other, 'twill be Day anon, and then we shall see what's to be done.

And now a thousand sorts of pretty Birds began to warble in the Trees, and with their various chearful Notes seem'd to salute the fresh Aurora, who then display'd her rising Beauties through the Gates and Arches of the East, and gently shook from her dewy Locks a Shower of liquid Pearls, sprinkling and inriching the verdant Meads with that reviving Treasure, which seem'd to spring and drop from the bending Leaves. The Willows distill'd their delicious Manna, the Rivulets fond∣ly murmur'd, the Fountains smil'd, the Woods were cheer'd, and Fields enrich'd at her Approach. But no sooner the dawning Light recall'd Distin∣ction, than the first thing that presented it self to Sancho's View, was the Squire of the Wood's Nose, which was so big that it over-shadow'd al∣most his whole Body. In short, 'tis said to have been of a monstrous size, crooked in the middle, studded with Warts and Carbuncles, tawny as a Russet-Pippin, and hanging down some two Fin∣gers below his Mouth. The unreasonable Bulk, dismal Hue-Protuberancy, and Crookedness of that

Nose, so disfigur'd the Squire, that Sancho was seiz'd with a Trembling at the Sight, and resolv'd now to take two hundred Cuffs, before his Cho∣ler should awaken to encounter such a Hobgoblin. As for Don Quixote, he fix'd his Eyes upon his Antagonist; but as his Helmet was on, and he had pull'd down the Bever, his Face could not be seen; however, he observ'd him to be strong-limb'd, though not very tall. Over his Armour he wore a Coat that look'd like Cloth of Gold, over∣spread with Looking-glasses cut into the Shape of Half-Moons, which made a very glittering Show: A large Plume of yellow green and white Fea∣thers wav'd about his Helmet; and his Lance, which he had set up against a Tree, was very thick and long, with a Steel-Head a Foot in length. Don Quixote survey'd every particular, and from his Observations judg'd him to be a Man of great Strength. But all this was so far from daunting his Courage, like Sancho, that, with a gallant De∣portment, Sir Knight of the Mirrours, said he, if your eager Desire of Combat has not made you deaf to the Entreaties of Civility, be pleas'd to lift up your Bever a while, that I may see whether the Gracefulness of your Face equals that of your Bo∣dy. Whether you be Vanquish'd or Victorious in this Enterprize, answer'd the Knight of the Mir∣rours, you shall have Leisure enough to see my Face: I cannot at present satisfy your Curiosity; for every Moment of Delay from Combat is, in my Thoughts, a Wrong done to the Beautiful Ca∣sildea de Vandalia. However, reply'd Don Quix∣ote, while we get a Horseback, you may tell me whether I be the same Don Quixote whom you pre∣tend to have overcome? To this I answer you, said the Knight of the Mirrours, you are as like the Knight I vanquish'd as one Egg is like another.

But considering what you tell me, that you are persecuted by Inchanters, I dare not affirm that you are the same. 'Tis enough for me, said Don Quixote, that you believe you may be in Error; but that I may entirely prove your Doubts, let's to Horse; for, if Providence, my Mistress, and my Arm assist me, I will see your Face in less time than it would have cost you to have lifted up your Bever, and make you know that I am not that Don Quixote whom you talk'd of having Vanquish∣ed. This said, without any more Words they Mounted. Don Quixote wheel'd about with Rozi∣nante, to take Ground for the Career: The Knight of the Mirrours did the like. But before Don Quixote had rid twenty Paces he heard him call to him: So meeting each other half way, Remem∣ber, Sir Knight, cry'd he, the Conditions on which we Fight; The Vanquish'd as I told you before, shall be at the Mercy of the Conqueror. I grant it answer'd Don Quixote, provided the Victor im∣poses nothing on him that derogates from the Laws of Chivalry. I mean no otherwise, reply'd the Knight of the Mirrours. At the same time Don Quixote happen'd to cast his Eye on the Squire's strange Nose, and wonder'd no less at the Sight of it than Sancho, taking him to be rather a Monster than a Man. Sancho seeing his Master set out to take so much Distance as was fit to return on his Enemy with greater Force, would not trust him∣self alone with Squire Nose, fearing the greater should be too hard for the less, and either that or Fear should strike him to the Ground. This made him run after his Master, till he had taken hold of Rozinante's Stirrup▪ Leathers; and when he thought him ready to turn back to take his Career; good your Worship, cry'd he, before you run upon your Enemy help me to get up into yon Cork-Tree,

where I may better, and much more to my liking, see your brave Battle with the Knight. I rather believe, said Don Quixote, thou want'st to be pearch'd up yonder as on a Scaffold, to see the Bull-baiting without Danger. To tell you the Truth, quoth Sancho, that Fellow's unconscionable Nose has so frighted me, that I dare not stay with∣in his reach. It is indeed such a Sight, said Don Quixote, as might affect with Fear any other but my self; and therefore come, I'll help thee up. Now while Sancho was climbing up the Tree, with his Master's Assistance, the Knight of the Mirrors took as much Ground as he thought proper for his Career; and imagining Don Quixote had done the same, he fac'd about, without expecting the Trum∣pet's Sound or any other Signal for a Charge, and with his Horse's full Speed, which was no more than a middling Trot, (for he was neither more promising nor a better Performer than Rozinante) he went to encounter his Enemy. But seeing him busy in helping up his Squire, he held in his Steed, and stopp'd in the middle of the Career, for which the Horse was mightily oblig'd to him, being al∣ready scarceable to stir a foot farther. Don Quixote, who thought his Enemy was flying upon him, set Spurs to Rozinante's hinder Flank vigorously, and so waken'd his Mettle, that the Story says, this was the only Time he was known to Gallop a lit∣tle, for at all others, downright Trotting was his best. With this unusual Fury he soon got to the Place where his Opponent was striking his Spurs into his Horse's Sides up to the very Rowels, with∣out being able to make him stir an Inch from the Spot. Now while he was thus Goading him on, and at the same time encumbr'd with his Lance, either not knowing how to set it in the Rest, or wanting Tim•• to do it; Don Quixote, who took

no notice of his Disorder, Encounter'd him with∣out Danger, so furiously, that the Knight of the Mirrors was hurry'd in spight of his Teeth over his Horse's Crupper; and was so hurt with falling to the Ground, that he lay without Motion, or any Sign of Life. Sancho no sooner saw him fallen, but down he comes sliding from the Tree, and runs to his Master, who having dismounted, was got upon the Knight of the Mirrors, and was un∣lacing his Helmet, to see if he were dead or alive, and give him Air. But who can relate what he saw, when he saw the Face of the Knight of the Mirrors, without raising Wonder, Amazement or Astonishment in those that shall hear it? He saw, says the History, in that Face, the very Visage, the very Aspect, the very Physiognomy, the very Make, the very Features, the very Effigy of the Batchelor Sampson Carrasco. Come Sancho, cry'd he as he saw it, come hither, look and admire what thou may'st see, yet not believe. Haste, my Friend, and mark the Power of Magick; What Sorcerers and Inchanters can do! Sancho drew near, and see∣ing the Batchelor Sampson Carrasco's Face, began to Cross himself a thousand times, and Bless himself as many more. The poor defeated Knight all this while gave no Sign of Life: Sir, quoth Sancho to his Master, if you'll be rul'd by me, make sure work: Right or wrong, e'en thrust your Sword down this Fellow's Throat that's so like the Batchelour Sampson Carrasco; and so mayhaps in him you may chance to murder one of those bit∣ter Dogs those Inchanters that haunt you so. That Thought's not amiss, said Don Quixote; and with that drawing his Sword, he was going to put San∣cho's Advice in Execution, when the Knight's Squire came running without the Nose that so dis∣guis'd him before; and calling to Don Quixote;

Hold, Noble Don Quixote cry'd he! Take heed! Beware! 'Tis your Friend Sampson Carrasco that now lies at your Worship's Mercy, and I am his Squire. And where's your Nose, quoth Sancho, see∣ing him now without his Disguise? Here in my Pocket, answer'd the Squire; and so saying he pull'd out the Nose of a Varnish'd Paste-board Viz∣zard, such as it has been describ'd. Sancho having more and more star'd him in the Face with great Earnestness, Blessed Virgin defend me, quoth he! Who's this? Thomas Cecial, my Friend and Neigh∣bour? The same Friend Sancho, quoth the Squire? I'll tell you anon by what Tricks and Wheadles he was inveagl'd to come hither. Mean while desire your Master not to misuse, nor slay, nor meddle in the least with the Knight of the Mirrors, that now lies at his Mercy; for there's nothing more sure than that 'tis our ill-advis'd Countryman Sampson Carrasco, and no body else.

By this time the Knight of the Mirrors began to come to himself; which when Don Quixote ob∣serv'd, setting the Point of his Sword to his Throat, Thou dy'st, Knight, cry'd he, if thou refuse to confess that the peerless Dulcinea del Tobo∣so excells thy Casildea de Vandalia in Beauty. Be∣sides this, thou shalt promise (if thou escape with Life from this Combat) to go to the City of Toboso; where, as from me, thou shalt present thy self before the Mistress of my Desires, and resign thy Person to her Disposal: If she leaves thee to thy own, then thou shalt come back to me, (for the Track of my Exploits will be thy Guide) and thou shalt give me an Account of the Transactions be∣tween her and thee. These Conditions are con∣formable to our Agreement before the Combat, and do not transgress the Rules of Knight-Erran∣try. I do confess, said the discomfited Knight,

that the Lady Dulcinea del Toboso's ripp'd and dirty Shooe is preferable to the clean, though ill-comb'd Locks of Casildea; and I promise to go to her, and come from her Presence to yours, and bring you a full and true Relation of all you have en∣join'd me. You shall also confess and believe, ad∣ded Don Quixote, that the Knight you vanquish'd neither was nor could be Don Quixote de la Mancha, but some body else in his likeness; as I on the other side do confess and believe, that though you seem to be the Batchelor Sampson Carrasco, you are not he, but some other whom my Enemies have transformed into his Resemblance, to asswage the Violence of my Wrath, and make me entertain with Moderation the Glory of my Victory. All this I confess, believe and allow, said the Knight; and now I beseech you let me rise, if the Hurt I have receiv'd by my Fall will give me leave; for I find my self very much bruis'd. Don Quixote help'd him to rise by the Aid of his Squire Thomas Cecial, on whom Sancho fix'd his Eyes all the while, asking him a thousand Questions; the Answers to which convinc'd him, that he was the real Thomas Cecial, as he said, though the Conceit of what was told him by his Master, that the Magicians had transform'd the Knight of the Mirrors into Sampson Carrasco, had made such an Impression on his Fan∣cy, that he could not believe the Testimony of his own Eyes. In short, the Master and the Man persisted in their Errour. The Knight of the Mirrors and his Squire, much out of Humour, and much out of Order, left Don Quixote to go to some Town where he might get some Ointments and Plaisters for his Ribs. Don Quixote and Sancho con∣tinu'd their Progress for Saragosa; where the His∣tory leaves them, to relate who the Knight of the Mirrors and his Squire were.

CHAP. XV. Giving an Account who the Knight of the Mirrors and his Squire were.

DON Quixote went on extremely pleas'd, and joyful, priding himself and glorying in the Victory he had got over so valiant a Knight, as the Knight of the Mirrors, and relying on his Parole of Honour, which he could not violate, without forfeiting his Title to Chivalry, that he wou'd return to give him an Account of his Re∣ception, by which means he expected to hear whe∣ther his Mistress continu'd under the Bonds of In∣chantment. But Don Quixote dream'd of one thing, and the Knight of the Mirrors thought of another. His only Care for the present, was how to get Cur'd of his Bruises.

Here the History relates, That when the Bat∣chelor Carrasco advis'd Don Quixote to proceed in his former Profession of Knight-Errantry, it was the Result of a Conference which he had with the Curate and the Barber, about the best means to prevail with Don Quixote to stay quietly at Home, and desist from rambling after his unlucky Adven∣tures. For Carrasco thought, and so did the rest, that 'twas in vain to pretend to hinder him from going abroad again, and therefore the best way wou'd be let him go, and that he shou'd meet him by the way, equipp'd like a Knight-Errant, and shou'd take an Opportunity to Fight, and overcome him,

which he might easily do, first making an Agree∣ment with him, that the Vanquish'd should sub∣mit to the Victor's Discretion. So that after the Batchelor had Vanquish'd him, he shou'd com∣mand him to return to his House and Village, and not offer to depart thence in two Years, without Permission; which 'twas not doubted but Don Quixote would religiously observe, for fear of in∣fringing the Laws of Chivalry; and in this Time they hop'd he might be wean'd of his Frantick Imaginations, or they might find some means to Cure him of his Madness. Carrasco undertook this Task, and Thomas Cecial, a brisk, pleasant Fellow, Sancho's Neighbour and Gossip, proffer'd to be his Squire. Sampson equipp'd himself, as you have heard, and Thomas Cecial fitted a huge Pasteboard-Nose to his own, that his Gossip Sancho might not know him when they met. Then they follow'd Don Quixote so close, that they had like to have o∣vertaken him in the midst of his Adventure with the Chariot of Death, and at last they found him in the Wood, that happen'd to be the Scene of their Encounter, which might have prov'd more fatal to the Batchelor, and had spoil'd him for ever from taking another Degree, had not Don Quixote been so obstinate, in not believing him to be the same Man.

And now Thomas Cecial, seeing the ill Success of their Journey; by my Troth! said he, Master Carrasco, we have been serv'd well enough. 'Tis easy to begin a Business, but a hard matter to go through. Don Quixote is Mad, and we think our selves Wise; yet he's gone away sound, and laugh∣ing in his Sleeve; and your Worship's left here well bang'd, and in the Dumps. Now pray who's the greatest Madman, he that is so because he can't help it, or he that is so for his Pleasure? The Dif∣ference

is, answer'd the Batchelor, that he that can't help being Mad, will always be so; but he that only plays the Fool for his Fancy, may give over when he pleases. Well then, quoth Cecial, I, who was pleas'd to play the Fool in going a Squire-Erranting with your Worship, for the self-same Reason will give it over now, and e'en make the best of my way home again. Do as you will, reply'd Carrasco, but 'tis a Folly to think I ever will go home, till I have swingingly paid that un∣accountable Madman. 'Tis not that he may reco∣ver his Wits neither: No, 'tis pure Revenge now, for the Pain in my Bones won't give me leave to have any manner of Charity for him. Thus they went on Discoursing, till at last they got to a Town, where, by good Fortune, they met with a Bone-setter, who gave the Bruis'd Batchelor some Ease. Thomas Cecial left him, and went Home, while the other stay'd to meditate Revenge. In due time the History will speak of him again, but must not now forget to entertain you with Don Quixote's Joy.

CHAP. XVI. What happen'd to Don Quixote, with a so∣ber Gentleman of la Mancha.

DON Quixote pursu'd his Journey, full, as we said before, of Joy and Satisfaction; his late Victory made him esteem himself the most Valiant Knight-Errant of the Age. He counted all his future Adventures as already finish'd and

happily atchiev'd. He defy'd all Inchantments and Enchanters. No longer did he remember the innumerable Blows he had receiv'd in the Course of his Errantry; nor the shower of Stones that had dash'd out half of his Teeth, nor the Ingratitude of the Galley-Slaves, nor the Insolence of the Tanguesian Carriers, that had so abominably batter'd his Ribs with their Pack-staves. In short, he con∣cluded with himself, that if he cou'd but by any manner of means dissolve the Inchantment of his ador'd Dulcinea, he should have no need to envy the greatest Felicity that ever was, or ever could be attain'd by the most fortunate Knight in the habitable Globe. While he was wholly employ'd in these pleasing Imaginations; Sir, quoth Sancho to him, is it not a pleasant thing that I can't for the Blood of me put out of my Mind that huge unconscionable Nose, and whapping Nostrils of Tomas Cecial, my Gossip? How, Sancho, answer'd Don Quixote, do'st thou still believe, that the Knight of the Mirrours was the Batchelor Carrasco, and that Thomas Cecial was his Squire; I don't know what to say to't, quoth Sancho, but this I'm sure, that no body but he cou'd give me those Items of my House, and of my Wife and Children as he did. Besides, when his hugeous Nose was off, he had Tom Cecial's Face to a Hair. I ought to know it I think: I have seen it a hundred and a hun∣dred times, for we are but next-door Neigh∣bours; and then he had his Speech to a Tittle. Come, on, return'd Don Quixote; let us reason upon this Business. How can it enter into any one's Imagination, that the Batchelor Sampson Car∣rasco shou'd come Arm'd at all Points, like a Knight-Errant, on purpose to Fight with me? Have I ever been his Enemy, or given him any occasion to be mine? Am I his Rival? Or has he

taken up the Profession of Arms, in Envy of the Glory which I have purchas'd by my Sword? Ay, but then, reply'd Sancho, what shall we say to the Resemblance between this same Knight, whoever he be, and the Batchelor Carrasco, and the Likeness between his Squire and my Gossip? If 'tis an Inchantment, as your Worship says, were there no other People in the World but they two, to make 'em like? All, all, cry'd Don Quixote, is the Artifice and Delusion of those malevolent Ma∣gicians that Persecute me, who, foreseeing that I shou'd get the Victory, disguis'd their Vanquish'd Property under the Resemblance of my Friend, the Batchelor; that at the Sight, my Friendship might interpose between the Edge of my Sword, and moderate my just Resentment, and so rescue him from Death, who basely had attempted on my Life. But thou, Sancho, by Experience, which cou'd not Deceive thee, know'st how easie a Mat∣ter 'tis for Magicians to Transmute the Face of any one into another Resemblance, fair into foul, and foul again into fair; since not two Days ago, with thy own Eyes thou beheld'st the Peerless Dulcinea in her natural state of Beauty and Proportion; when I, the Object of their Envy, saw her in the homely disguise of a Blear-Ey'd, Fetid, Ugly Country-Wench. Why then should'st thou won∣der so much at the frightful Transformation of the Batchelor and thy Neighbour Cecial? But how∣ever, this is a Comfort to me, that I got the bet∣ter of my Enemy, whatsoever Shape he assum'd. Well, quoth Sancho, Heaven knows the Truth of all things. This was all the Answer he thought fit to make; for, as he knew that the Transfor∣mation of Dulcinea was only a Trick of his own, he was willing to wave the Discourse, tho' he was the less satisfy'd in his Master's Chimera's;

but fear'd to drop some Word that might have be∣tray'd his Roguery.

While they were in this Conversation; they were overtaken by a Gentleman, mounted on a very fine Flea-bitten Mare. He had on a Ri∣ding-Coat of fine Green Cloath, fac'd with Murry-colour'd Velvet, a Hunter's Cap of the same. The Furniture of his Mare was Country-like, and after the Jennet-fashion, and also Murry and Green. By his Side hung a Moorish Scimiter, in a large Belt of Green and Gold. His Buskins were of the same Work with his Belt: His Spurs were not Gilt, but Burnish'd so well with a certain green Varnish, that they look'd better, to suit with the rest of his Equipage, than if they had been of pure Gold. As he came up with them, he very civilly saluted them, and clapping Spurs to his Mare, began to leave 'em behind him. Thereupon Don Quixote call'd to him: Sir, cry'd he, if you are not in too much haste, we should be glad of the favour of your Company so far as you Travel this Road. Indeed, answer'd the Gentle∣man, I had not thus Rid by you, but that I'm a∣fraid your Horse may prove unruly with my Mare. If that be all, Sir, quoth Sancho, you may hold in your Mare; for our Horse here is the Honestest and Soberest Horse in the World; he is not in the least given to do any naughty thing on such Oc∣casions. Once upon a time indeed, he happen'd to forget himself, and go astray; but then he, and I, and my Master ru'd for't, with a Vengeance. I tell you again, Sir, you may safely stay if you please, for if your Mare were to be serv'd up to him in a Dish, I'll lay my Life he would not so much as touch her. Upon this, the Traveller stopp'd his Mare, and did not a little gaze at the Figure and Countenance of our Knight, who rodo

without his Helmet, which, like a Wallet, hung at the Saddle-bow of Sancho's Ass. If the Gentle∣man in Green gaz'd on Don Quixote, Don Quixote look'd no less upon him, judging him to be some Man of Consequence. His Age seem'd about fifty; he had some gray Hairs, a sharp Look, and a grave, yet Pleasing Aspect. In short, his Mein and Ap∣pearance spoke him a Man of Quality. When he look'd on Don Quixote, he thought he had never beheld before such a strange appearance of a Man: He could not but admire at the lankness of his Horse; he consider'd then the Long-back'd, Raw-bon'd Thing that bestrid him: His wan, meager Face, his Air, his Gravity, his Arms and Equipage; such a Figure, as perhaps had not been seen in that Country time out of Mind. Don Quixote ob∣serv'd how intent the travelling Gentleman had been in surveying him, and reading his Desire in his Surprize, as he was the very Pink of Courtesie, and fond of pleasing every one, without staying till he shou'd question him, he thought fit to pre∣vent him. Sir, said he, that you are surpriz'd at this Figure of mine, which appears so new and exotick, I do not wonder in the least; but your Admiration will cease when I have inform'd you, that I am one of those Knights who go in quest of Adventures. I have left my Country, Mortgag'd my Estate, quitted my Pleasures, and thrown my self into the Arms of Fortune. My design was to give a new Life to Knight Errantry, that so long has been lost to the World; and thus, after in∣finite toils and hardship; sometimes stumbling, sometimes falling; casting my self headlong in one place, and rising again in another, I have com∣pass'd a great part of my Desire, relieving Widows, protecting Damsels, assisting Marry'd Women and Orphans, the proper and natural Office of Knight-Errants;

and so by many Valorous and Christian-like Atchievements, I have merited the Honour of the Press in almost all the Nations of the World. Thirty thousand Volumes of my History have been printed already, and thirty thousand Millions more are like to be printed, if Heaven prevent not. In short, to summ up all in one Word, know, I am Don Quixote de la Mancha, otherwise call'd, The Knight of the woeful Figure; I own it lessens the value of Praise to be the Publisher of it one's self; yet 'tis what I am sometimes forc'd to, when there is none present to do me Justice. And now, good Sir, no longer let this Steed, this Lance, this Shield, this Armour, nor this Squire, nor the Paleness of my Looks, nor my exhausted Body, move your Admiration, since you know who I am, and the Profession I follow. Having said thus, Don Quixote was silent, and the Gentleman in Green, by his delaying to answer him, seem'd as if he did not intend to make any Return. But at last, after some pause; Sir Knight, said he, you were sensible of my Curiosity by my Looks, and were pleas'd to say my Wonder wou'd cease when you had inform'd me who you was; but I must confess, since you have done that, I remain no less surpriz'd and amaz'd than ever. For, is it possible there shou'd be at this time any Knight-Errants in the World, and there shou'd be a true History of a living Knight-Errant in Print? I cannot per∣suade my self there is any body now upon Earth that relieves Widows, protects Damsels, or assists Married Women and Orphans; and I shou'd still be of the same mind, had not my Eyes afforded me a sight of such a Person as your self. Now Heaven be prais'd, for this History of your true and noble Feats of Arms, which you say is in Print, will blot out the Memory of all those Idle Romances

of pretended Knight-Errants that have so fill'd and pester'd the World, to the detriment of good Education, and the Prejudice and Dishonour of true History. There is a great deal to be said, answer'd Don Quixote, for the Truth of Histories of Knight-Errantry, as well as against it. How, return'd the Gentleman in Green! Is there any body living who makes the least scruple but that they are false. Yes, Sir, my self for one said Don Quixote; But let that pass: If we continue any time together on the Road, I hope to convince you that you have been to blame in suffering your self to be carry'd away with the Stream of Man∣kind that generally disbelieves 'em. The Tra∣veller at this discourse began to have a suspicion that Don Quixote was distracted, and expected the next words would confirm him in that Opinion: But before they enter'd into any further Conver∣sation, Don Quixote begg'd him to acquaint him who he was, since he had given him some ac∣count of his own Life and Condition. Sir Knight of the Woeful Figure, answer'd the other, I am a Gentleman, born at a Village, where, God willing, we shall dine by and by. My Name is Don Diego de Miranda. I have a reasonable Com∣petency. I pass my time contentedly with my Wife, my Children and my Friends. My usual Diversions are Hunting and Fishing; yet I keep neither Hawks nor Hounds, but some tame Partridges and a Ferret. I have about three or fourscore Books, some Spanish, some Latin; some of History, and others of Divinity. But for Books of Knight-Errantry, none ever came within my Doors. I am more inclinable to read those that are Profane than those of Devotion, if they be such as yield an innocent Amusement, and are agreeable for their Style, and surprizing for their Invention,

tho' we have but few of 'em in our own Language. Sometimes I eat with my Neighbours and Friends, and often I invite 'em to do the like with me. My Treats are clean and handsome, neither penurious nor superfluous. I am not given to murmur and backbite, nor do I love to hear others do it. I am no curious Inquirer into the Lives and Actions of other People. Every Day I hear Divine Service, and give to the Poor; without making a shew of it, or presuming on my good deeds, least I shou'd give way to Hypocrisie and Vain-glory, Enemies that too easily possess themselves of the best guard∣ed Hearts. I endeavour to reconcile those that are at Variance. I pay my Devotions to the Blessed Virgin, and ever trust in Heaven's infinite Mercy. Sancho listen'd with great attention to this Re∣lation of the Gentleman's way of Living; and believing that a Person who led so good and pious a Life, was able to work Miracles, he jump'd in haste from his Ass, and catching hold of his right Stirrup, with Tears in his Eyes and Devotion in his Heart, fell a kissing his Foot. What's the mat∣ter, Friend, cry'd the Gentleman, wondring at his proceeding? What's the meaning of this Kissing? Oh! good Sir, quoth Sancho, Let me kiss that dear Foot of yours, I beseech you; for you are certain∣ly the first Saint on Horse-back I ever saw in my born Days Alas! reply'd the Gentleman, I am no Saint, but a great Sinner: You indeed, Friend, I believe are a good Soul, as appears by your Simplicity. With that, Sancho return'd to his Pack-Saddle, having by this Action provok'd the Pro∣found Gravity of his Master to smile, and caus'd new Admiration in Don Diego. And now Don Quixote enquires of him how many Children he had; telling him at the same time, that among the things in which the Ancient Philosophers who had

not the true Knowledge of God, made Happiness consist, as the Advantages of Nature and Fortune, one was, to have many Friends and a numerous and Vertuous Off-spring. I have a Son, Sir Knight, answer'd the Gentleman; and perhaps if I had him not, I shou'd not think my self the more unhappy; not that he is so bad neither, but because he is not so good as I wou'd have him. He is Eighteen Years of Age; the last six he has spent at Salamanca, to perfect himself in his Latin and Greek. But, when I wou'd have had him to have proceeded to the Study of other Sciences, I found him so engag'd in that of Poetry, if it may be call'd a Science, that 'twas impossible to make him look either to the Study of the Law, which I intended him for, or of Divinity, the noblest Part of all Learning. I was in hopes he might have become an honour to his Family, living in an Age in which good and vertuous Literature is highly favour'd and rewarded by Princes; for Learning without Vertue, is like a Pearl upon a Dunghil. He now spends whole Days in examining whether Homer in such a Verse of his Iliads says well or no? Whether such an Epigram in Martial ought not to be expung'd for Obscenity? And whether such and such Verses in Virgil are to be taken in such a Sense, or otherwise. In short, his whole Con∣verse is with the Celebrated Poets, with Horace and Persius, Juvenal, and Tibullus. But as for Mo∣dern Rhimers, he has but an indifferent Opinion of 'm. And yet for all this Disgust of Spanish Poetry, he is now breaking his Brain upon a Pa∣raphrase or Glose on four Verses that were sent him from the University, and which I think are design'd for a Prize. Sir, reply'd Don Quixote, Children are the Flesh and Blood of their Parents, and, whether good or bad, are to be cherish'd as part

of our selves. 'Tis the Duty of a Father to train 'em up from their tenderest Years in the Paths of Vertue, in good Discipline and Christian Princi∣ples, that when they advance in Years they may become the staff and support of their Parents Age, and the glory of their Posterity. But as for forcing them to this or that Study, 'tis a thing I don't so well approve. Persuasion is all, I think, that is proper in such a case. Especially when they are so Fortunate as to be above studying for Bread, as having Parents that can provide for their future Subsistence, they ought in my Opinion to be indulg'd in the pursuit of that Science to which their own Genius gives them the most Inclination. For tho' the Art of Poetry is not so profitable as delightful, yet it is none of those that disgrace the ingenious Professor. Poetry, Sir, in my Judgment, is like a tender Virgin in her Bloom, Beautiful and Charming to Amazement: All the other Sciences are so many Virgins, whose Care it is to Enrich, Polish and Adorn her; and as she is to make use of them all, so are they all to have from her a grateful acknowledgment. But this Virgin must not be roughly handl'd, nor dragg'd along the Streets, nor expos'd in every Market∣place, and corner of Great Men's Houses. A good Poet is a kind of an Alchymist, who can turn the Matter he prepares into the purest Gold and an in∣estimable Treasure. But he must keep his Muse within the Rules of Decency, and not let her pro∣stitute her Excellency in lewd Satires and Lam∣poons, nor in licentious Sonnets. She must not be Mercenary, tho' she need not give away the Profits she may claim from Heroick Poems, deep Tragedies, and Pleasant and Artful Comedies. She is not to be attempted by Buffoons, nor by the Ignorant Vulgar, whose Capacity can never reach

to a due Sense of the Treasures that are lock'd up in her. And know, Sir, that when I mention the Vulgar, I don't mean only the common Rabble; for whoever is ignorant, be he Lord or Prince, is to be listed in the Number of the Vulgar. But whoever shall apply himself to the Muses with those Qualifications, which, as I said, are Essential to the Character of a good Poet, his Name shall be Famous, and valu'd in all the polish'd Nations of the World. And as to what you say, Sir, that your Son does not much esteem our Modern Poetry; in my Opinion, he is somewhat to blame; and my Reason is this: Homer never wrote in Latin, because he was a Grecian; nor did Virgil write in Greek, because Latin was the Language of his Country. In short, all your Ancient Poets wrote in their Mother-Tongue, and did not seek other Languages to express their lofty Thoughts. And thus, it wou'd be well that Custom shou'd ex∣tend to every Nation; there being no Reason that a German Poet shou'd be despis'd because he writes in his own Tongue; or a Castilian or Biscayner, be∣cause they write in theirs. But, I suppose, your Son does not mislike Modern Poetry, but such Modern Poets as have no Tincture of any other Language or Science, that may adorn, awaken, and assist their Natural Impulse. Tho' even in this too there may be Error. For, 'tis believ'd, and not without Reason, that a Poet is naturally a Poet from his Mother's Womb, and that, with the Talent which Heaven has infus'd into him, without the help of Study or Art, he may produce those Compositions that verifie that Saying, Est Deus in nobis, &c. Not but that a natural Poet that improves himself by Art, shall be much more accomplish'd, and have the Advantage of him that has no Title to Poetry but by his Knowledge in

the Art; because Art cannot go beyond Nature but only adds to its Perfection. From which it' appears, that the most perfect Poet is he whom Nature and Art combine to qualify. Let then your Son proceed and follow the Guidance of his Stars, for being so good a Student as I understand he is, and already got up the first step of the Sciences, the knowledge of the Learned Tongues, he will easily ascend to the Pinnacle of Learning, which is no less an Honour and an Ornament to a Gentleman than a Mitre is to a Bishop, or the Long Robe to the Civilian. Shou'd your Son write Satires to lessen the Reputation of any Per∣son, you wou'd do well to take him to Task, and tear his defamatory Rhimes; but if he Studies to write such Discourses in Verse, to ridicule and ex∣plode Vice in general, as Horace so Elegantly did, then encourage him: For a Poet's Pen is allow'd to inveigh against Envy and Envious Men, and so against other Vices, provided it aim not at par∣ticular Persons. But there are Poets so abandon'd to the Itch of Scurrility, that rather than lose a villanous Jest, they'll venture being banish'd to the Island of Pontus. If a Poet is modest in his Manners, he will be so in his Verses. The Pen is the Tongue of the Mind; the Thoughts that are form'd in the one, and those that are trac'd by the other, will bear a near Resemblance. And when Kings and Princes see the wonderful Art of Poetry shine in Prudent, Vertuous, and Solid Sub∣jects, they honour, esteem and enrich them, and even crown them with Leaves of that Tree, which is ne'er offended by the Thunderbolt, as a Token that nothing shall offend those whose Brows are honour'd and adorn'd with such Crowns. The Gentleman, hearing Don Quixote express himself in this manner, was struck with so much Admiration,

that he began to lose the bad Opinion he had con∣ceiv'd of his Understanding. As for Sancho, who did not much relish this fine Talk, he took an op∣portunity to slink aside in the middle of it, and went to get a little Milk of some Shepherds that were hard by keeping their Sheep. Now when the Gentleman was going to renew his Discourse, mightily pleas'd with these judicious Observations, Don Quixote lifting up his Eyes, perceiv'd a Wag∣gon on the Road, set round with little Flags, that appear'd to be the King's Colours; and believing it to be some new Adventure, he call'd out to Sancho to bring him his Helmet. Sancho, hearing him call aloud, left the Shepherds, and clapping his Heels vigorously to Dapple's sides, came trotting up to his Master, to whom there happen'd a most terrifying and desperate Adventure.

CHAP. XV. Wherein you will find set forth the highest and utmost Proof that the great Don Quixote ever gave, or could give of his incredible Courage, with the successful issue of the Adventure of the Lions.

THE History relates that Sancho was chaf∣fering with the Shepherds for some Curds, when Don Quixote call'd to him; and finding that his Master was in haste, he did not know what to do with 'em, nor what to bring 'em in; yet loth to lose his Purchase (for he had already paid

for 'em) he bethought himself at last of clapping 'em into the Helmet, where having 'em safe, he went to know his Master's Pleasure. As soon as he came up to him, Give me that Helmet, Friend, said the Knight, for if I understand any thing of Adventures, I descry one yonder that obliges me to Arm: The Gentleman in Green hearing this, look'd about him to see what was the Matter, but could perceive nothing but a Waggon, which made towards 'em, and by the little Flags about it he judg'd it to be one of the King's Carriages, and so he told Don Quixote. But his Head was too much possess'd with Notions of Adventures to give any Credit to what the Gentleman said; Sir, answer'd he, Fore-warn'd, fore-arm'd, a Man loses nothing by standing on his Guard. I know by Experience, that I have Enemies visible and in∣visible, and I cannot tell when, nor where, nor in what Shapes they may attack me. At the same time he snatch'd the Helmet out of Sancho's Hands, before he could discharge it of the Curds, and clapp'd it on his Head, without examining the Contents. Now the Curds being squeez'd be∣tween his bare Crown and the Iron, the Whey began to run all about his Face and Beard; which so surpriz'd him, that calling to Sancho in great disorder, What's this, cry'd he, Sancho! What's the matter with me! sure my Scull is growing soft, or my Brains are melting, or else I sweat from Head to Foot! But if I do, I'm sure 'tis not for Fear. This certainly must be a very dread∣ful Adventure that's approaching. Give me some∣thing to wipe me if thou canst, for I'm almost blinded with the Torrent of Sweat. Sancho did not dare to say a Word, but giving him a Cloath, bless'd his Stars that his Master had not found him out. Don Quixote dry'd himself, and taking off

the Helmet to see what it should be that felt so cold on his Head, perceiving some white stuff, and putting it to his Nose, soon found what it was. Now, by the Life of my Lady Dulcinea del Toboso, cry'd he, thou hast put Curds in my Hel∣met, vile Traytor and unmannerly Squire. Nay, reply'd Sancho cunningly, and keeping his Coun∣tenance, if they be Curds, good your Worship give 'em me hither and I'll eat 'em: But hold, now I think on't, the Devil eat 'em for me; for he himself must have put 'em there. What! I offer to do so beastly a Trick! Do you think I have no more Manners? As sure as I'm alive, Sir, I have got my Inchanters too that owe me a Grudge, and Plague me as a Limb of your Worship; and I warrant have put that nasty stuff there on purpose to set you against me, and make you fall foul on my Bones. But I hope they've miss'd their aim this time, i'troth! My Master is a wise Man, and must needs know that I had neither Curds nor Milk, nor any thing of that kind; and if I had met with Curds, I should sooner have put 'em in my Belly than his Helmet. Well, said Don Quix∣ote, there may be something in that. The Gentle∣man had observ'd these Passages, and stood amaz'd, but especially at what immediately follow'd; for the Knight-Errant having put on the Helmet again, fix'd himself well in the Stirrups, try'd whether his Sword were loose enough in his Scab∣bard, and rested his Lance. Now, cry'd he, come what will come; here am I who dare encounter the Devil himself in propria Persona. By this time the Waggon was come up with them, at∣tended only by the Carter, mounted on one of the Mules, and another Man that sat on the fore∣part of the Waggon. Don Quixote making up to 'em, Whither go ye, Friends, said he? What

Waggon is this? What do ye convey in it? And what is the meaning of these Colours? The Wag∣gon is mine, answer'd the Waggoner: I have there two brave Lions, which the General of Oran is sending to the King our Master, and these Colours are to let People understand that what goes here belongs to him. And are these Lions large, enquir'd Don Quixote? Very large, answer'd the Man in the fore-part of the Waggon: There never came bigger from Africk into Spain. I am their Keeper, added he, and have had charge of several others, but I never saw the like of these before. In the furthermost Cage is a He-lion, and in the other behind, a Lioness. By this time they are cruel hungry, for they have not eaten to Day; therefore pray, good Sir, ride out of the Way, for we must make haste to get to the place where we intend to feed 'em. What! said Don Quixote, with a scornful Smile, Lion-Whelps against me! Against me those puny Beasts! And at this time of Day! Well, I'll make those Gentlemen that sent their Lions this way, know whether I am a Man to be scar'd with Lions: Get off honest Fel∣low, and since you are the Keeper, open their Cages, and let 'em both out; for maugre and in despight of those Inchanters that have sent 'em to try me, I'll make the Creatures know in the midst of this very Field, who Don Quixote de la Mancha is. So, thought the Gentleman to himself, now has our poor Knight discover'd what he is; the Curds, I find, have soften'd his Scull, and mel∣low'd his Brains. While he was making this Re∣flection, Sancho came up to him, and begg'd him to disswade his Master from his rash Attempt. Oh good dear Sir! cry'd he, for Pity-sake hinder my Master from falling upon these Lions, by all means, or we shall be torn a-pieces. Why, said

the Gentleman, is your Master so arrant a Mad-man then, that you should fear he would set upon such furious Beasts. Ah Sir! said Sancho, he is not mad, but woundy ventersome. Well, reply'd the Gentleman, I'll take care there shall be no harm done; and with that advancing up to Don Quixote, who was urging the Lion-keeper to open the Cage; Sir, said he, Knight-Errants ought to engage in Adventures, from which there may be some hopes of coming off with Safety; but not in such as are altogether Desperate; for that Cou∣rage which borders on Temerity, is more like Madness than true Fortitude. Besides, these Lions are not come against you, but sent as a Present to the King, and therefore 'tis not the best way to detain 'em, or stop the Waggon. Pray, sweet Sir, reply'd Don Quixote, go and amuse your self with your tame Partridges and your Ferrets, and leave every one to his own Business. This is mine, and I know best whether these worthy Lions are sent against me or no. Then turning about to the Keeper, Sirrah! you Rascal you, said he, either open the Cages immediately, or by Heav'n I'll pin thee to the Waggon with this Lance. Good Sir, (cry'd the Waggoner, seeing this strange Ap∣parition in Armour so Resolute) for Mercy's sake do but let me take out our Mules first, and get out of harm's-way with 'em as fast as I can, before the Lions get out; for if they should once set up∣on the poor Beasts, I should be undone for ever; for alas! that Cart and they are all I have in the World to get a living with. Incredulous Wretch, said Don Quixote, take 'em out quickly then, and go with 'em where thou wilt; though thou shalt presently see that thy Pre-caution was needless, and thou might'st have spar'd thy Pains. The Waggoner upon this made all the haste he could

to take out his Mules, while the Keeper cry'd out as loud as he was able, Bear Witness, all ye that are here present, that 'tis against my Will I'm forc'd to open the Cages and let loose the Lions, and that I protest to this Gentleman here, that he shall be answerable for all the Mischief and Damage they may do; together with the loss of my Salary and Fees. And now, Sirs, shift for your selves as fast as you can, before I open the Cages: For, as for my self, I know the Lions will do me no harm. Once more the Gentleman try'd to disswade Don Quixote from doing so mad a thing; telling him, that he tempted Heaven, in exposing himself with∣out Reason to so great a Danger. To this Don Quixote made no other answer, but that he knew what he had to do. Consider however what you do, reply'd the Gentleman, for 'tis most certain that you are very much mistaken. Well, Sir, said Don Quixote if you care not to be Spectator of an Action, which you think is like to be Tragical, e'en set Spurs to your Mare, and provide for your Safety. Sancho hearing this, came up to his Master with Tears in his Eyes, and begg'd him not to go about this fearful Undertaking, to which the Ad∣venture of the Wind-mills, and the Fulling-mills, and all the Brunts he had ever born in his Life, were but Childrens Play. Good your Worship, cry'd he, do but mind, here'e no Inchantment in the Case, nor any thing like it. A lack a-day! Sir, I peep'd e'en now through the Grates of the Cage, and I'm sure I saw the Claw of a true Lion, and such a Claw as makes me think the Lion that owns it must be as big as a Mountain. Alas poor Fellow! said Don Quixote, thy Fear will make him as big as half the World. Retire, Sancho, and leave me, and if I chance to fall here, thou know'st our old Agreement; repair to Dulcinea, I say no

more. To this he added some Expressions, which cut off all Hopes of his giving over his mad De∣sign. The Gentleman in the Green would have oppos'd him, but considering the other was much better Arm'd, and that it was not Prudence to encounter a Mad-man, he even took the Oppor∣tunity while Don Quixote was storming at the Keeper, to march off with his Mare, as Sancho did with Dapple, and the Carter with his Mules, every one making the best of their way to get as far as they could from the Waggon before the Lions were let loose. Poor Sancho at the same time made sad Lamentations for his Master's Death; for he gave him for lost, not questioning but the Lions had already got him into their Clutches. He curs'd his ill-fortune and the hour he came again to his Service; but for all his Wailing and Lamenting, he punch'd on poor Dapple, to get as far as he could from the Lions. The Keeper perceiving the Persons who fled to be at a good distance, fell to arguing and entreat∣ing Don Quixote as he had done before. But the Knight told him again, that all his Reasons and Entreaties were but in vain, and bid him say no more, but immediately dispatch. Now while the Keeper took time to open the foremost Cage, Don Quixote stood debating with himself, whe∣ther he had best make his attack on Foot or on Horse-back, and upon mature Deliberation, he resolv'd to do it on Foot, lest Rozinante, not us'd to Lions, should be put into disorder. Accord∣ingly he quitted his Horse, threw aside his Lance, grasp'd his Shield, and drew his Sword; then advancing with a deliberate Motion, and an undaunted Heart, he posted himself just be∣fore the door of the Cage, commending himself to Heaven, and afterwards to his Lady Dulcinea.

Here the Author of this faithful History could not forbear breaking the Thread of his Narration, and rais'd by Wonder to a Rapture and Enthu∣siasm, makes the following Exclamation. Oh thou most magnanimous Heroe! Brave and unutterably Bold Don Quixote de la Mancha. Thou Mirrour and grand Exemplar of Valour. Thou second, and thou new Don Manuel de Leon, the late Glory and Honour of all Spanish Cavaliers! What Words, what Colours shall I use to express, to paint in equal Lines this astonishing Deed of thine! What Language shall I employ to convince Poste∣rity of the Truth of this thy more than Humane Enterprize! What Praises can be Coin'd, what Elogies invented, that will not be out-vy'd by thy superiour Merit, tho' Hyperboles were pil'd on Hyperboles! Thou alone on Foot, Intrepid and Magnanimous, with nothing but a Sword, and that none of the sharpest, with thy single Shield, and that none of the brightest, stood'st ready to receive and encounter the Savage force of two vast Lions, as fierce as ever roar'd within the Lybian Desarts. Then let thy own unrivall'd Deeds, that best can speak thy Praise, amaze the World, and fill the mouth of Fame, brave Champion of la Mancha: while I'm oblig'd to leave off the high Theme, for want of vigour to maintain the Flight. Here ended the Author's Exclamation, and the History goes on.

The Keeper observing the Posture Don Quixote had put himself in, and that it was not possi∣ble for him to prevent letting out the Lions, without incurring the Resentment of the despe∣rate Knight; set the Door of the foremost Cage wide open, where, as I have said, that Lion lay, who then appear'd of a Monstrous Bigness, and of a hideous frightful Aspect. The first thing

[illustration]

Don Quixots Adventure of the Lyons page. 162.

he did was to roll and turn himself round in his Cage; in the next place he stretch'd out one of his Paws, put forth his Claws, and rouz'd himself. Af∣ter that he gap'd and yawn'd for a good while, and shew'd his dreadful Fangs, and then thrust out half a Yard of broad Tongue, and with it lick'd the Dust out of his Eyes and Face. Having done this he thrust his Head quite out of the Cage, and star'd about with his Eyes that look'd like two live Coals of Fire; a Sight and Motion, enough to have struck Terror into Temerity it self. But Don Quixote only re∣garded it with Attention, wishing his grim Ad∣versary would leap out of his Hold, and come within his reach, that he might exercise his Va∣lour, and cut the Monster Piece-meal. To this height of Extravagance had his Folly transported him; but the generous Lion, more Gentle than Arrogant, taking no notice of his Vapouring and Bravadoes, after he had look'd about him a while, turn'd his Tail, and having shew'd Don Quixote his Posteriors, very contentedly lay down again in his Apartment. Don Quixote seeing this, com∣manded the Keeper to roufe him with his Pole, and force him out whether he would or no. Not I, indeed Sir, answer'd the Keeper; I dare not do it for my Life; for if I provoke him, I'm sure to be the first he'll tear to Pieces. Let me advise you, Sir, to be satisfy'd with what you have done. 'Tis as much as the bravest He that wears a Head ought to do. Then pray go no further, I beseech you. The Door stands open, the Lion is at his Choice, whether he will come out or no. You have wait∣ed for him; you see he does not care to look you in the Face, and since he did not come out at the first, I dare engage he will not stir out this Day. You have shewn enough the Greatness of your Courage. No Man is oblig'd to do more than

Challenge his Enemy, and wait for him in the Field. If he comes not that's his own Fault, and the Scandal is his, as the Honour the Challenger's. 'Tis true, reply'd Don Quixote. Come, shut the Cage-Door, Honest Friend, and give me a Certifi∣cate under thy Hand in the amplest Form thou canst devise, of what thou hast seen me perform; how thou didst open the Cage for the Lion; how I expected his coming, and he did not come out. How, upon his not coming out then, I stay'd his own Time, and instead of meeting me, he turn'd Tail and lay down. I am oblig'd to do no more. So, Inchantments avaunt! and Heaven prosper Truth, Justice, and Knight-Errantry! shut the Door, as I bid thee, while I make Signs to those that ran away from us, and get 'em to come back, that they may have an Account of this Exploit from thy own Mouth. The Keeper obey'd, and Don Quixote clapping on the Point of his Lance the Handkerchief, with which he had wip'd off the Curds from his Face, wav'd it in the Air, and call'd as loud as he was able to the Fugitives, who fled nevertheless, looking behind 'em all the way, and troop'd on in a Body with the Gentleman in Green at the Head of 'em. At last Sancho observ'd the Signal of the white Flag, and calling out to the rest; Hold, cry'd he, my Master calls to us, I'll be hang'd if he has not got the better of the Lions. At this they all fac'd about, and perceiv'd Don Quixote flourishing his Ensign; whereupon re∣covering a little from their Fright, they leisurely rode back, till they could plainly distinguish Don Quixote's Voice; and then they came up to the Waggon. As soon as they were got near it, come on Friend, said he to the Carter, put thy Mules into the Waggon again, and pursue thy Journey; and Sancho do thou give him two Ducats for the

Lion-keeper and himself, to make them amends for the Time I have detain'd them. Ay, that I will with all my Heart, quoth Sancho, but what's become of the Lions? Are they dead or alive? Then the Keeper very formally related the whole Action, not failing to exaggerate, to the best of his Skill, Don Quixote's Courage; how at his Sight a∣lone, the Lion was so terrify'd, that he neither would nor durst quit his strong Hold, tho' for that end his Cage-door was kept open for a considerable Time; and how at length upon his remonstrating to the Knight, who wou'd have had the Lion forc'd out, that it was presuming too much upon Hea∣ven, he had permitted, tho' with great Reluctan∣cy, that the Lion shou'd be shut up again. Well, Sancho, said Don Quixote, to his Squire, what dost thou think of this? Can Inchantment prevail over true Fortitude? No, these Magicians may perhaps rob me of Success, but never of my invincible Greatness of Mind. In short, Sancho gave the Waggoner and the Keeper the two Pieces. The first harness'd his Mules, and the last thank'd Don Quixote for his Noble Bounty, and promis'd to ac∣quaint the King himself with this Heroick Action when he came to Court. Well, said Don Quixote, if his Majesty shou'd chance to enquire who the Person was that did this thing, tell him 'twas The Knight of the Lions; a Name I intend henceforth to take up, in lieu of that which I hitherto assum'd, of the Knight of the woful Figure; in which proceed∣ing I do but conform to the ancient Custom of Knights-Errant, who chang'd their Names as often as they pleas'd, or as it suited with their Advan∣tage. After this, the Waggon made the best of its way, as Don Quixote, Sancho and the Gentleman in Green did of theirs. The latter for a great while was so taken up with making his Observati∣ons

upon Don Quixote, that he had not Time to speak a Syllable; not knowing what Opinion to have of a Person, in whom he discover'd such a Mixture of good Sense and Extravagance. He was a Stranger to the first Part of his History; for, had he read it, he cou'd not have wonder'd either at his Words or Actions: But not knowing the Nature of his Madness, he took him to be wise and distracted by Fits; since in his Discourse he still express'd himself justly and handsomely enough; but in his Actions all was Wild, Extrava∣gant and Unaccountable. For, said the Gentleman to himself, can there be any thing more foolish than for this Man to put on his Helmet full of Curds, and then believe 'em convey'd there by Inchanters; or any thing more extravagant than forcibly to endeavour to Fight with Lions? In the midst of this Soliloquy, Don Quixote interrupted him. Without doubt, Sir, said he, you take me for a downright Madman, and indeed my Actions may seem to speak me no less. But for all that, give me leave to tell you, I am not so mad, nor is my Understanding so defective, as I suppose you may fancy. What a Noble Figure does the gal∣lant Knight make, who in the midst of some spa∣cious Place transfixes a furious Bull with his Lance in the View of his Prince! What a Noble Figure makes the Knight, who before the Ladies at a harmless Tournament, comes prancing thro' the Lists enclos'd in shining Steel; or those Court Champions, who in Exercises of Martial kind, or that at least are such in Appearance, shew their Activity; and tho' all they do is nothing but for Recreation, are thought the Ornament of a Prince's Court! But a much Nobler Figure is the Knight-Errant, who, fir'd with the Thirst of a glorious Fame, wanders thro' Desarts, thro' solitary Wil∣dernesses,

thro' Woods, thro' Cross-ways, over Mountains and Valleys, in quest of perillous Ad∣ventures, resolv'd to bring them to a happy Con∣clusion. Yes, I say, a Nobler Figure is a Knight-Errant succouring a Widow in some depopulated Place, than the Court-Knight making his Addresses to the City-Dames. Every Knight has his parti∣cular Employment. Let the Courtier wait on the Ladies, let him with splendid Equipage adorn his Prince's Court, and with a magnificent Table sup∣port his poor Companions. Let him give Birth to Feasts and Tournaments, and shew his Gran∣deur, Liberality and Munificence, and especially his Piety; in all these things he fulfils the Duties of his Station. But as for the Knight-Errant, let him search into all the Corners of the World, en∣ter into the most intricate Labyrinths, and every Hour be ready to attempt Impossibility it self. Let him in desolate Wilds baffle the Rigour of the Weather, the Scorching Heat of the Sun's fiercest Beams, and the Inclemency of Winds and Snow; Let Lions never fright him, Dragons daunt him, nor Evil Spirits deterr him. To go in quest of these, to meet, to dare, to conflict, and to overcome 'em all, is his principal and proper Office. Since then my Stars have decreed me to be one of those Ad∣venturous Knights, I think my self oblig'd to at∣tempt every thing that seems to come within the Verge of my Profession. This, Sir, engag'd me to Encounter those Lions just now, judging it to be my immediate Business, though I was sensible of the extreme Rashness of the Undertaking. For well I know, that Valour is a Vertue situate be∣tween the two Vicious Extremes of Cowardise and Temerity. But certainly 'tis not so ill for a Va∣liant Man to rise to a Degree of Rashness, as 'tis to fall short and border upon Cowardise. As 'tis

easier for a Prodigal to become Liberal, than a Mi∣ser; so 'tis easier for the hardy and rash Person to be reduc'd to true Bravery, than for the Coward ever rise to that Vertue: And therefore in thus at∣tempting Adventures, believe me, Signior Don Diego, 'tis better to exceed the Bounds a little, and over-do, rather than under-do the thing; because it sounds better in People's Ears to hear it said, how that such a Knight is Rash and Hardy, than such a Knight is Dastardly and Timorous. For my part, Sir, answer'd Don Diego, I think all you have said and done is agreeable to the exactest Rules of Reason; and I believe if the Laws and Ordinances of Knight-Errantry were lost, they might be all recover'd from you, your Breast seeming to be the safe Repository and Archive where they lodg'd. But it grows late; let us make a little more haste to get to our Village, and to my Habitation, where you may rest your self after the Fatigues, which doubtless you have sustain'd, if not in Body, at least in Mind, whose Pains often afflict the Body too. Sir, answer'd Don Quixote, I esteem your Offer as a singular Favour; and so putting on a little faster than they had done before, about two in the Afternoon they reach'd the Village, and got to the House of Don Diego, whom now Don Quix∣ote call'd the Knight of the Green Coat.

CHAP. XVIII. How Don Quixote was Entertain'd at the Castle or House of the Knight of the Green Coat, with other Extravagant Passages.

DON Quixote found, that Don Diego de Mi∣randa's House was spacious after the Coun∣try manner, the Arms of the Family were over the Gate in rough Stone, the Buttery in the Fore-yard, the Cellar under the Porch, and all around several great Jars of that sort commonly made at Toboso; the Sight of which bringing to his Remembrance his Inchanted and Transform'd Dulcinea, he heav'd a deep Sigh, and neither minding what he said, nor who was by, broke out into the following Exclamation.

* 2.1 Oh! Pledges, once my Comfort and Relief, Though Pleasing still, discover'd now with Grief.

Oh ye Tobosian Urns, that awaken in my Mind the Thoughts of the sweet Pledge of my most bit∣ter Sorrows! Don Diego's Son, who, as it has been said, was a Student, and Poetically inclin'd, heard these Words as he came with his Mother to wel∣come him home; and, as well as she, was not a little surpriz'd to see what a strange Creature his

Father had brought with him. Don Quixote alight∣ed from Rozinante, and very courteously desiring to Kiss her Ladyship's Hands: Madam, said Don Diego, this Gentleman is the Noble Don Quixote de la Mancha, the Wisest, and most Valiant Knight-Errant in the World; pray let him find a Wel∣come suitable to his Merit, and your usual Civili∣ty. Thereupon Donna Christina (for this was the Lady's Name) receiv'd him very kindly, and with great Marks of Respect; to which Don Quixote made a proper and handsome Return, and then al∣most the same Compliments pass'd between him and the young Gentleman, whom Don Quixote judg'd by his Discourse to be a Man of Wit and Sense.

Here the Author inserts a long Description of every Particular in Don Diego's House, giving us an Inventory of all the Goods and Chattels, and every Circumstance peculiar to the House of a Rich Country Gentleman: But the Translator presum'd that it wou'd be better to omit these little things, and such like insignificant Matters, being foreign to the main Subject of this History, which ought to be more grounded on material Truth, than cold and insipid Digressions.

Don Quixote was brought into a fair Room, where Sancho took off his Armour, and then the Knight appear'd in a pair of close Breeches, and a Doublet of Shamoy-Leather, all besmear'd with the Rust of his Armour. About his Neck he wore a plain Band, unstarch'd, after the man∣ner of a Student; about his Legs sad-colour'd Spatter-dashes, and on his Feet a pair of Wax-leather Shooes. He hung his trusty Sword by his Side in a Belt of Sea-Wolf's Skin; which makes many of Opinion he had been long troubl'd with a

Pain in the Kidneys. Over all this he clapp'd on a long Cloak of good Russet-Cloth: But first of all he wash'd his Head and Face in five Kettle-fuls of Water, if not in six, for as to the exact Number there is some Dispute. And 'tis observable, that the Water still retain'd a Tincture of Whey: Thanks to Sancho's Gluttony, that had made him clap into his Master's Helmet those dismal Curds, that so contaminated his awful Head and Face. In this Dress the Knight with a graceful and sprightly Air, walk'd into another Room, where Don Lo∣renzo, the young Gentleman whom we have al∣ready mention'd, waited his coming, to keep him Company till the Cloth was laid; the Mistress of the House being gone in the mean time to provide a handsome Entertainment, that might convince her Guest she understood how to make those wel∣come that came to her House. But before the Knight was ready, Don Lorenzo had Leisure to dis∣course his Father about him. Pray, Sir, said he, who is this Gentleman you have brought with you? Considering his Name, his Aspect, and the Title of Knight-Errant, which you give him, nei∣ther my Mother nor I can tell what to think of him. Truly, Son, answer'd Don Diego, I don't know what to say to you; all that I can inform you of, is, that I have seen him do the greatest Follies in the World, and yet say a thousand sen∣sible things that contradict his Actions. But discourse him your self, and feel the Pulse of his Understanding; make use of your Sense to judge of his; though to tell you the Truth, I believe his Folly exceeds his Discretion. Don Lorenzo then went to entertain Don Quixote, and after some Discourse had pass'd between 'em. Sir, said the Knight, I am not wholly a Stran∣ger to your Merit; Don Diego de Miranda your Fa∣ther

has given me to understand you are a Person of excellent Parts, and especially a great Poet. Sir, answer'd the young Gentleman, I may perhaps pretend to Poetry, but never to be a great Poet: 'Tis true I am somewhat given to Rhiming, and love to read good Authors; but I am very far from deserving to be thought one of their Number. I do not mislike your Modesty, reply'd Don Quixote; 'tis a Virtue not often found among Poets, for eve∣ry one of them commonly thinks himself the greatest in the World. There is no Rule without an Exception, said Don Lorenzo; and 'tis not im∣possible but there may be one who may deserve the Name, tho' he does not think so himself. That's very unlikely, reply'd Don Quixote. But pray, Sir, tell me what Verses are those that your Father says you are so puzzl'd about? If it shou'd be what we call a Gloss or a Paraphrase, I understand something of that Way of Writing, and shou'd be glad to see it. If the Composition be design'd for a Poeti∣cal Prize, I would advise you only to put in for the second; for the first always goes by Favour, and is rather granted to the great Quality of the Author than to his Merit; but as to the next, 'tis adjudg'd to the most deserving; so that the third may in a Manner be esteem'd the second, and the first no more than the third, according to the Me∣thod us'd in our Universities: And yet, after all, 'tis no small Matter to gain the Honour of being call'd the first. Hitherto all's well, thought Don Lorenzo to himself, I can't think thee mad yet; let's go on — With that addressing himself to Don Quixote, Sir, said he, you seem to me to have fre∣quented the Schools, pray what Science has been your particular Study? That of Knight-Errantry, answer'd Don Quixote, which is as good as that of Poetry, and somewhat better too. I don't know

what sort of Science that is, said Don Lorenzo, nor indeed did I ever hear of it before. 'Tis a Sci∣ence, answer'd Don Quixote, that includes in it self all the other Sciences in the World, or at least the greatest Part of them: Whoever professes it ought to be learned in the Laws, and understand distri∣butive and commutative Justice, in order to right all Mankind. He ought to be a Divine, to give a Reason of his Faith, and vindicate his Religion by Dint of Argument. He ought to be skill'd in Phy∣sick, especially in the botanick Part of it, that he may know the Nature of Simples, and have Re∣course to those Herbs that can cure Wounds; for a Knight-Errant must not expect to find Surgeons in the Woods and Desarts. He must be an Astro∣nomer, to understand the Motions of the Celesti∣al Orbs, and find out by the Stars the Hour of the Night, and the Longitude and Latitude of the Cli∣mate on which Fortune throws him; and he ought to be as well instructed in all the other Parts of the Mathematicks, that Science being of constant use to a Professor of Arms on many Accounts too nu∣merous to be related. I need not tell you that all the divine and moral Virtues must center in his Mind. To descend to less material Qualifications; he must be able to swim like a Fish, shooe a Horse, mend a Saddle or a Harness: And returning to high∣er Matters, he ought to be inviolably devoted to Heaven and his Mistress, Chaste in his Thoughts, Modest in Words, and Liberal and Valiant in Deeds; Patient in Afflictions, Charitable to the Poor, and finally, a Maintainer of Truth, though it cost him his Life to defend it. These are the Endowments that constitute a good Knight-Errant; and now, Sir, be you a Judge, whether the Pro∣fessors of Chivalry have an easy Task to perform, and whether such a Science may not stand in Com∣petition

with the most Celebrated and best of those that are taught in Colleges? If it be so, an∣swer'd Don Lorenzo, I say it deserves the Prehemi∣nence over all other Sciences. What do you mean, Sir, by that, If it be so, cry'd Don Quixote? I mean, Sir, reply'd Don Lorenzo, that I doubt whether there are now, or ever were, any Knights-Errant, especially with so many rare Accomplish∣ments. This makes good what I have often said, answer'd Don Quixote: most People will not be perswaded there ever were any Knights-Errant in the World. Now, Sir, because I verily believe, that unless Heaven will work some Miracle to con∣vince them that there have been, and still are Knights-Errant, those incredulous Persons are too much Wedded to their Opinion to admit such a Be∣lief; I will not now lose Time to endeavour to let you see how much you and they are mistaken; all I design to do, is only to beseech Heaven to con∣vince you of your being in an Error, that you may see how useful Knights-Errant were in former Ages, and the vast Advantages that would result in ours from the Assistance of Men of that Professi∣on. But now Effeminacy, Sloth, Luxury and ig∣noble Pleasures, triumph for the Punishment of our Sins. Now, said Don Lorenzo to himself, our Gentleman has already betray'd his Blind-side; but yet he gives a Colour of Reason to his Extrava∣gance, and I were a Fool should I think otherwise. Here they were call'd to Dinner, which ended their Discourse: And at that time Don Diego ta∣king his Son aside, ask'd him what he thought of the Stranger? I think, Sir, said Don Lorenzo, that 'tis not in the Power of all the Physicians in the World to Cure his Distemper. He is Mad past Re∣covery, but yet he has pleasant lucid Intervals. In short, they Din'd, and their Entertainment prov'd

such as the old Gentleman had told the Knight he us'd to give his Guests, neat, plentiful, and well order'd. But that which Don Quixote most admir'd, was, the extraordinary Silence he observ'd through the whole House, as if it had been a Monastery of mute Carthusians. The Cloth being remov'd, Grace said, and Hands wash'd, Don Quixote ear∣nestly desir'd Don Lorenzo to shew him the Verses he had wrote for the Poetical Prize. Well, Sir, answer'd he, because I will not be like those Poets that are unwilling to shew their Verses when en∣treated to do it, but will tire you with them when no body desires it; I'll shew you my Gloss or Pa∣raphrase, which I did not Write with a Design to get a Prize, but only to exercise my Muse. I re∣member, said Don Quixote, a Friend of mine, a Man of good Sense, once told me, he wou'd not advise any one to break his Brains about that sort of Composition; and he gave me this Reason for't, that the Gloss or Comment cou'd never exactly a∣gree with the Theme; so far from it that most commonly it left it altogether, and ran contrary to the Thought of the Author of the Text. Be∣sides, he said, that the Rules to which Custom ties up the Composers of those elaborate Amusements are too strict, allowing no Interrogations, no such Interjection as said he, or shall I say; no changing of Nouns into Verbs; nor any altering of the Sense: Besides several other Confinements that cramp up those who puzzle their Brains with such a crabbed way of Glossing, as you your self, Sir, without doubt must know. Really, Signior Don Quixote, said Don Lorenzo, I wou'd fain catch you Tripping, but you still slip from me like an Eel. I don't know, Sir, reply'd Don Quixote, what you mean by your slipping? I'll tell you another Time, answer'd the young Gentleman; in the mean

while be pleas'd to hear the Theme and Paraphrase, which is this.

The THEME.

COu'd I recall departed Joy, Though barr'd the Hopes of greater Gain, Or now the future Hours employ, That must succeed my pleasant Pain.

The Gloss or Paraphrase.

I.

ALL Fortune's Blessings disappear, She's Fickle as the Wind; And now I find her as severe, As once I thought her kind, How soon the fleeting Pleasure's past! How long the ling'ring Sorrows last! Unconstant Goddess, thro' thy Hate, Do not thy prostrate Slave Destroy, I'd ne'er complain, but bless my Fate, Could I recall departed Joy.

II.

Of all thy Gifts I beg but this, Glut all Mankind with more; Transport 'em with redoubled Bliss, But only mine restore. With thought of Pleasure once possess'd, I'm now as curst as I was bless'd: Oh wou'd the charming Hours return, How pleas'd I'd live, how free from Pain! I ne'er wou'd pine, I ne'er wou'd mourn, Tho' barr'd the Hopes of greater Gain.

III.

But oh the Blessing I implore: Not Fate it self can give! Since Time elaps'd exists no more, No Pow'r can bid it live. Our Days soon vanish into nought, And have no Being but in Thought. Whate'er began must end at last, In vain we twice wou'd Youth enjoy; In vain would we recall the past, Or now the future Hours employ.

IV.

Deceiv'd by Hope, and Rack'd by Fear, No longer Life can please. I'll then no more its Torments bear, Since Death so soon can ease. This Hour I'll die — But let me Pause — A rising Doubt my Courage awes. Assist ye Powers, that rule my Fate; Alarm my Thoughts, my Rage refrain, Convince my Soul, there's yet a State That must succeed my present Pain.

As soon as Don Lorenzo had read over his Para∣phrase, Don Quixote rose from his Seat, and taking him by the Hand, By the highest Mansions in the Skies, cry'd the Knight aloud, Noble Youth, you're the best Poet in the World, and deserve to be Crown'd with Laurel, not at Cyprus or Gaeta, as a certain Poet said, whom Heaven forgive, but at the University of Athens, were it still in being, and at those of Paris, Bologna and Salamanca. May those Judges that deny you the Honour of the first Prize,

be shot with Arrows by the God of Verse, and may the Muses abhor to come within their Houses. Pray, Sir, if I may beg that Favour, let me hear you read one of your loftiest Productions, for I desire to have a full Taste of your admirable Genius. I need not tell you that Don Lorenzo was mightily pleas'd to hear himself prais'd by Don Quixote, tho' he believ'd him to be Mad. So bewitching and welcome a thing is Adulation, even from those we at other times despise. Don Lorenzo verify'd this Truth, by his ready Compliance with Don Quixote's Request, and recited to him the follow∣ing Sonnet, on the Story of Pyramus and Thisbe.

Pyramus and Thisbe. A Sonnet.

SEE how, to bless the lovely loving Boy, The Nymph for whom he burns with equal Fires, Pierces the Wall that parts 'em from their Joy, While hovering Love prompts, gazes, and admires.

The trembling Maid in Whispers and in Sighs Dares hardly breathe the Passion she betrays: But Silence speaks, and Love thro' ravish'd Eyes, Their Thoughts, their Flames, their very Souls conveys,

Wild with Desire, they Sally out at last. But quickly find their Ruin in their Haste; And rashly lose all Pleasure in Despair.

Oh strange Mischance! But do not Fortune blame; Love joyn'd 'em first, then Death, the Grave, and Fame; What loving Wretch a Nobler Fate would share!

Now Heaven be prais'd! said Don Quixote, when Don Lorenzo had made an end: Among the infi∣nite Number of insipid Men of Rhime, I have at

last found a Man of Rhime and Reason, and, in a Word, an absolute Poet.

Don Quixote stay'd four Days at Don Diego's House, and during all that time, met with a very generous Entertainment. However, he then de∣s••r'd his leave to go, and return'd him a Thousand Thanks for his kind Reception; letting him know, that the Duty of his Profession did not admit of his staying any longer out of Action; and therefore he design'd to go in quest of Ad∣ventures, which he knew were plentifully to be ••ound in that part of Spain; and that he wou'd employ his Time in that, till the Tilts and Tour∣naments began at Saragossa, to which Place 'twas now his chief Intent to go. However, he wou'd first go to Montesino's Cave, about which so many wonderful Stories were told in those Parts; and there he wou'd endeavour to explore and discover the source and original Springs of the seven Lakes, commonly call'd the Lakes of Ruydera. Don Diego and his Son highly commended his noble Resolution, and desir'd him to command whatever their House afforded, assuring him he was sincerely Welcome to do it, the Respect they had for his Honourable Profession, and his particular Merit, obliging them to do him all manner of Service. In short, the Day of his departure came, a Day of Joy and Gladness to Don Quixote, but of Grief and Sadness to poor Sancho, who had no mind to change his Quarters, and lik'd the good Cheer and Plenty at Don Diego's House, much better than his short hungry Commons in Forests and Desarts, the sorry Pittance of his ill-stor'd Wallet, which ••e however Cramm'd and Stuff'd with what he ••hought cou'd best make the change of his Con∣dition tolerable. And now Don Quixote taking ••is leave of Don Lorenzo, Sir, said he, I don't know

whether I have already said it to you, but if I have, give me leave to repeat it once more, that if you are Ambitious of climbing up to the difficult, and in a manner, inaccessible summit of the Temple of Fame, your surest way is to leave on one hand the narrow Path of Poetry, and follow the nar∣rower Tack of Knight-Errantry, which in a trice may raise you to an Imperial Throne. With these Words, Don Quixote seem'd to have Summ'd up the whole Evidence of his Madness. However, he cou'd not conclude without adding something more. Heaven knows, said he, how willingly I would take Don Lorenzo with me, to instruct him in those Vertues that are annex'd to the Employ∣ment I profess, to spare the humble and crush the Proud and Haughty. But since his tender Years do not yet qualifie him for the Hardships of that Life, and his Laudable Exercises detain him; I must rest Contented with letting you know, That one way to acquire Fame in Poetry, is, to be govern'd by other Mens Judgment more than your own: For 'tis natural to Fathers and Mothers not to think their own Children ugly; and this Error is no where so common as in the Off∣spring of the Mind. Don Diego and his Son were again surpriz'd to hear this Medley of good Sense and Extravagance, and to find the poor Gentleman so strongly bent on the quest of his unlucky Adventures, the only Aim and Object of his Desires. After this, and many Compliments, and mutual Reiterations of Offers of Service; Don Quixote having taken leave of the Lady of the Castle, he on Rozinante, and Sancho on Dapple, set out, and pursu'd their Journey.

CHAP. XIX. The Adventure of the Amorous Shepherd, and other truly comical Passages.

DON Quixote had not Travell'd far, when he was overtaken by two Men that look'd like Students or Ecclesiasticks, with two Farmers, all mounted upon Asses. One of the Scholars had be∣hind him a small bundle of Linnen, and two pair of Stockings, truss'd up in green Buckram like a Portmanteau; t'other had no other Luggage but a couple of Foils and a pair of Fencing-Pumps. And the Husbandmen had a parcel of other things, which shew'd that having made their Market at some adjacent Town, they were now returning home with their Ware. They all admir'd (as in∣deed all others did that ever beheld him) what kind of Fellow Don Quixote was, seeing him make a Figure so very different from any thing they had ever seen. The Knight saluted them, and per∣ceiving their Road lay the same way, offer'd them his Company, entreating them however to move an easier Pace, because their Asses went faster than his Horse; and to engage them the more, he gave them a hint of his Circumstances and Profession; that he was a Knight-Errant, travelling round the World in quest of Adventures, that his proper Name was Don Quixote de la Mancha; but his Titular Denomination, The Knight of the Lions. All this was Greek, or Pedlar's French to the Country-men; but the Students presently found out his

Blind-side. However, with a respectful distance, Sir Knight, said one of them, if you are not fix'd to any set Stage, as Persons of your Function seldom are, let us beg the Honour of your Com∣pany; and you shall be entertain'd with one of the finest and most sumptuous Weddings that ever was seen, either in la Mancha, or many Leagues round it. The Nuptials of some young Prince, I presume, said Don Quixote? No, Sir, an∣swer'd the other, but of a Yeoman's Son, and a Neighbour's Daughter, he the richest in all this Country, and she the handsomest you ever saw. The Entertainment at the Wedding will be New and Extraordinary, 'tis to be kept in a Meadow near the Village where the Bride lives. They call her Quiteria the Handsome by reason of her Beauty, and the Bridegroom no less deservedly Ca∣macho the Rich. They are well Match'd as to Age, for she draws towards Eighteen, and he is about Two and Twenty, though some nice Folks, that have all the Pedigrees in the World in their Heads, will tell ye, that the Bride comes of a better Family than he; but that's not minded now-a-days, for Money you know will hide many Faults. And indeed, this same Camacho is as free as a Prince, and designs to spare no Cost upon his Wedding. He has taken a Fancy to get the Meadow shaded with Boughs, that are to cover it like an Arbour, so that the Sun will have much ado to peep through, and visit the green Grass underneath. There are also provided for the Diversion of the Company several sorts of Anticks and Morrice-dancers, some with Swords, and some with Bells; for there are young Fellows in his Village can manage 'em cleverly. I say nothing of those that play Tricks with the Soles of their Shooes when they Dance, leaving that to the Judgment of the Guests. But

nothing that I've told, or might tell you of this Wedding, is like to make it so remarkable as those which I imagine poor Basil's Despair will do. This Basil is a young Fellow, that lives next door to Quiteria's Father. Hence Love took occasion to give Birth to an Amour, like that of old between Pyramus and Thisbe; for Basil's Love grew up with him from a Child, and she encourag'd his Passion with all the kind return that Modesty could grant; insomuch, that the Mutual Affection of the two little ones, was the common talk of the Village. But Quiteria coming to Years of Maturity, her Father began to deny Basil the usual access to his House; and to cut off his farther Pretences, de∣clar'd his Resolution of Marrying her to Camacho, who is indeed his Superior in Estate, though far short of him in all other Qualifications; for Basil, to give the Devil his due, is the cleverest Fellow we have, he'll pitch ye a Bar, Wrestle, or play at Tennis with the best He in the Country; he runs like a Stag, leaps like a Buck, plays at Nine-pins so well, you'd think he tips 'em down by Witch∣craft, sings like a Lark, touches a Guitar so rarely, he even makes it speak; and to compleat his Per∣fections, he handles a Sword like a Fencer. For that very single Qualification, said Don Quixote, he deserves not only Quiteria the handsome, but a Prin∣cess; nay, Queen Guinever her self, where she now living, in spight of Sir Lancelot and all that would oppose it. Well, quoth Sancho, who had been silent, and list'ning all the while, my Wife us'd to tell me, she would have every one Marry with their Match. Like to like, quoth the Devil to the Collier, and every Sow to her own Trough, as t'other Saying is: As for my part, all I would have is, that honest Basil e'en Marry her; for methinks I have a huge liking to the young Man, and so

Heaven bless them together, say I, and a Murrain seize those that will spoil a good Match be∣tween those that love one another! Nay, said Don Quixote, if Marriage should be always the conse∣quent of mutual Love, what would become of the Prerogative of Parents, and their Authority over their Children? If young Girls might always chuse their own Husbands, we should have the best Families intermarry with Coachmen and Grooms; and young Heiresses would throw them∣selves away upon the first young wild Fellows, whose promising out-sides and assurance makes 'em set up for Fortunes, though all their Stock consists in Impudence. For, the Understanding, which alone should distinguish and chuse in these Cases as in all others, is apt to be blinded or biass'd by Love and Affection; and Matrimony is so nice and critical a point, that it requires not only our own cautious Management, but even the Direction of a superiour Power to chuse right. Whoever under∣takes a Voyage, if he be Wise, makes it his business to find out an agreeable Companion. How Cauti∣ous then should he be, who must take a Journey for Life, whose Fellow-Traveller must be as in∣separable from him as himself; his Companion at Bed and Board, and sharer of all the Pleasures and Fatigues of his Journey; as the Wife must be to the Husband! She is no such sort of Ware, that a Man can be rid of when he pleases: When once that's purchas'd, no Exchange, no Sale, no Alienati∣on can be made: She is an inseparable Acident to Man: Marriage is a Noose, which, fasten'd about the Neck, runs the closer, and sits more uneasie by our struggling to get loose; 'tis a Gordian Knot which none can untie, and being twisted with our Thread of Life, nothing but the Scythe of Death can cut it. I could dwell longer on this Subject, but that I long to know from the Gentleman,

whether he can tell us any thing more of Basil? All I can tell you, said the Student, is, that he's in the Case of all Desperate Lovers; since the moment he heard of this intended Marriage, he has never been seen to smile or talk rationally, he is in a deep Melancholy, that might indeed rather be call'd a dozing Frenzy; he talks to himself, and seems out of his Senses, he hardly Eats or Sleeps, and lives like a Salvage in the open Fields; his only Sustenance a little Fruit, and his only Bed the hard Ground; sometimes he lifts up his Eyes to Heaven, then fixes them on the Ground, and in either Posture stands like a Statue. In short, he is reduc'd to that Condition, that we who are his Acquaintance verily believe, that the Con∣summation of this Wedding to Morrow will be attended by his Death. Heav'n forbid, Marry and Amen, cry'd Sancho! Who can tell what may happen? He that gives a broken Head can give a Plaister. This is one day, but to morrow is another, and strange things may fall in the roasting of an Egg. After a Storm comes a Calm. Many a Man that went to Bed well, has found himself dead in the Morning when he awak'd. Who can put a Spoke in Fortune's Wheel? No Body here I'm sure. Between a Woman's yea and nay, I would not engage to put a Pin's-point, so close they be one to another. If Mrs. Quiteria love Master Basil, she'll give Camacho the Bag to hold; for this same Love, they say, looks thro' Spectacles, that make Copper look like Gold, a Cart like a Coach, and a Shrimp like a Lobster. Whether in the name of Ill-luck, art thou run∣ning now Sancho, said Don Quixote? When thou fall'st to threading thy Proverbs, and old Wo∣mens Sayings, the Devil can't cut thee short. What do'st thou know, poor Animal, of For∣tune, or her Wheel, or any thing else? Why,

truly Sir, quoth Sancho, if you don't understand me, no wonder if my Sentences be thought Non-sense. But let that pass, I understand my self; and I'm sure I han't talk'd so much like a Ninny. But you forsooth are so sharp a Cricket. A Critick, Blockhead, said Don Quixote, thou confounded Corrupter of humane Speech! By yea, and by nay, quoth Sancho, what makes you so Angry, Sir? I was never brought up at School nor Varsity to know when I murder a hard Word. I was never at Court to learn to Spell Sir. Some are born in one Town, some in another; one at St. Jago, ano∣ther at Toledo, and even there all are not so nicely spoken. You are in the right, Friend, said the Student; Those Natives of that City, who live among the Tanners, or about the Market of Zoco∣dover, and are confin'd to mean Conversation, can∣not speak so well as those that frequent the polite part of the Town, and yet they are all of Toledo. But Propriety, Purity and Elegance of Style, may be found among the Gentry, and Men of Breed∣ing and Judgement; and 'tis the Spring and Grammar of good Language, though Practice and Example will go a great way. As for my part, I have had the happiness of good Education; it has been my Fortune to study the Civil Law at Sala∣manca, and I have made it my Business all along to express my self properly, neither like a Rustick nor a Pedant. Ay, ay, Sir, said the other Student, your Parts might have qualify'd you for a Master of Arts Degree, had you not mis-employ'd 'em in minding so much those foolish Foils you carry about with you, and that make you lag behind your Juniors. Look you, good Sir Batchelor, said the other, your mean Opinion of these Foils is Erroneous and Absurd; for I can deduce the use∣fulness of the Art of Fencing from several unde∣niable Axioms: Pshaw, said Corchuelo, for so was

the other call'd, don't tell me of Axioms: I'll fight you, Sir, at your own Weapons. Here am I that understand neither Quart, nor Tierce; but I have an Arm, I have Strength, and I have Courage. Give me one of your Foils, and in spight of all your Distances, Circles, Falsifies, Angles, and all other Terms of your Art, I'll shew you there's nothing in't, and will make Reason glitter in your Eyes. That Man breaths not Vital Air, that I will turn my Back on. And he must have more than human Force, that can stand his Ground against me. As for standing Ground, said the Artist, I won't be oblig'd to't. But have a care, Sir, how you press upon a Man of Skill, for ten to one at the very first advance, but he's in your Body up to the Hilt. I'll try that presently, said Corchuelo, and springing briskly from his Ass, snatch'd one of the Foils which the Student carry'd; Hold, hold, Sir, said Don Quixote, I will stand Judge of the Field, and see fair Play on both sides; and in∣terposing with his Lance, he alighted, and gave the Artist time to put himself in his Posture, and take his distance. Then Corchuelo slew at him like a Fury, helter skelter, Cut and Thrust, back-stroke and fore-stroke, single and double, and laid on like any Lion. But the Student stopp'd him in the middle of his Career with such a dab in the Teeth, that he made Corchuelo foam at the Mouth. He made him kiss the Button of his Foil, as if it had been a Relick, though not altogether with so much Devotion. In short, he told all the Buttons of his short Cassock with pure clean Stockadoes, and made the skirts of it hang about him in Rags like Fish-tails. Twice he struck off his Hat, and in fine, so mawl'd and tir'd him, that through perfect Vexation Corchuelo took the Foil by the Hilt, and hurl'd it from him with such Violence,

that one of the Country-men that were by, hap∣pening to be a Notary Publick, has it upon Record to this Day, that he threw it almost three quarters of a League; which Testimony has serv'd, and yet serves to let Posterity know that Strength is overcome by Art. At last Corchuelo puffing and blowing sat down to rest himself, and Sancho coming up to him: Mr. Batchelour, quoth he, henceforwards take a Fool's Advice, and never challenge a Man to Fence, but to Wrestle or pitch the Bar; you seem cut out for those Sports: But this Fencing is a ticklish point, Sir, meddle no more with it; for I have heard some of your Masters of the Science say, they can hit the Eye of a Needle with the Point of a Sword. Corchuelo acknowledg'd himself convinc'd of an Error by Experience, and embracing the Artist, they be∣came better Friends than before. So, without staying for the Notary that went for the Foil, and could not be back in a great while, they put on to the Town where Quiteria liv'd, they all dwel∣ling in the same Village. By the Way the Stu∣dent held forth upon the Excellency of the Noble Science of Defence, with so many plain and con∣vincing Reasons, drawn from expressive Figures and Mathematical Demonstrations, that all were satisfy'd of the Excellency of the Art, and Cor∣chuelo was reduc'd from his Incredulity. 'Twas now pretty dark, but before they got to the Vil∣lage, it appear'd entirely a blazing Constellation: Their Ears were entertain'd with the pleasing, but confus'd sounds of several sorts of Musick, Drums, Fiddles, Pipes, Tabors and Bells; and as they approach'd nearer still, they found a large Arbour at the entrance of the Town, stuck full of Lights, which burnt undisturb'd by the least breeze of Wind. The Musicians, which are the Life

and Soul of Diversion at a Wedding, went up and down in Bands about the Meadow. In short, some Danc'd, some Sung, some Play'd, and Mirth and Jollity Revell'd through that delicious Seat of Pleasure. Others were employ'd in raising Scaf∣folds for the better view of the Shows and Enter∣tainments prepair'd for the happy Camacho's Wed∣ding, and likewise to Solemnize poor Basil's Fune∣ral. All the Perswasions and Endeavours of the Students and Country-men could not move Don Quixote to enter the Town; urging for his Rea∣son, the Custom of Knight-Errants, who chose to Lodge in Fields and Forests under the Canopy of Heav'n, rather than in soft Beds under a gilded Roof; and therefore he left 'em, and went a little out of the Road, full sore against Sancho's Will, who had not yet forgot the good Lodging and Entertainment he had at Don Diego's House or Castle.

CHAP. XX. An Account of Rich Camacho's Wedding, and what befell poor Basil.

SCarce had the fair Aurora given place to the refulgent Ruler of the Day, and given him time with the heat of his prevailing Rays to dry the liquid Pearls on his Golden Locks; when Don Quixote, shaking off sluggish sleep from his drowsie Limbs, arose and call'd his Squire: But finding him still Snoring, oh thou the most happy Mortal upon Earth, said he, how sweet is thy Repose; Envy'd by none, and Envying no

Man's Greatness, secure thou sleep'st, thy Soul compos'd and calm! No Power of Magick per∣secutes thee, nor are thy Thoughts affrighted by Inchantments. Sleep on, sleep on, a hundred times, sleep on. Those Jealous Cares that break a Lover's Heart do not extend to thee; neither the dread of craving Creditors, nor the dismal foresight of inevitable Want, or care of finding Bread for a helpless starving Family, keep thee waking. Ambition does not make thee uneasie, the Pomp and Vanity of this World do not per∣plex thy Mind, for all thy Care's extent reaches but to thy Ass. Thy Person and thy Welfare thou hast committed to my Charge, a Burden impos'd on Masters by Nature and Custom, to weigh and counterpoise the Offices of Servants. Which is the greatest Slave? The Servant's Business is perform'd by a few Manual Duties, which only reconcile him more to Rest, and make him sleep more sound; while the anxious Master has not leisure to close his Eyes, but must Labour Day and Night to make Provision for the Subsistence of his Servant; not only in time of Abundance, but even when the Heavens deny those kindly Showers that must supply his want. To all this fine Expostulation Sancho answer'd not a Word; but slept on, and was not to be wak'd by his Master's calling or otherwise, till he prick'd him in the Buttocks with the sharp end of his Lance. At length opening his Eye-lids half way, and rub∣bing them, after he had gap'd and yawn'd, and stretch'd his drowsy Limbs; he look'd about him, and snuffing up his Nose, I'm much mistaken, quoth he, if from this same Arbour there come not a pure steam of good broil'd Rashers, that comforts my Nostrils, more than all the Herbs and Rushes hereabouts. And by my Holy Dame,

a Wedding that begins so savourly, must be a dainty one. Away Cormorant, said Don Quixote, rouse and let's go see it, and learn how it fares with the Disdain'd Basil. Fare? quoth Sancho, why if he be poor, he must e'en be so still, and not think to Marry Quiteria. 'Tis a pretty Fancy, i'faith! For a Fellow who has not a Cross, to run Madding after what is Meat for his Betters. I'll lay my Neck that Camacho covers this same Basil from Head to Foot with white Six pences, and will spend ye more at a Breakfast than t'other's worth, and be ne'er the worse. And d'ye think that Madam Quiteria will quit her fine rich Gowns and Petticoats, her Necklaces of Pearl, her Jewels, her Finery and Bravery, and all that Camacho has given her, or may afford to give her, to Marry a Fellow with whom she must Knit or Spin for her Living? What signifies his Bar-pitching and Fencing? Will that pay for a Pint of Wine at the Tavern? If all those rare Parts won't go to Market and make the Pot boil, the duce take 'em for me: Though where they light on a Man that has wherewithal, may I ever live thus, if they don't set him off rarely. With good Materials on a good Foundation, a Man may Build a good House, and Money is the best Foundation in the World. For Heaven's sake Sancho, said Don Quix∣ote, prithee bring thy tedious Harangue to a Con∣clusion. For my part, I believe, wer't thou let alone, when thy Clack is once set a going, thou would'st scarce allow thy self time to eat or sleep, but would'st prate on to the end of the Chapter. Troth Master! reply'd Sancho, your Memory must be very short, not to remember the Articles of our Agreement before I came this last Journey with you. I was to speak what I would, and when I would, provided I said nothing against my

Neighbour, or your Worship's Authority; and I don't see that I have broken my Indentures yet. I remember no such Article, said Don Quixote, and though it were so, 'tis my Pleasure you now be silent and attend me; for the Instruments we heard last Night begin to cheer the Vallies, and doubtless the Marriage will be Solemniz'd this Morning, e'er the heat of the Day prevent the Di∣version. Thereupon Sancho said no more but Sad∣dl'd Rozinante, and clapp'd his Pack-Saddle on Dapple's Back; then both mounting, away they rode fair and softly into the Arbour. The first thing that bless'd Sancho's Sight there, was a whole Steer Spitted on a large Elm, before a mighty Fire made of a Pile of Wood, that seem'd a flaming Mountain. Round this Bonfire were plac'd six capacious Pots, cast in no common Mould, or rather six ample Coppers, every one containing a whole Shamble of Meat, and entire Sheep were sunk and lost in them, and soak'd as conveniently as Pigeons. The Branches of the Trees round were all garnish'd with an infinite number of Cas'd Hares, and pluck'd Fowl of se∣veral sorts: And then for Drink, Sancho told above threescore Skins of Wine, holding each of 'em seven Gallons at least, and as it afterwards prov'd, sprightly Liquor. A goodly pile of white Loaves made a large Rampart on the one side, and a stately Wall of Cheeses set up like Bricks made a comely Bulwark on the other. Two Pans of Oil, each bigger than a Dyer's Fat, serv'd to fry their Pan∣cakes, which they lifted out with two strong Peels when they were fry'd enough, and then they dipp'd 'em in as large a Kettle of Honey prepar'd for that purpose. To dress all this Provision, there were above fifty Cooks, Men and Women, all cleanly, diligent and chearful: In the ample

Belly of the Steer they had sew'd up twelve little sucking Piggs embowell'd, to give it the more savoury Taste. Spices of all sorts lay about in such Plenty, that they appear'd to be bought by whole-sale. In short, the whole Provision was indeed Country-like, but plentiful enough to feast an Army. Sancho beheld all this with wonder and delight. The first Temptation that captiva∣ted his Senses was the goodly Pots; his Bowels yearn'd, and his Mouth water'd at the dainty Con∣tents: By and by he falls desperately in Love with the Skins of Wine; and lastly, his affections were fix'd on the Fryingpans, if such honourable Ket∣tles may accept of the Name. The scent of the fry'd Meat put him into such a commotion of Spirit that he could hold out no longer, but ac∣costing one of the busie Cooks, with all the smooth and hungry Reasons he was Master of, he begg'd his leave to sop a Luncheon of Bread in one of the Pans. Friend, quoth the Cook, no hunger must be felt near us to Day (thanks to the Foun∣der) Light, light Man, and if thou canst find ever a Ladle there, skim out a Pullet or two, and much good may do you. Alack a day, quoth Sancho, I see no Ladle, Sir. Blood and Suet cry'd the Cook, what a silly helpless Fellow thou art! Let me see: With that he took a Kettle, and sow∣sing into one of the Pots, he fish'd out three Hens and a couple of Geese at one heave. Here, Friend, said he to Sancho, take this, and make shift to stay your Stomach with that Scum till Dinner be ready. Heaven reward you, cry'd Sancho, but where shall I put it? Here, answer'd the Cook, take Ladle and all, and thank the Founder, once more I say; no Body will grudge it thee. While Sancho was thus employ'd, Don Quixote saw twelve young Farmers Sons all Dress'd very Gay, enter upon

stately Mares, as richly and gaudily equipp'd as the Country could afford, with little Bells fasten'd to their Furniture. These in a close Body made several Careers up and down the Meadow, merrily shouting and crying out, long live Camacho, and Quiteria, he as rich as she Fair, and she the fairest in the World. Poor Ignorants (thought Don Quixote over-hearing them) you speak as you know; but had you ever seen my Dulcinea del To∣boso, you would not be so lavish of your Praises here. In a little while, at several other parts of the spacious Arbour enter'd a great Number of Dancers, and among the rest twenty four young active Country-Lads in their fine Holland-Shirts, with their Handkerchiefs wrought with several Colours of fine Silk, wound about their Heads, each of 'em with Sword in Hand. These Danc'd a Military Dance, and skirmish'd with one another, mixing and intermixing with their naked Swords, with wonderful sleight and activity, without hurt∣ing each other in the least. This Dance pleas'd Don Quixote mightily, and tho' he was no stranger to such sort of Dances, he thought it the best he had ever seen. There was another he also lik'd very well, perform'd all by most Beautiful young Maids, between fourteen and eighteen years of Age, clad in slight green, with their Hair partly filletted up with Ribbons, and partly hanging loose about their Shoulders, as bright and lovely as the Sun's Golden Beams. Above all, they wore Garlands of Roses, Jasmine, Amaranth, and Honey-suckles. They were led up by a Reverend Old Man, and a Matronly Woman, both much more Light and Active than their years seem'd to pro∣mise. They Danc'd to the Musick of Zamora Bag∣pipes, and such was the Modesty of their Looks, and the agility of their Feet, that they appear'd

the prettiest Dancers in the World. After these came in an artificial Dance or Masque, consisting of eight Nymphs, cast into two Divisions, of which Love led one, and Wealth the other; one with his Wings, his Bow, his Arrows, and his Quiver; the other array'd in several gaudy Colours of Gold and Silk. The Nymphs of Cupid's Party had their Names inscribed in large Characters be∣hind their Backs. The first was Poesy, Prudence was the next, the third Nobility, and Valour was the fourth. Those that attended Wealth were Libe∣rality, Reward, Treasure, and Peaceable Possession. Be∣drawn by four Savages, clad in green, cover'd over with Ivy, and grim surly Vizzards on their Faces, so to the Life that they had almost fright∣ed Sancho. On the Frontispiece and on every quarter of the Edifice was inscrib'd, the Castle of Reservedness. Four expert Musicians play'd to them on Pipe and Tabor. Cupid began the Dance, and after two Movements, he cast up his Eyes, and bent his Bow against a Virgin that stood upon the Battlements of the Castle, addressing himself in this manner.

The MASQUE.

LOVE.

MY Name is Love, supreme my Sway, The greatest Good and greatest Pain. Air, Earth, and Seas my Power obey, And Gods themselves must drag my Chain. In every Heart my Throne I keep, Fear ne'er could daunt my daring Soul: I fir•• the Bosom of the Deep, And the profoundest Hell controll.

Having spoken these Verses, Cupid shot an Ar∣row over the Castle and retir'd to his Station. Then Wealth advanc'd, and perform'd two Move∣ments, after which the Musick stopp'd, and he express'd himself thus,

WEALTH.

LOve's my Incentive and my End, But I'm a greater Pow'r than Love; Tho' Earthly Born, I Earth transcend, For Wealth's a Blessing from above. Bright Maid, with me receive and bless The surest pledge of all Success; Desir'd by All, us'd right by Few, But best bestow'd, when grac'd by you.

Wealth withdrew, and Poesy came forward, and after she had perform'd her Movements like the rest, fixing her Eyes upon the Lady of the Castle, repeated these Lines.

POESY.

Sweet Poesy in moving Layes Love into Hearts, Sense into Souls conveys; With Sacred Rage can tune to Bliss or Woe, Sways all the Man, and gives him Heav'n below.

Bright Nymph, with ev'ry Grace adorn'd, Shall noble Verse by Thee be scorn'd? 'Tis Wit can best thy Beauty prize; Then raise the Muse, and thou by her shall rise:

Poesy retir'd, and Liberality advanc'd from Wealth's side, and after the Dance, spoke this,

LIBERALITY.

Behold that noble golden Mean Betwixt the Sparing and Profuse! Good Sense and Merit must be seen, Where Liberality's in Use.

But I for Thee will lavish seem; For Thee Profuseness I'll approve: For, where the Merit is extreme, Who'd not be prodigal of Love?

In this Manner all the Persons of each Party advanc'd and spoke their Verses, of which some were pretty and some foolish enough. Among the rest, Don Quixote, who had a very good Memory, remember'd only these. After this, the two Divi∣sions joyn'd into a very pretty Country-Dance; and still as Cupid pass'd by the Castle he shot a Flight of Arrows, and Wealth batter'd it with golden Balls; then drawing out a great Purse of Roman Cat's-Skin that seem'd full of Money, he threw it a∣gainst the Castle, the Boards of which were pre∣sently disjointed, and fell down, leaving the Vir∣gin discover'd without any Defence. Thereupon Wealth immediately enter'd with his Party, and throwing a Gold Chain about her Neck, made a Shew of leading her Prisoner: But then Cupid with his Attendants came to her Rescue; and both Par∣ties engaging, were parted by the Savages, who joining the Boards together, enclos'd the Virgin as before; and all was perform'd with Measure, and to the Musick, that played all the while; and so the Show ended to the great Content of the

Spectators. When all was over, Don Quixote ask'd one of the Nymphs who it was that compos'd the Entertainment? She answer'd that it was a certain Clergyman who liv'd in their Town that had a rare Talent that way. I dare lay a Wager, said Don Quixote, he was more a Friend to Basil than to Ca∣macho, and knows better what belongs to a Play than a Prayer-Book: He has express'd Basil's Parts and Camacho's Estate very naturally in the Design of your Dance. God bless the King and Camacho say I, quoth Sancho, who heard this. Well! Sancho, says Don Quixote, thou art a white-liver'd Rogue to change Parties this Way; thou'rt like the Rab∣ble, which always cry, Long live the Conqueror. I know not what I'm like, reply'd Sancho; but this I know, that this Kettle full of Geese and Hens is a Bribe for a Prince. Camacho has fill'd my Belly, and therefore has won my Heart. When shall I ladle out such dainty Scum out of Basil's Porridge-Pots (added he, shewing his Master the Meat, and falling on lustily); therefore a Fig for his Abilities say I. As he sows so let him reap, and as he reaps so let him sow. My old Grannam (rest her Soul) was wont to say, there were but two Families in the World, Have much and Have little; and she had ever a great Kindness for the Family of the Have much. A Doctor gives his Advice by the Pulse of your Pocket; and an Ass cover'd with Gold, looks better than an Horse with a Pack-Saddle; so once more I say Camacho for my Mo∣ney. Hast thou not done yet? said Don Quixote. I must have done, answer'd Sancho; because I find you begin to be in a Passion, else I had Work cut out for three Days and a Half. Well! said Don Quixote, thou wilt never be silent till thy Mouth's full of Clay; when thou'rt dead I hope I shall have some Rest. Faith and Troth now Master,

quoth Sancho, you did ill to talk of Death; Hea∣ven bless us, 'tis no Child's Play; you've e'en spoil'd my Dinner; the very Thought of raw Bones and lanthorn Jaws makes me sick. Death eats up all things, both the young Lamb and old Sheep; and I have heard our Parson say he values a Prince no more than a Clown; all's Fish that comes to his Net; he throws at all, and sweeps Stakes; he's no Mower that takes a Nap at Noon-Day, but drives on, fair Weather or foul, and cuts down the green Grass as well as the ripe Corn: He's neither squeamish nor queasy-stomach'd, for he swallows without chewing, and crams down all things into his ungracious Maw; and though you can see no Belly he has, he has a confounded Drop∣sy, and thirsts after Mens Lives, which he guggles down like Mother's Milk. Hold, hold, cry'd the Knight, go no further, for thou art come to a very handsome Period; thou hast said as much of Death in thy home-spun Cant, as a good Preacher could have done: Thou hast got the Knack of Preach∣ing, Man; I must get thee a Pulpit and Benefice I think. He preaches well that lives well, quoth Sancho; that's all the Divinity I understand. Thou hast enough, said Don Quixote; only I wonder at one thing, 'tis said the Beginning of Wisdom pro∣ceeds from the Fear of Heaven; how happens it then, that thou who fearest a Lizard more than Omnipotence should'st be so wise? Come, Sir, reply'd Sancho, judge you of your Knight-Erran∣try, and don't meddle with other Men's Fears; for I am as pretty a Fearer of Heaven as any of my Neighbours; and so let me dispatch this Scum, (and much Good may't do thee honest Sancho;) Consider, Sir, we must give an Account for our idle Words another Day; I must have t'other Pluck at the Kettle. With that he attack'd it with

so couragious an Appetite that he sharpen'd his Master's, who would certainly have kept him Com∣pany, had he not been prevented by that which Necessity obliges me to relate this Instant.

CHAP. XXI. The Progress of Camacho's Wedding, with other delightful Accidents.

WHILE Don Quixote and Sancho were discour∣sing, as the former Chapter has told you, they were interrupted by a great Noise of Joy and Acclamations rais'd by the Horsemen, who shout∣ing and galloping went to meet the young Couple, who, surrounded by a thousand Instruments and Devices, were coming to the Arbour, accompany'd by the Curate, their Relations, and all the better sort of the Neighbourhood, set out in their Holi∣day-Cloaths. Hey-day! quoth Sancho, as soon as he saw the Bride, what have we here? Adzuckers this is no Country-Lass, but a fine City-Dame, all in her Silks and Sattins, by the Mass! Look, look ye Master, see if instead of Glass Necklaces, she have not on Fillets of rich Coral; and instead of green Serge of Cuenca, a thirty-pil'd Velvet. I'll warrant her Lacing is white Linnen; but hold, may I never squint if it ben't Sattin. Bless us! see what Rings she has on her Fingers, no Jet, no pewter Bawbles, pure beaten Gold, as I'm a Sinner, and set with Pearls too! If every Pearl ben't as white as a Syllabub, and each of them as precious as an Eye! How she's bedizon'd, and

glistens from Top to Toe! And now yonder again, what fine long Locks the young Slut has got! If they ben't false, I ne'er saw longer in my born Days. Ah Jade! what a fine stately Person she is! What a many Trinkets and glaring Gugaws are dangling in her Hair and about her Neck! Cudz-niggers! she puts me in mind of an over-loaden Date-tree. I'my Conscience! she's a juicy bit, a Mettl'd Wench, and might well pass Muster in Flanders. Well! I say no more, but happy is the Man that has thee! Don Quixote could not help smiling to hear Sancho set forth the Bride after his Rustick way, though at the same time he beheld her with admiration, thinking her the most Beauti∣ful Woman he had ever seen, except his Mistress Dulcinea: However, the fair Quiteria appear'd somewhat pale, probably with the ill Rest which Brides commonly have the Night before their Marriage, in order to Dress themselves to Advan∣tage. There was a large Scaffold erected on one side of the Meadow, and adorn'd with Carpets and Boughs for the Marriage-Ceremony, and the more convenient Prospect of the Shows and Entertain∣ments. The Procession was just arriv'd to this Place, when they heard a piercing out-cry, and a voice calling out, Stay, rash and hasty People, stay; upon which all turning about, they saw a Person coming after them in a black Coat border'd with Crimson, powder'd with Flames of Fire. On his Head he wore a Garland of mournful Cypress, and a large Truncheon in his Hand, headed with an Iron Spike. As soon as he drew near they knew him to be the gallant Basil, and the whole Assembly began to fear some Mischief would en∣sue, seeing him come thus unlook'd for, and with such an Outcry and Behaviour. He came up tir'd and panting before the Bride and Bridegoom; then

leaning on his Truncheon, he fix'd his Eyes on Quiteria, turning pale and trembling at the same time, and with a fearful hollow Voice, Too well you know, cry'd he, unkind Quiteria, that by the Ties of Truth, and Law of that Heaven which we all revere, while I have Life you cannot be marry'd to another. You may remember too, that all the while I stay'd, hoping that Time and In∣dustry might better my Fortune, and render me a Match more equal for you, I never offer'd to tran∣scend the Bounds of honourable Love, by sollicit∣ing Favours to the Prejudice of your Virtue. But you, forgetting all the Ties between us, are going now to break 'em, and give my Right to another, whose large Possessions, tho' they can procure him all other Blessings, I had never envy'd, could they not have purchas'd you. But no more, the Fates have ordain'd it, and I will further their Design, by removing this unhappy Obstacle out of your Way. Live, rich Camacho, live happy with the ungrate∣ful Quiteria many Years, and let the poor, the mi∣serable Basil die, whose Poverty has clipp'd the Wings of his Felicity, and laid him in the Grave. Saying these last Words, he drew out of his sup∣pos'd Truncheon a short Tuck that was conceal'd in it, and setting the Hilt of it to the Ground, he fell upon the Point in such a Manner that it came out all bloody at his Back, the poor Wretch wel∣tring on the Ground in Blood. His Friends strange∣ly confounded by this sad Accident, ran to help him, and Don Quixote forsaking Rozinante, made Haste to his Assistance, and taking him up in his Arms, found there was still Life in him. They would fain have drawn the Sword out of his Body, but the Curate urg'd it was not convenient till he had made his Confession, and prepar'd himself for Death, which would immediately attend the Effu∣sion

of Blood upon pulling the Tuck out of his Body. While they were debating this Point, Basil seem'd to come a little to himself, and calling on the Bride. Oh.! Quiteria, (said he, with a faint and doleful Voice) now, now in this last and de∣parting Minute of my Life, even in this dreadful Agony of Death, would you but vouchsafe to give me your Hand, and own your self my Wife, I should think my self rewarded for the Torments I endure; and pleas'd to think this desparate Deed made me yours, tho' but for a Moment, I would die contented. The Curate hearing this, very ear∣nestly recommended to him the Care of his Soul's Health, which at the present Juncture was more proper than any Gratification of his outward Man; that his Time was but short, and he ought to be very earnest with Heaven, in imploring its Mercy and Forgiveness for all his Sins, but especially for his last desperate Action. To which Basil answer'd, That he could think of no Happiness till Quiteria yielded to be his; but if she would do it, that Sa∣tisfaction would calm his Spirits, and dispose him to confess himself heartily. Don Quixote hearing this, cry'd out aloud, That Basil's Demand was just and reasonable, and that Signior Camacho might as honourably receive her as the worthy Basil's Wi∣dow, as if he had receiv'd her at her Father's Hands. Say but the Word, Madam, continu'd he, pronounce it once to save a Man from Despair and Damnation; you will not be long bound to it, since the nuptial Bed of this Bridegroom must be the Grave. Camacho stood all this while strangely confounded, till at last he was prevail'd on by the repeated Importunities of Basil's Friends to consent that Quiteria should humour the dying Man, know∣ing her own Happiness would be deferr'd but some few Minutes longer. Then they all bent their

Entreaties to Quiteria, some with Tears in thei•• Eyes, others with all the engaging Arguments their Pity could suggest. She stood a long Time inexorable, and did not return any Answer; till 〈◊〉〈◊〉 last the Curate came to her, and bid her resol•••• what she would do; for Basil was just ready to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 up the Ghost. But then the poor Virgin trembling and dismay'd, without speaking a Word, came to poor Basil, who lay gasping for Breath, with his Eyes fix'd in his Head as if he were just expiring; she kneel'd down by him, and with the most ma∣nifest Signs of Grief beckon'd to him for his Hand. Then Basil opening his Eyes, and fixing them in a languishing Posture on hers, Oh Qui∣teria, said he, your Heart at last relents when your Pity comes too late. Thy Arms are now extended to relieve me, when those of Death draw me to their Embraces, and they alas! are much too strong for thine. All I desire of thee, O fatal Beauty, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 this, let not that fair Hand deceive me now, as 〈◊〉〈◊〉 has done before, but confess, that what you do i•• free and voluntary, without Constraint, or in Com¦pliance to any one's Commands; declare me open¦ly thy true and lawful Husband: Thou wilt no•• sure dissemble with one in Death, and deal fals•••• with his departing Soul that all his Life has bee•• true to thee. In the Midst of all this Discourse 〈◊〉〈◊〉 fainted away, and all the By-standers thought hi•• gone. The poor Quiteria with a blushing Modes•••• a kind of Violence upon her self, took him by 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Hand, and with a great deal of Emotion, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Force, said she, could ever work upon my Will 〈◊〉〈◊〉 this Degree, therefore I believe it purely my ow•• free Will and Inclination, that I here publickly d••¦clare you my only lawful Husband: Here's 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Hand in Pledge, and I expect yours as freely 〈◊〉〈◊〉 return, if your Pains and this sudden Accide••••

have not yet bereft you of all Sense. I give it you, said Basil, with all the Presence of Mind i∣maginable, and here I own my self thy Husband. And I thy Wife, said she, whether thy Life be ••ong, or whether from my Arms they bear thee this Instant to the Grave. Methinks, quoth San∣cho, this young Man talks too much for a Man in his Condition; pray advise him to leave off his Wooing, and mind his Soul's Health. I'm afraid his Death is more in his Tongue than in his Teeth. Now when Basil and Quiteria had thus plighted their Faith to each other, while yet their Hands were joyn'd together, the tender-hearted Cu∣rate, with Tears in his Eyes, poured on 'em both the nuptial Blessing, beseeching Heaven at the same Time to have Mercy on the new-marry'd Man's Soul, and in a Manner mixing the Burial-Service with the Matrimonial. As soon as the Be∣nediction was pronounc'd, up starts Basil briskly from the Ground, and with an unexpected Activi∣ty whips the Sword out of his Body, and caught his dear Quiteria close in his Arms. All the Spec∣tators stood amaz'd, and some of the simpler sort stuck not to cry out, A Miracle, a Miracle! No, no, cry'd Basil, no Miracle, no Miracle, but a Stratagem, a Stratagem. The Curate, more asto∣nish'd and concern'd than all the rest, came with both his Hands to feel the Wound, and discover'd that the Sword had no where pass'd through the cunning Basil's Body, but only through a Tin Pipe full of Blood artfully fitted to his Body, and, as it was afterwards known, so prepar'd that the Blood could not congeal. In short, the Curate, Camacho, and the Company found they had all been egregiously impos'd upon. As for the Bride, she was so far from being displeas'd, that hearing it urg'd that the Marriage could not stand good in

Law because the Contrivance was deceitful, she publickly declar'd that she again confirm'd it to be just, and by the free Consent of both Parties: Ca∣macho and his Friends judging by this that the Trick was premeditated, and that she was privy to the Plot, enrag'd at this horrid Disappointment, had Recourse to a stronger Argument, and draw∣ing their Swords, set furiously on Basil, in whose Defence almost as many were immediately un∣sheathed. Don Quixote immediately mounting, with his Lance couch'd, and cover'd with his Shield, led the Van of Basil's Party, and falling in with the Enemy, charg'd clear thro' the Gross of their Battalia. Sancho, who never lik'd any dan∣gerous Work, resolv'd to stand Neuter, and so re∣tir'd under the Walls of the mighty Pot whence he had got the precious Skimmings, thinking that would be respected whatever Side gain'd the Bat∣tle. Don Quixote addressing himself to Camacho's Party, Hold Gentlemen, cry'd he, 'tis not just thus with Arms to redress the Injuries of Love. Love and War are the same thing, and Stratagems and Policy are as allowable in the one as in the other. Quiteria was design'd for Basil, and he for her by the unalterable Decrees of Heaven. Camacho's Riches may purchase him a Bride and more Con∣tent elsewhere, and those whom Heav'n has joyn'd let no Man put asunder. Basil had but this one Lamb, and the Lamb of his Bosome, let none therefore offer to take his single Delight from him, though presuming on his Power; for here I so∣lemnly declare, that he who first attempts it must pass through me, and this Lance through him. At which he shook his Lance in the Air with so much Vigour and Dexterity, that he cast a sudden Ter∣rour into those that beheld him, who did not know the threatning Champion. In short, Don

Quixote's Words, the good Curate's diligent Media∣tion, together with Quiteria's Inconstancy, brought Camacho to a Truce; and he then discreetly consi∣der'd, that since Quiteria lov'd Basil before Marri∣age, 'twas probable she would love him afterwards, and that therefore he had more Reason to thank Heaven for so good a Riddance, than to repine at her Loss. This Thought, improv'd by some o∣ther Considerations, brought both Parties to a fair Accommodation; and Camacho, to shew he did not resent the Disappointment, blaming rather Quiteria's Levity than Basil's Policy, invited the whole Company to stay, and take Share of what he had provided. But Basil, whose Virtues, in spight of his Poverty, had secur'd him many Friends, drew away Part of the Company to attend him and his Bride to her own Town; and among the rest Don Quixote, whom they all honour'd as a Person of extraordinary Worth and Bravery. Poor Sancho follow'd his Master with a heavy Heart; he could not be reconcil'd to the Thoughts of turning his Back so soon upon the good Cheer and Jollity at Camacho's Feast, that lasted till Night, and had a strange Hankering after those dear Flesh-Pots of Aegypt, which tho' he left behind in Reality, he yet carry'd along with him in Mind. The belov∣ed Scum which he had, that was nigh guttl'd alrea∣dy, made him view with Sorrow the almost empty Kettle, the dear Casket where his Treasure lay: So that stomaching mightily his Master's Defection from Camacho's Feast, he sullenly pac'd on after Rozinante, very much out of Humour, though he had just fill'd his Belly.

CHAP. XXII. An Account of the great Adventure of Mon∣tesino's Cave, situated in the Heart of la Mancha, which the Valorus Don Quixote successfully Atchiev'd.

THE new Married Couple Entertain'd Don Quixote very Nobly, in Acknowledgment of his readiness to defend their Cause; they esteem'd his Wisdom equal to his Valour, and thought him both a Cid in Arms, and a Cicero in Arts. Honest Sancho too recruited to the Purpose, during the three Days his Master stay'd, and so came to his good Humour again. Basil then inform'd them, that Quiteria knew no∣thing of his Stratagems, but being a pure Device of his own, he had made some of his nearest Friends acquainted with it, that they should stand by him if occasion were, and bring him off upon the Discovery of the Deceit. It deserves a hand∣somer Name, said Don Quixote, since conducive to so good and honourable an End, as the Marriage of a Loving Couple. By the way, Sir, you must know, that the greatest Obstacle to Love, is Want, and a narrow Fortune: For the continual Bands and Cements of mutual Affection are Mirth, Con∣tent, Satisfaction, and Jollity. These manag'd by skilful Hands can make Variety in the Pleasures of Wedlock, preparing the same thing always with some additional Circumstance, to render it new and delightful. But when pressing Necessity and

Indigence deprive us of these Pleasures that pre∣vent Satiety, the Yoke of Matrimony is often found very galling; and the Burden intolerable. These Words were chiefly directed by Don Quixote to Basil, to advise him by the way to give over those airy Sports and Exercises, which indeed might feed his Youth with Praise, but not his Old Age with Bread, and to bethink himself of some grave and substantial Employment that might af∣ford him a Competency, and something of a Stock for his declining Years. Then pursuing his Dis∣course: The Honourable Poor Man, said he, (if the Poor deserves that Epithet) when he has a Beautiful Wife, is bless'd with a Jewel: He that deprives him of her, robs him of his Honour, and may be said to deprive him of his Life. The Wo∣man that is Beautiful, and keeps her Honesty when her Husband is Poor, deserves to be Crown'd with Laurel, as the Conquerors were of Old. Beauty is a tempting Bait, that attracts the Eyes of all Be∣holders, and the Princely Eagles, and the most high-flown Birds stoop to its pleasing Lure. But when they find it in Necessity, then Kites and Crows, and other ravenous Birds will all be grap∣ling with the alluring Prey. She that can with∣stand these dangerous Attacks, does merit to be the Crown of her Husband. However, Sir, take this along with you, as the Opinion of a Wise Man, whose Name I have forgot; he said, there was but one good Woman in the World, and his Advice was, that every Married Man should think his own Wife was she, as being the only way to live contented. For my own part, I need not make the Application to my self, for I am not Married, nor have I as yet any Thoughts that way; but if I had, 'twou'd not be a Woman's Fortune, but her Character should recommend her;

for publick Reputation is the Life of a Lady's Ver∣tue, and the outward Appearance of Modesty is in one Sense as good as the Reality; since a pri∣vate Sin is not so prejudicial in this World, as a publick Indecency. If you bring a Woman honest to your Bosom, 'tis easy keeping her so, and per∣haps you may improve her Vertues. If you take an unchaste Partner to your Bed, 'tis hard mend∣ing her; for the Extremes of Vice and Vertue are so great in a Woman, and their Points so far asun∣der, that 'tis very improbable, I won't say impossi∣ble, they should ever be reconcil'd. Sancho, who had patiently Listen'd so far, cou'd not forbear ma∣king some Remarks on his Master's Talk. This Master of mine, thought he to himself, when I am talking some good Things, full of Pith and Marrow, as he may be now, was wont to tell me, that I should tie a Pulpit at my Back, and stroll with it about the World to retail my Rarities; but I might as well tell him, that when once he be∣gins to tack his Sentences together, a single Pulpit is too little for him, he had need have two for every Finger, and go Peddling about the Market, and cry, who buys my Ware? Old Nick take him for a Knight-Errant! I think he's one of the seven Wise Masters. I thought he knew nothing but his Knight-Errantry, but now I see the Devil a thing can 'scape him, he has an Oar in every Man's Boat, and a Finger in every Pye. As he mutter'd some∣what loud, his Master over-heard him. What's that thou'rt Grumbling there, Sancho, said he? Nothing. Sir, nothing, quoth Sancho. I was only wishing I had heard your Worship Preach this Doctrine before I Married, then mayhaps I might have said the old Proverb, A sound Man needs no Physician. What, is Teresa so bad then, ask'd Don Quixoie? Not so very bad neither, answer'd

Sancho; nor yet so good as I would have her. Fie, Sancho, said Don Quixote, thou do'st not do well to speak ill of thy Wife, who is a good Mother to thy Children. There's no Love lost, Sir, quoth Sancho, for she speaks as ill of me, when the Fit takes her, especially when she's in one of her Jea∣lous Moods, for then Old Nick himself cou'd not bear her Maundring.

Don Quixote having tarried three Days with the young Couple, and been entertain'd like a Prince, he entreated the Student, who fenced so well, to help him to a Guide that might conduct him to Montesino's Cave, resolving to go down into it, and prove by his own Eye-sight the Wonders that were reported of it round the Country. The Student recommended a Cousin-German of his for his Con∣ductor, who, he said, was an Ingenious Lad, a pretty Scholar, and a great Admirer of Books of Knight-Errantry, and cou'd shew him the famous Lake of Ruydera too; adding, that he would be very good Company for the Knight, as being one that wrote Books for the Booksellers, in order to Dedicate 'em to Great Men. Accordingly the Learned Cousin came mounted on an Ass with Foal; his Pack-saddle cover'd with an old Carpet, or coarse Packing-Cloth. Thereupon Sancho having got ready Rozinante and Dapple, well stuffed his Wallet, and the Student's Knap-sack to boot, they all took their Leave, steering the nearest Course to Montesino's Cave. To pass the Time on the Road, Don Quixote ask'd the Guide to what Course of Study he chiefly apply'd himself. Sir, answer'd the Scholar, my Business is Writing, and Copy-Money my chief Study. I have publish'd some Things with the general Approbation of the World, and much to my own Advantage. Per∣haps, Sir, you may have heard of one of my Books,

call'd, The Treatise of Liveries and Devices; in which I have oblig'd the Publick with no less than seven Hundred and three sorts of Liveries and Devices, with their Colours, Mottos, and Ciphers; so that any Courtier may furnish himself there upon any extraordinary Appearance, with what may suit his Fancy or Circumstances, without racking his own Invention to find what is agreeable to his Inclina∣nations. I can furnish the Jealous, the Forsaken, the Disdain'd, the Absent, with what will fit 'em to a Hair. Another Piece, which I now have on the Anvil, I design to call the Metamorphosis, or The Spanish Ovid; an Invention very new and extra∣ordinary. 'Tis in short, Ovid Burlesqu'd; wherein I discover who the* 5.1 Giralda of Sevil was; who the Angel of the Magdalen; I tell ye what was the Pipe of Vecinguerra of ••••••eua, what the Bulls of Gui∣sando, the Sierra Morena, the Fountains of Laganitos, and Lavapies at Ma••rid; not forgetting that of Piojo, nor those of the Golden Pipe, and the Abbey; and I embellish the Fables with Allegories, Meta∣phors, and Translations, that will delight and in∣struct. Another Work, which I soon design for the Press, I call a Supplement to Polydore Virgil, concerning the Inventions of Things: A Piece, I'll assure you, Sir, that shews the great Pains and Learning of the Compiler, and perhaps in a bet∣ter Style than the old Author. For Example, he has forgot to tell us who was the First that was troubl••d with a Catarrh in the World; and who was the first that was Flux'd for the French Disease. Now, Sir, I immediately resolve it, and confirm my Assertion by the Testimony of at least four and twenty Authentick Writers; By which Quotations

alone, you may guess, Sir, at what Pains I have been to instruct and benefit the Publick.

Sancho having hearkned with great Attention all this while, Pray, Sir, quoth he to him, so Heaven guide your Right-hand in all you Write, let me ask you, Who was the first Man that scratch'd his Head? Scratch'd his Head, Friend, answer'd the Author? Ay, Sir, scratch'd his Head, quoth San∣cho: Sure you that know all things, can tell me that, or the Devil's in't! What think you of old Father Adam? Old Father Adam, answer'd the Scholar! Let me se••— Father Adam had a Head, he had Hair, he had Hands, and he cou'd scratch: But Father Adam was the first Man; Ergo, Father Adam was the first Man that scratch'd his Head. 'Tis plain you're in the right. O ho, am I so, Sir, quoth Sancho? Another Question, by your Leave, Sir, Who was the first Tumbler in the World? Truly, Friend, answer'd the Student, that's a Point I cannot resolve you without consulting my Books; but as soon as ever I get home, I will study Night and Day to find it out. For two fair Words, quoth Sancho, I'll save you that Trouble. Can you resolve that Doubt, ask'd the Author? Ay, marry can I, said Sancho: The first Tumbler in the World was Lucifer, when he was cast out of Heaven he tumbl'd into Hell. You are positively in the right, said the Scholar. Where did you get that, Sancho, said Don Quixote? For I dare swear 'tis none of your own. Mum! quoth Sancho. In ask∣ing of foolish Questions, and selling of Bargains, let Sancho alone, quo I; I don't want the help of my Neighbours. Truly, said Don Quixote, thou hast given thy Question a better Epithet than thou art aware of: For there are some Men who busy their Heads, and lose a World of Time in making Discoveries, the Knowledge of

which is good for nothing in Nature, unless it be to make the Discoveries Laugh'd at.

With these, and such diverting Discourses they pass'd their Journey, till they came to the Cave the next Day, having lain the Night before in a considerable Village on the Road. There they brought a hundred Fathom of Cordage to hang Don Quixote by, and let him down to the lowest part of the Cave; he being resolv'd to go to the very Bottom, were it as deep as Hell. The Mouth of it was inaccessible, being quite stopp'd up with Weeds, Bushes, Brambles, and wild Fig-Trees, tho' the Entrance was wide and spacious. Don Quixote was no sooner come to the Place, but he prepar'd for his Expedition into that Under-World, telling the Scholar, that he was resolv'd to reach the Bottom, tho' as deep as the profound Abyss; and all having alighted, his Squire and his Guide accordingly girt him fast with the Rope. While this was doing; good sweet Sir, quoth Sancho, con∣sider what you do. Don't venture into such a cursed Black Hole! Look before ye Leap, Sir, and be not so wilful as to Bury your self Alive. Don't hang your self like a Bottle or a Bucket, that's let down to be sous'd in a Well. Alack a day, Sir, 'tis none of your Business to pry thus into every Hole, and go down to the Pit of Hell for the nonce! Peace Coward, said the Knight, and bind me fast, for purely for me such an Enterprize as this is reserv'd. Pray Sir, said the Student, when you are in, be very Vigilant in exploring and ob∣serving all the Rarities in the Place. Let nothing 'scape you Eyes, perhaps you may discover there some things worthy to be inserted in my Meta∣morphosis. Let him alone, quoth Sancho, he'll go thro' stich with it. He'll make a Hog or a Dog of it, I'll warrant you. Don Quixote being well

bound, not over his Armour, but his Doublet, bethought himself of one thing they had forgot. We did ill, said he, not to provide our selves of a little Bell, that I should have carried down with me, to Ring for more or less Rope as I may have occasion for, and inform you of my being Alive. But since there is no Remedy, Heaven Prosper me. Then Kneeling down, he in a low Voice recommended himself to the Divine Provi∣dence for Assistance and Success in an Adventure so strange, and in all appearance so Dangerous. Then raising his Voice, O thou Mistress of my Life and Motions, cry'd he, most Illustrious and Peerless Dulcinea Del Toboso, if the Prayers of an adventurous absent Lover may reach the Ears of the far distant object of his Wishes, by the Power of thy unspeakable Beauty, I conjure thee to grant me thy Favour and Protection, in this Plunge and Precipice of my Fortune. I am now going to In∣gulph, and cast my self into this dismal Profundity, that the World may know, nothing can be im∣possible to him, who influenc'd by thy Smiles, at∣tempts under the Banner of thy Beauty, the most difficult Tasks. This said, he got up again, and approaching the Entrance of the Cave, he found it stopp'd up with Brakes and Bushes, so that he must be oblig'd to make his Way by Force. Where∣upon drawing his Sword, he began to cut and slash the Weeds that stopp'd up the Mouth of the Cave, when presently an infinite number of over∣grown Crows and Daws came rushing and flut∣tering out of the Cave about his Ears, so thick, and with such an Impetuosity, as over-whelm'd him to the Ground. He was not Superstitious enough to draw any ill Omen from the Flight of the Birds; besides, 'twas no small Encouragement to him, that he spy'd no Batts nor Owls; nor other

ill-boding Birds of Night among them: He there∣fore rose again with an undaunted Heart, and com∣mited himself to the black and dreadful Abyss. But Sancho first gave him his Benediction, and making a Thousand Crosses over him, Heaven be thy Guide, quoth he, and our* 5.2 Lady of the Rock in France, with the Trinity of Gaeta, thou Flower and Cream, and Scum of all Knight-Errants. Go thy Ways, thou Hacker of the World, Heart of Steel, and Arms of Brass! And may'st thou come back Sound, Wind and Limb, out of this dreadful Hole, which thou art running into, once more to see the warm Sun, which thou art leaving.

The Scholar too Pray'd to the same Effect for the Knight's Happy Return. Don Quixote then call'd for more Rope, which they gave him by degrees, till his Voice was drown'd in the wind∣ings of the Cave, and their Cordage was run out. That done, they began to consider whether they shou'd hoist him up again immediately or no; however, they resolv'd to stay half an Hour, and then they began to draw up the Rope, but were strangely surpriz'd to find no Weight upon it; which made 'em conclude, the poor Gentleman was certainly lost. Sancho bursting out into Tears, made a heavy Lamentation, and fell a haling up the Rope as fast as he cou'd, to be thoroughly satisfy'd. But after they had drawn up about fourscoure Fathoms, they felt a Weight again, which made 'em take Heart; and at length they plainly saw Don Quixote. Welcome, cry'd Sancho to him, as soon as he came in Sight, Welcome dear Master, I'm glad you're come again; we were afraid you had been Pawn'd for the Reckoning.

But Sancho had no Answer to his Compliment; and when they had pull'd the Knight quite up, they found that his Eyes were clos'd, as if he had been fast asleep. They laid him on the Ground, and un∣bound him: Yet he made no sign of Waking, and all their turning and shaking was little enough to make him come to himself. At last he began to stretch his Limbs, as if he had waken'd out of the most profound Sleep, and staring wildly about him, Heavens forgive you, Friends, cry'd he; for you have rais'd me now from one of the sweetest Lives, that ever Mortal led, and most delightful Sights that ever Eyes beheld. Now I perceive how fleeting are all the Joys of this Transitory Life: They are but an imperfect Dream, they fade like a Flower, and vanish like a Shadow. Oh ill-fated Montesinos! Oh Durandart unfortunately Wounded! Oh unhappy Belerma! Oh deplorable Guadiana! And you the distress'd Daughters of Ruydera, whose flowing Waters shew what streams of Tears once trickl'd from your Lovely Eyes! These Expressions, utter'd with great Passion and Concern, surpriz'd the Scholar and Sancho, and they desir'd to know his Meaning, and what he had seen in that Hell upon Earth? Call it not Hell, answer'd Don Quixote, for it deserves a better Name, as I shall soon let you know. But first give me something to Eat, for I am prodigiously hungry. They then spread the Scholar's course Saddle-Cloth for a Carpet; and Examining their old Cup-board, the Knap-sack, they all three sat down on the Grass, and Eat heartily together, like Men that were a Meal or two behind-hand. When they had done, Let no Man stir, said Don Quixote, sit still, and hear me with Attention.

CHAP. XXIII. Of the Wonderful things which the Unparalell'd Don Quixote declar'd he had seen in the deep Cave of Montesinos, the Greatness and Impossibility of which makes this Ad∣venture pass for Apocryphal.

IT was now past four in the Afternoon, and the Sun was opportunely hid behind the Clouds, which, interposing between his Rays, invited Don Quixote without heat or trouble to relate to his Illustrious Auditors the Wonders he had seen in Montesino's Cave.

About twelve or fourteen Men's depth, said he, in the profundity of this Cavern, on the right Hand, there is a Concavity wide enough to con∣tain a large Waggon, Mules and all. This place is not wholly dark, for thro' some chinks and nar∣row holes, that reach to the distant surface of the Earth, there comes a glimmering Light. I dis∣cover'd this Recess, being already weary of hang∣ing by the Loins, discourag'd by the profound Darkness of the Region below me, destitute of a Guide, and not knowing whither I went: Re∣solving therefore to rest my self there a while, I call'd to you to give me no more Rope, but it seems you did not hear me. I therefore enter'd, and coiling up the Cord, sat upon it very melan∣cholick, and thinking what way I shou'd most con∣veniently get down to the Bottom, having no

body to bear me up. While thus I sate pensive, and lost in thought, insensibly without any previous Drowsiness, I found my self surpriz'd by Sleep; and after that, not knowing how, nor which way I waken'd, I unexpectedly found my self in the finest, the sweetest, and most delightful Meadow, that ever Nature adorn'd with her Beauties, or the most inventive Fancy cou'd ever imagine. Now, that I might be sure this was neither a Dream nor an Illusion, I rubb'd my Eyes, blow'd my Nose, and felt several parts of my Body, and convinc'd my self that I was really awake, with the use of all my Senses, and all the Faculties of my Under∣standing sound and active as at this Moment.

Presently I discover'd a Royal and Sumptuous Palace, of which the Walls and Battlements seem'd all of clear and transparent Crystal. At the same time, the Spacious Gates opening, there came out towards me a venerable old Man, clad in a sad-colour'd Robe, so long that it swept the Ground; on his Breast and Shoulders he had a Green-Sattin-Tippet after the manner of those worn in Colleges. On his Head he wore a black Milan-Cap, and his broad hoary Beard reach'd down below his Middle. He had no kind of Weapon in his Hands, but a Rosary of Beads about the bigness of Walnuts, and his Credo-Beads appear'd as large as ordinary Ostrich-Eggs. The Awful and Grave Aspect, the Pace, the Port and goodly Presence of this old Man, each of 'em apart, and much more all together, struck me with veneration and astonishment. He came up to me, and without any previous Ceremony, embracing me close: 'Tis a long time said he, most Renown'd Knight, Don Quixote de la Mancha, that we who dwell in this inchanted Solitude have hop'd to see thee here; that thou may'st inform the up∣per World of the surprizing Prodigies conceal'd

from Humane Knowledge in this Subterranean Hollow, call'd the Cave of Montesinos: An Enter∣prize reserv'd alone for thy insuperable Heart, and stupendous Resolution. Go with me then, thou most Illustrious Knight, and behold the Wonders enclos'd within this transparent Castle, of which I am the perpetual Governour and chief Warden, being the same individual Montesinos, from whom this Cavern took its Name.

No sooner had the reverend old Man let me know who he was, but I entreated him to tell me, whether it was true or no, that at his Friend Durandarte's Dying Request he had taken out his Heart with a small Dagger, the very moment he expir'd, and carry'd it to his Mistress Belerma, as the Story was current in the World? 'Tis Li∣terally true, answer'd the Old Gentleman, except that single Circumstance of the Dagger; for I us'd neither a small nor a large Dagger on this occasion, but a well polish'd Ponyard, as sharp as an Awl. I'll be hang'd, quoth Sancho, if it was not one of your Sevil Ponyards, of Raymond de Hoze's making. That can't be, said Don Quixote, for that Cutler lived but t'other Day, and the Bat∣tel of Roncesvalles, where this accident happen'd, was fought many Ages ago: But this is of no im∣portance to the Story. You are in the right, Sir, said the Student, and pray go on, for I hearken to your Relation with the greatest satisfacton im∣aginable. That, Sir, said the Knight, encreases my Pleasure in telling it. But to proceed: The Venerable Montesinos having conducted me into the Crystal-Palace, led me into a spacious Ground-Room, exceeding cool, and all of Alabaster. In the middle of it stood a stately Marble Tomb, that seem'd a Master-piece of Art; upon which lay a Knight extended all at length, not of Stone,

or Brass, as on other Monuments, but pure Flesh and Bones. He cover'd the Region of his Heart with his Right Hand, which seem'd to me some∣what hairy, and very full of Sinews, a sign of the great strength of the Body to which it belong'd. Montesinos observing that I view'd this Spectacle with surprize? Behold, said he, the Flower and Mirrour of all the amorous and valiant Knights of his Age, my Friend Durandarte, who, together with me and many others of both Sexes, are kept here inchanted by Merlin that British Magician, who, they say, was the Son of the Devil; tho' I cannot believe it, only his knowledge was so great, that he might be said to know more than the Devil. Here I say we are inchanted, but how and for what cause no Man can tell, tho' time I hope will shortly reveal it. But the most wonderful part of my Fortune is this, I am as certain, as that the Sun now shines, that Durandarte dy'd in my Arms, and that with these Hands I took out his Heart, by the same Token that it weigh'd above two Pounds, a sure mark of his Courage; for, by the Rules of Natural Philosophy, the most Valiant Men have still the greatest Hearts. Nevertheless, tho' this Knight really dy'd, he still complains and sighs sometimes as if he were alive. Scarce had Montesinos spoke these Words, but the miserable Durandarte cry'd out aloud, Oh! Cousin Montesinos, the last and dying Request of your departing Friend was to take my Heart out of my Breast with a Ponyard or a Dagger, and carry it to Belerma. The Vener∣able Montesinos hearing this, fell on his Knees be∣fore the afflicted Knight, and with Tears in his Eyes, Long, long ago, said he, O Durandarte, thou dearest of my Kinsmen, have I obey'd what you enjoyn'd me on that bitter fatal Day when you ex∣pir'd. I took out your Heart with all imaginable

Care not leaving the least Particle of it in your Breast, I gently wip'd it with a Lac'd Handker∣chief, and posted away with it to France, as soon as I had committed your dear Remains to the Bosom of the Earth, having shed Tears enough to have wash'd my Hands clear of the Blood they had gather'd by plunging in your Entrails. To con∣firm this Truth yet farther, at the first place where I stopp'd from Roncesvalles, I laid a little Salt upon your Heart, to preserve it from Putrefaction, and keep it, if not fresh, at least free from any ill Smell, till I presented it into the Hands of Belerma, who with you and me, and Guadiana your Squire, as also Ruydera (the Lady's Woman) with her seven Daughters, her two Nieces, and many o∣thers, of your Friends and Acquaintance, is here confin'd by the Necromantick Charms of the Magician Merlin; and tho' it be now above five hundred Years since we were first convey'd to this Inchanted Castle, we are all still alive, except Ruydera, her Daughters and Nieces, who by the favour of Merlin, that pity'd their Tears, were turn'd into so many Lakes, still extant in the World of the Living, and in the Province of La-Mancha, distinguish'd by the Names of the Lakes of Ruydera; seven of 'em belonging to the Kings of Spain; and the two Nieces to the Knights of the most Holy Order of St. John. Your Squire Guadiana, lamenting his hard Fate, was in like manner Metamorphos'd into a River that bears his Name; yet still so sensible of your Disaster, that when he first arose out of the Bowels of the Earth to flow along its surface, and saw the Sun in a strange Hemisphere, he plung'd again under Ground, striving to hide his melting sorrows from the World; but the natural Current of his Waters forcing a Passage up again, he is compell'd to ap∣pear

where the Sun and Mortals may see him. Those Lakes mixing their Waters in his Bosom, he swells, and glides along in sullen state to Portugal, often expressing his deep Melancholy by the mud∣dy and turbid Colour of his Streams, which, as they refuse to please the sight, so likewise deny to indulge mortal Appetite, by breeding such fair and savoury Fish as may be found in the Golden Tagus. All this I have often told you, my dearest Duran∣darte; and since you return me no Answer, I must conclude you believe me not, or that you do not hear me; for which (Witness it Heaven) I am ex∣tremely griev'd. But now I have other News to tell ye, which, tho' perhaps it may not asswage your Sorrows, yet I am sure it will not encrease 'em. Open your Eyes, and behold in your Pre∣sence that mighty Knight, of whom Merlin the Sage has foretold so many Wonders: That Don Quixote de la Mancha, I mean, who has not only re∣stor'd to the World the Function of Knight-Er∣rantry, that has lain so long in Oblivion, out ad∣vanc'd it to greater Fame than it cou'd boast in the Days of yore, the nonage of the World. 'Tis by his Power we may expect to see the fatal Charm disolv'd, that keeps us here confin'd, for great Per∣formances are properly reserv'd for great Person∣ages. And shou'd it not be so; answer'd the grieving Durandarte with a faint and languishing Voice, Shou'd it not be so, I say, Oh Cousin! Patience, and Shuffle the Cards— Then turn∣ing on one side, without speaking a Word more, he relaps'd into his usual silence. After this, I was alarm'd with a piteous howling and crying, which, mix'd with lamentable Sighs and Groans, oblig'd me to turn about, to see whence it proceeded. Then thro' the Crystal-Wall I saw a mournful Procession of most Beautiful Damsels, all in black,

marching in two Ranks, with Turbans on their Heads after the Turkish Fashion; and last of all came a Majestick Lady, dress'd also in Mourning, with a long White Veil, that reach'd from her Head down to the Ground. Her Turban was twice as big as the biggest of the rest: She was somewhat beetle-brow'd, her Nose was flattish, her Mouth-wide, but her Lips Red; her Teeth, which she sometimes discover'd, seem'd to be thin and snaggy, but indeed as White as blanch'd Al∣monds. She held a fine Handkerchief, and with∣in it I cou'd perceive a Heart of Flesh, so dry and wither'd that it look'd like Mummy. Montesinos inform'd me, that the Procession consisted of Durandarte's and Belerma's Servants, who were en∣chanted there with their Master and Mistress; but that the last was Belerma herself, who with her At∣tendants us'd four Days in the Week constantly thus to sing, or rather howl their Dirges over the Heart and Body of his Cousin; and that tho' Belerma appear'd a little haggard at that juncture, occasion'd by the Grief she bore in her own Heart, for that which she carry'd in her Hand, yet had I seen her before her Misfortunes had sunk her Eyes and tarnish'd her Complexion, worse than the Diseases of her Sex, from which she was free, I must have own'd, that even the celebrated Dulcinea del Toboso, so famous in La Mancha, and over the whole Universe, cou'd scarce have vy'd with her in Gracefulness and Beauty. Hold there, good Signior Don Montesinos, said I. You know that Comparisons are odious, therefore no more comparing, I beseech you; but go on with your Story. The peerless Dulcinea del Toboso is what she is, and the Lady Belerma is what she is, and has been; so no more upon that Subject. I beg your Pardon, answer'd Montesinos, Signior Don Quixote, I

might have guess'd indeed that you were the Lady Dulc nea's Knight, and therefore I ought to have bit my Tongue off, sooner than to have compar'd her to any thing lower than Heaven it self. This satisfaction, which I thought sufficient from the great Montesinos, stifl'd the Resentment I else had shewn for hearing my Mistress compar'd to Belerma. Nay, marry, quoth Sancho, I wonder you did not catch the old Doating Huncks by the Weasond, and mawl, and thresh him thick and threefold. How cou'd you leave one Hair upon his Chin! No, no, Sancho answer'd Don Quixote, there is al∣ways a Respect due to our Seniors, tho' they be no Knights; but most when they are such, and under the Oppression of Inchantment. However, I am satisfy'd that in what Discourse pass'd be∣tween us, I took care not to have any thing that look'd like an Affront six'd upon me. But Sir, ask'd the Scholar, how cou'd you see and hear so many strange things in so little Time? I can't conceive how you cou'd do it. How long, said Don Quixote, do you reckon that I have been in the Cave? A little above an Hour, answer'd Sancho. That's impossible, said Don Quixote; for I saw Morning and Evening, and Evening and Morning three times since; so that I cou'd not be absent less than three Days from this upper World. Ay, ay, quoth Sancho, my Master's in the Right; for these Inchantments, that have the greatest Hand in all his Concerns, may make that seem three Days and three Nights to him, which is but an Hour to other People. It must be so, said Don Quixote. I hope, Sir, said the Scholar, you have eaten something in all that time. Not one morsel, reply'd Don Quixote; neither have I had the least Desire to Eat, or so much as thought of it all the while. Do they that are Inchanted ever Eat?

ask'd the Scholar. They never do, answer'd Don Quixote, and consequ•• ly they are never troubl'd with exonerating t••e Dregs of Food; tho 'tis not unlikely that their Nails, their Beards and Hair still grow. Do they never sleep nei∣ther, said Sancho? Never, said Don Quixote, at least they never clos'd their Eyes while I was among 'em, nor I neither. This makes good the saying, quoth Sancho, Tell me thy Company, and I'll tell thee what thou art. Troth! you have all been inchanted together. No wonder if you neither eat nor slept, since you were in the Land of those that always watch and fast. But Sir, wou'd you ha' me speak as I think; and pray don't take it in ill part, for if I believe one Word of all you've said.— What do you mean, Friend, said the Student? Do you think the Noble Don Quixote wou'd be guilty of a Lie; and if he had a mind to stretch a little, cou'd he, think you, have had leisure to frame such a number of Stories in so short a time? I don't think that my Master wou'd lie neither, said Sancho. What d'ye think then Sir, said Don Quixote? Why truly, Sir, quoth Sancho, I do believe that this same cunning Man' this Merlin, that bewitch'd, or Inchanted, as you call it, all that Rabble of People you talk of, may have cramm'd and inchanted some way or other all that you've told us, and have yet to tell us, into your Noddle. 'Tis not impossible but such a thing may happen, said Don Quixote, tho' I'm convinc'd 'twas otherwise with me; for I am posi∣tive that I saw with these Eyes, and felt with these Hands all I have mention'd. But what will you think when I tell you, among many wonderful things, that I saw three Country-Wenches leaping and skipping about those pleasant Fields like so many Wild Goats, and at first sight knew one of

'em to be the Peerless Dulcinea, and the other two the very same we spoke to not far from Toboso. I ask'd Montesinos if he knew 'em? He answer'd in the Negative; but imagin'd them some Inchanted Ladies who were newly come, and that the Ap∣pearance of strange Faces was no rarity among 'em, for many of pass'd Ages and the present were inchanted there, under several Disguises; and that, among the rest, he knew Queen Guine∣ver and her Woman Quintaniona, that officiated as Sir Lancelot's Cup-bearer, as he came from Britain. Sancho, hearing his Master talk at that Rate, had like to have forgot himself, and burst out a laugh∣ing; for he well knew that Dulcinea's Inchant∣ment was a Lye, and that he himself was the chief Magician, and raiser of the Story; and thence concluding his Master stark-mad, In an ill hour, quoth he, dear Master of mine, and in a woeful Day went your Worship down to the other World, and in a worse hour met you with that plaguy Montesinos, that has sent you back in this rueful Pickle. You went hence in your right Sen∣ses, cou'd talk prettily enough now and then, had your handsome Proverbs and Wise Sayings every Foot, and wou'd give wholsome Counsel to all that would take it; but now, bless me! you talk as if you had left your Brains in the Devil's Cellar. I know thee, Sancho, said Don Quixote, and therefore I regard thy Words as little as I ought. And I yours reply'd Sancho. Nay, you may cripple, lame, or kill me if you please, either for what I've said, or mean to say: I must speak my Mind tho' I die for't. But before your Blood's up, pray, Sir, tell me, how did you know it was your Mistress? Did you speak to her? What did she say to you? And what did you say to her? I knew her again, said Don Quixote, by the same

Cloaths she wore when thou shewd'st her to me. I spoke to her, but she made no Answer, but sud∣denly turn'd away, and fled from me like a Whirl∣wind. I intended to have follow'd her, had not Montesinos told me 'twou'd be to no purpose; warn∣ing me besides, that 'twas high time to return to the upper Air. And changing the Discourse, he told me that I shou'd hereafter be made acquainted with the means of disinchanting them all. But while Montesinos and I were thus talking together, a very odd Accident, the Thoughts of which trouble me still, broke off our Conversation. For as we were in the height of our Discourse, who shou'd come to me but one of the unfortunate Dulcinea's Companions, and before I was aware, with a faint and doleful Voice, Sir, said she, my Lady Dulcinea del Toboso gives her Service to you, and desires to know how you do, and being a little short of Money at present, she desires you of all love and kindness to lend her six Reals upon this New Fustian-Petticoat, or more or less as you can spare it, Sir, and she'll take care to redeem it very honestly in a little time. The Message sur∣priz'd me strangely, and therefore turning to Mon∣tesinos, Is it possible, Sir, said I, that Persons of Quality, when inchanted, are in want? Oh! very possible, Sir, said he: Poverty ranges every where, and spares neither Quality inchanted nor unin∣chanted; and therefore, since the Lady Dulcinea desires you to lend her these six Reals, and the Pawn is a good Pawn, let her have the Money; for sure 'tis very low with her at this time. I scorn to take Pawns, said I, but my misfortune is, that I can't answer the full Request; for I have but four Reals about me, and that was the Money thou gavest me the t'other Day, Sancho, to distri∣bute among the Poor. However, I gave her all

I had, and desir'd her to tell her Mistress, I was very sorry for her wants; and that if I had all the Treasures which Croesus possess'd, they shou'd be at her Service; and withal, that I dy'd every hour for want of her reviving Company; and made it my humble and earnest Request, that she wou'd vouchsafe to see and converse with her Captive Servant, and weather-beaten Knight. Tell her, continu'd I, when she least expects it, she will come to hear how I have made an Oath, as the Mar∣quess of Mantua did when he found his Nephew Baldwin ready to expire on the Mountain, never to eat upon a Table-cloath, and several other par∣ticulars which he swore to observe, till he had reveng'd his Death. So in the like solemn manner will I Swear, never to desist from traversing the habitable Globe, and ranging thro' all the seven Parts of the World, more indefatigably than ever was done by Prince Pedro of Portugal, till I have freed her from her Inchantment. All this and more you owe my Mistress said the Damsel; and then, having got the four Reals, instead of drop∣ping me a Curtsie, she cut me a Caper in the Air two yards high. Now Heaven defend us, cry'd Sancho, who cou'd ever have believ'd that these De∣vilish Inchanters and Inchantments shou'd have so much power in this World, as to bewitch my Mas∣ter at that rate, and craze his sound Understand∣ing in that manner. Alas! Sir, for Heaven's sake take care of your self. What will the World say of you? Rouse up your dozing Senses, and don't doat upon those Whimsies, that have so wickedly crack'd that rare Head-piece of yours. Well, said Don Quixote, I cannot be angry at thy ignorant Tittle-tattle, because it proceeds from thy Love towards me. Thou think'st, poor Fellow, that whatever is beyond the Sphere of thy Narrow

Comprehension must be impossible: But, as I have already said, there will come a time, when I shall give thee an account of some Things I have seen below, that will convince thee of the Reality of those I told thee now, the Truth of which admits of no Dispute.

CHAP. XXIV. Which is very Foolish and Impertinent, tho' very necessary for the better understanding of this grand History.

THE Translator of this great History, de∣clares, that at the beginning of the Chap∣ter, which Treats of the Adventure of Montesinos's Cave, he found a Marginal Annotation, written with the Arabian Author's own Hand, in these Words.

I cannot be perswaded, nor believe, that all the wonderful Accidents said to have happen'd to the Va∣lorous Don Quixote in the Cave, so punctually befell him as he relates 'em: For, the Course of his Adven∣tures hitherto has been very Natural, and bore the Face of Probability; but in this there appears no Coherence with Reason, and nothing but monstrous Incongruities. But on the other Hand, if we consider the Honour, Worth, and Integrity of the Noble Don Quixote, we have not the least reason to suspect he would be guilty of a Lye; but rather that he would sooner have been Transfix'd with Arrows. Besides, he has been so particular in his Relation of that Adventure, and given so many Cir∣cumstances, that I dare not declare it absolutely Apo∣cryphal;

especially when I consider that he had not time enough to invent such a Cluster of Fables. I there∣fore insert it among the rest, without offering to Determine whether it is true or false; leaving it to the Discretion of the Judicious Reader. Tho' I must acquaint him by the way, that Don Quixote upon his Death-Bed utter∣ly disown'd this Adventure, as a perfect Fable, which he said he had invented purely to please his Humour, be∣ing suitable to such as he had formerly read in Ro∣mances: And so much by way of Digression.

The Scholar thought Sancho the most saucy Ser∣vant, and his Master the calmest Mad-man that ever he saw; tho' he attributed the Patience of the latter to a certain good Humour and easiness of Temper infus'd into him by the sight ••f his Mistress Dulcinea, even under Inchantment. Other∣wise he wou'd have though this not checking Sancho a greater sign of Madness than his Discourse. Noble Don Quixote, said he, for four principal Reasons, I am extremely pleas'd with having taken this Journey with you. First, it has procur'd me the Honour of your Acquaintance, which I shall al∣ways esteem a singular Happiness. In the second Place, Sir, the Secrets of Montesinos's Cave, and the Transformations of Guadiana, and Ruydera's Lakes, have been reveal'd to me, which may look very great in my Spanish Ovid. My third Advan∣tage is, to have discover'd the Antiquity of Card-playing, which I find to have been a Pastime in use even in the Emperor Charles the Great's time, as may be Collected from the Words of Durandarte, who, after a long Speech of Montesinos's, said as he wak'd, Patience and shuffle the Cards; which vulgar Expression he could never have learn'd in his In∣chantment: It follows therefore that he must have heard it when he liv'd in France, which was in the

Reign of that Emperor; which Observation is nick'd, I think, very opportunely for my Supple∣ment to Polydore Virgil, who, as I remember, has not touch'd upon Card-playing: I will insert it into my Work, I'll assure you, Sir, as a matter of great Importance, having the Testimony of so Authentick and Ancient an Author as Sir Duran∣darte. The fourth part of my good Fortune, is to know the certain and true source of the River Gua∣diana, which has hitherto disappointed all Humane Enquiries. There is a great deal of Reason in what you say, answer'd Don Quixote: But, under favour, Sir, pray tell me, should you happen to get a Licence to Publish your Books, which I somewhat doubt, whom will you pitch upon for your Patrons? Oh, Sir, answer'd the Author, there are Lords and Grandees enough in Spain, sure, that I may Dedicate to. Truly, not many, said Don Quixote; there are indeed, several whose Merits deserve the Praise of a Dedication, but very few whose Purses will reward the Pains and Civility of the Author. I must confess, I know a Prince whose Generosity may make amends for what is wanting in the rest; and that to such a Degree, that should I make bold to come to Particulars, and speak of his great Merits, 'twould be enough to stir up a noble Emulation in above four gene∣rous Breasts. But more of this some other time; 'tis late now, and therefore convenient to think of a Lodging. Hard by us here, Sir, said the Author, is an Hermitage, the Retirement of a De∣vout Person, who, as they say, was once a Soldier, and is look'd upon as a good Christian, and so charitable, that he has built there a little House at his own expence, purely for the Entertainment of Strangers. But does he keep Hens there trow! ask'd Sancho? Few Hermits in this Age want

'em, said Don Quixote; for their way of Living now falls short of the Strictness and Austerity of those in the Desarts of Egypt, who went Clad only with Palm-leaves, and fed on the Roots of the Earth. Now, because I speak well of those of old, I would not have you think I reflect on the others. No, I only mean that their Penances are not so severe as in former Days; yet this does not hin∣der but that the Hermits of the present Age may be good Men. I look upon 'em to be such; at least, their Dissimulation secures 'em from Scan∣dal; and the Hypocrite that puts on the Form of Holiness, does certainly less harm than the bare∣fac'd Sinner. As they went on in their Discourse, they saw a Man following them a great pace on Foot, and switching up a Mule laden with Lances and Halbards. He presently overtook 'em, gave 'em the time of the Day, and pass'd by. Stay, ho∣nest Fellow, cry'd Don Quixote, seeing him go so fast, make no more haste than is consistent with good speed. I can't stay, Sir, said the Man, for these Weapons that you see, must be us'd to mor∣row Morning; so, Sir, I am in haste; good b'y. I shall Lodge to Night at the Inn beyond the Her∣mitage; if you chance to go that way, there you may find me, and I'll tell you strange News. So fare ye well. Then whipping his Mule, away he mov'd forwards, so fast that Don Quixote had not Leisure to ask him any more Questions. The Knight, who had always an Itching Ear after No∣velties, to satisfie his Curiosity immediately pro∣pos'd their holding straight on to the Inn, without stopping at the Hermitage, where the Scholar de∣sign'd to have stay'd all Night. Well, they all consented, and made the best of their Way; how∣ever, when they came near the Hermitage, the Scholar desir'd Don Quixote to call with him for a

Moment, and drink a Glass of Wine at the Door. Sancho no sooner heard this propos'd, but he turn'd Dapple that way, and rode thither before; but to his great Grief, the hospitable Hermit was abroad, and no body at home but the Hermit's Compani∣on, who being ask'd whether he had any strong Liquor within, made answer, that he cou'd not come at any, but as for small Water he might have his Belly-full. Body of me! quoth Sancho, were mine a Water-Thirst, or had I liking to your cold Comfort, there are Wells enough upon the Road, where I might have swill'd my Skin full: Oh the good Cheer at Don Diego's House, and the savory Scum at Camacho's Wedding, when shall I find your Fellow! They now spurr'd on towards the Inn, and soon overtook on the Road a young Fellow beating it on the Hoof pretty leisurely. He carry'd his Sword over his Shoulder, with a Bundle of Cloaths hanging upon it, which, to all out∣ward Appearance consisted of a pair of Breeches, a Cloak, and a Shirt or two. He had on a tatter'd Velvet-Jerkin, with a ragged Sattin-Lining; his Shirt hung out, his Stockings were of Silk, and his Shooes square at the Toes, after the Court-Fashion. He seem'd about Eighteen or Nineteen Years of Age, a good pleasant-look'd Lad, and of a lively and active Disposition. To pass the Fatigue of his Journey the best he cou'd, he Sung all the way, and as they came near him, was got to the end of a Ballad, which the Scholar got by Heart.

A Plague on ill Luck! Now my Ready's all gone; To the Wars poor Pilgarlick must trudge: Tho' had I but Money, to Rake as I've done, The Devil a Foot wou'd I budge.

So, young Gentleman, said Don Quixote to him, methinks you go very light and airy. Whither are you bound, I pray you, if a Man may be so bold? I'm going to the Wars, Sir, answe'r'd the Youth; and for my Travelling thus, Heat and Poverty will excuse it. I admit the Heat, reply'd Don Quixote, but why Poverty, I beseech you? Because I have no Cloaths to put on, reply'd the Lad, but what I carry in this Bundle; and if I shou'd wear 'em out upon the Road, I shou'd have nothing to make a handsome Figure with in any Town; for I have no Money to buy new ones, till I overtake a Regiment of Foot that lies about some twelve Leagues off, where I design to List my self, and then I shall not want a Conveniency to ride with the Baggage till we come to Cartha∣gena, where, I here they are to Embark; for I had rather serve the King abroad, than any beg∣garly Courtier at home. But pray, said the Scho∣lar, have not you laid up something while you were there? Had I serv'd any of your Grandees or great Persons, said the young Man, I might have done well enough, and have had a Commis∣sion by this time; for their Foot-boys are pre∣sently advanc'd to Captains and Lieutenants, or some other good Post: But a Plague on't, Sir, 'twas always my ill Fortune to serve pitiful Up∣starts and Younger Brothers, and my Allowance was commonly so ill paid, and so small, that the better half was scarce enough to wash my Linnen; how then should a poor Devil of a Page, who would make his Fortune, come to any good in such a miserable Service! But, said Don Quixote, how comes it about that in all this time you could not get your self a whole Livery? Alack-a-day, Sir, answer'd the Lad, I had a couple; but my Masters dealt with me as they do with Novices in

Monasteries, if they go off before they Profess, the fresh Habit is taken from them, and they re∣turn them their old Cloaths. For you must know, that such as I serv'd, only buy Liveries for a little Ostentation; so when they have made their Ap∣pearance at Court, they sneak down into the Coun∣try, and then the poor Servants are stripp'd, and must e'en betake themselves to their Rags again. A sordid Trick, said Don Quixote, or, as the Italians call it, a notorious Espilocheria. Well, you need not repine at leaving the Court, since you do it with so good a Design; for there's nothing in the World more commendable than to serve God in the first Place, and the King in the next, especi∣ally in the Profession of Arms, which if it does not procure a Man so much Riches as Learning, may at least intitle him to more Honour. 'Tis true, that more Families have been advanc'd by the Gown; but yet your Gentlemen of the Sword, whatever the Reason of it is, have always I know not what Advantage above the Men of Learning, and something of Glory and Splendour attends 'em, that makes them outshine the rest of Man∣kind. But take my Advice along with you, Child; if you intend to raise your self by a Military Em∣ployment, I would not have you be uneasie with the Thoughts of what Misfortunes may befall you; the worst can be but to Die, and if it be a good Honourable Death, your Fortune's made; and you're certainly happy. Julius Caesar, that Valiant Roman Emperor, being ask'd what kind of Death was best? That which is sudden and un∣expected, said he; and tho' his Answer had a re∣lish of Paganism, yet with respect to Humane In∣firmities, 'twas very Judicious: for, suppose you should be cut off at the very first Engagement by a Canon-Ball, or the springing of a Mine; what

imports it? 'Tis all but Dying, and there's an end of the Business. As Terence says, a Soldier makes a better Figure Dead in the Field of Battle, than A∣live and safe in Flight. The more likely he is to rise in Fame and Preferment, the better Discipline he keeps; the better he Obeys, the better he will know how to Command. And pray observe, my Friend, that 'tis more Honourable for a Sol∣dier to smell of Gun-powder than of Musk and Amber; or if Old Age overtakes you in this noble Employment, though all over Scars, tho' Maim'd and Lame, you will still have Honour to support you, and secure you from the Contempt of Poverty; nay, from Poverty it self; for there is Care taken, that Veteran and disabled Soldiers may not want: Neither are they to be us'd as some Men do their Negro-Slaves, who, when they are Old, and past Service, are turn'd Naked out of Doors, under pretence of Freedom, to be made greater Slaves in Cold and Hunger, a Slavery from which nothing but Death can set the Wretches free. But I'll say no more to you on this Sub∣ject at this time. Get up behind me, and I'll carry you to the Inn, where you shall Sup with me, and to morrow Morning make the best of your way; and may Heaven Prosper your good Designs.

The Page excus'd himself from riding behind the Knight, but accepted of his Invitation to Sup∣per very willingly. Sancho, who had all the while given Ear to his Master's Discourse, is said to have been more than usually surpriz'd, hearing him now talk so wisely. Now Blessing on thee, Master of mine, thought he to himself; how comes it about that a Man who says so many good things, should tell such damn'd Cracks, and Whimsies, as he would have us believe of Montesinos's Cave.

Well, Heaven knows best, and the Proof of the Pudding's in the Eating. By this time, it began to grow Dark, and they arriv'd at the Inn, where Don Quixote, alighting, ask'd presently for the Man with the Lances and Halbards. The Inn-keeper answer'd, that he was rubbing down his Mule in the Stable. Sancho was very well pleas'd to be at his Journey's End, and the more that his Master took the House for a real Inn, and not for a Castle, as he us'd to do. He and the Scholar then set up the Asses, giving Rozinante the best Manger and Standing in the Stable.

CHAP. XXV. Where you will find the Grounds of the Braying Adventure, that of the Puppet-Player, and the memorable Divining of the Fortune-telling Ape.

DON Quixote was on Thorns to know the strange Story that the Fellow upon the Road engag'd to tell him; so that going into the Stable he minded him of his Promise, and press'd him to relate the whole matter to him that Moment. My Story will take up some time, quoth the Man, and is not to be told standing; have a little Patience, Master of mine, let me make an end of serving my Mule, then I'll serve your Worship, and tell you such things as will make you stare. Don't let that hinder, reply'd Don Quixote, for I'll help you my self; and so saying,

he lent him a helping Hand, cleansing the Manger, and sifting the Barley, which humble complyance oblig'd the Fellow to tell his Tale the more will∣ingly: So that seating himself upon a Bench with Don Quixote, the Scholar, the Page, Sancho, and the Inn-keeper about him for his full Auditory, he be∣gan in this manner.

It happen'd on a time, that in a Borough about some four Leagues and a half from this place, one of the* 5.3 Aldermen lost his Ass: They say 'twas by the Roguery of a waggish Jade that was his Maid; but that's neither here nor there, the Ass was lost and gone, that's certain; and what's more, it could not be found neither high nor low. This same Ass had been missing about a fortnight, Some say more, some less, when another Alderman of the same Town meeting this same losing Alderman in the Market-place, Brother, quoth he, pay me well, and I'll tell you news of your Ass. Troth! quoth the other, that I will; but then let me know where the poor Beast is? Why, answer'd t'other, this Morning what should I meet upon the Mountains yonder but he, with∣out either Pack-Saddle or Furniture, and so lean that it griev'd my Heart to see him; but yet so wild and skittish, that when I would have driven him home before me, he ran away as the Devil were in him, and got into the thickest of the Wood. Now if you please, we'll both go to∣gether and look for him; I'll but step home first and put up this Ass, then I'll come back to you, and we'll about it out of hand. Truly, Brother, said the other, I'm mightily beholden to you, and will do as much for you another time. The

Story happen'd neither more nor less, but such as I tell you, for so all that know it relate it word for word. In short, the two Aldermen hand in hand, a foot, trudg'd up the Hills, and hunted up and down; but after many a weary Step, no Ass was to be found. Upon which, quoth the Alderman that had seen him to t'other, hark you me, Brother, I have a Device in my Noddle to find out this same Ass of yours, though he were under Ground, as you shall hear. You must know I can Bray to Admiration, and if you can but Bray never so little, the Job's done. Never so little, cry'd t'other, Body of me! I won't vail my Bon∣anet at Braying to e'er an Ass or Alderman in the Land. Well, we shall try that, quoth the other; for my Contrivance is that you shall go on one side of the Hill, and I on the other; sometimes you shall Bray, and sometimes I; so that, if your Ass be but thereabouts, my Life for yours, he'll be sure to answer his Kind, and Bray again. Gra'mercy, Brother, quoth the other! A rare Device, i'fack! let you alone for Plotting. At the same time they parted according to agreement, and when they were far enough off, they both fell a Braying so perfectly well, that they cheated one another; and meeting, each in hopes to find the Ass, is it possible, Brother, said the owner of the Ass, that it was not my Ass that Bray'd? No, marry, that it was n't, 'twas I, answer'd the other Alderman. Well, Brother, cry'd the Owner, then there's no manner of difference between you and an Ass, as to matter of Braying, I never heard any thing so natural in my Life. Oh fye! Sir, quoth the other, I am nothing to you: You shall lay two to one against the best Brayer in the Kingdom, and I'll go your halves. Your Voice is lofty, and of a great Compass; you keep excellent Time, and

hold out a Note rarely, and your Cadence is full and Ravishing. In short, Sir, I knock under the Table, and yield you the Bays: Well then, Brother, answer'd the Owner, I shall always have the better Opinion of my self for this one good Quality; for though I knew I Bray'd pretty well, I never thought my self so great a Master before: Well, quoth the other, thus you see what rare Parts may be lost for want of being known, and a Man never knows his own Strength, till he puts it to a Tryal. Right, Brother, quoth the Owner, for I should never have found out this wonderful Gift of mine, had it not been for this business in hand, and may we speed in't I pray? After these Compliments they parted again, and went Braying, this a'one side of the Hill, and that on t'other. But all to no purpose, for they still deceiv'd one another with their Braying, and running to the noise, met one another as before.

At last they agreed to Bray twice together, that by that token they might be sure 'twas not the Ass, but they, that Bray'd. But all in vain, they almost Bray'd their Hearts out, but no answer from the Ass. And indeed how could it, poor Creature? when they found him at last in the Wood half eaten by the Wolves. Alack-a day poor Grizzle, cry'd the Owner, I don't wonder now he took so little notice of his loving Master! Had he been alive, as sure as he was an Ass he would have Bray'd again. But let him go, this Comfort I have at least, Brother; though I've lost him, I've found out that rare Talent of yours, that has hugely solac'd me under this Affliction. The Glass is in a good Hand, Mr. Alderman, quoth the other, and if the Abbot sings well, the young Monk is not much behind him.

With this, these same Aldermen, very much down i'th' Mouth, and very hoarse, went home and told all their Neighbours the whole Story word for word; one praising t'other's Skill in Braying, and t'other returning the Compliment. In short, one got it by the end, and t'other got it by the end; the Boys got it, and all the idle Fel∣lows got it, and there was such a Brawling, and such a Braying in our Town, that one would have thought Hell broke loose among us. But to let you see now how the Devil never lies dead in a Ditch, but catches at every foolish thing to set People by the Ears; our Neighbouring Towns had it up, and when they saw any of our Towns∣folks, they fell a Braying, hitting us in the Teeth with the Braying of our Aldermen. This made ill Blood between us; for we took it in mighty Dudgeon, as well we might, and came to Words upon't, and from Words to Blows; for the Peo∣ple of our Town are as well known by this, as the Beggar knows his Dish, and are apt to be jeer'd wheresoever they go; and then to't they go ding dong, hand over head, in spight of Law or Gospel. And they've carry'd the Jest so far, that I believe to morrow or next day, the Men of our Town, to wit, the Brayers, will be in the Field against those of another Town about two Leagues off, that are al∣ways plaguing us. Now, that we should be well provided, I have brought these Lances and Hal∣bards that ye saw me carry. So this is my Story, Gentlefolks, and if it ben't a strange one I'm woundily mistaken.

Here the honest Man ended; when presently enters a Fellow dress'd in Trousses and Doublet all of Shamoy-Leather, and calling out, as if he were some-body. Landlord, cry'd he, have you any Lodgings? For here comes the Fortune-tell∣ing

Ape, and the Puppet-shew of Melisandra's De∣liverance. Body of me! cry'd the Inkeeper, who's here? Master Peter, we shall have a merry Nigh't, Faith! Honest Master Peter, you're welcome with all my Heart! But where's the Ape, and the Show, that I can't see 'em. They'll be here presently, said Peter, I only came before to see if you had any Lodgings. Lodging, Man, said the Inn-keeper, Zookers! I would turn out the Duke of Alva him∣self, rather than Master Peter should want room. Come, come, bring in your things, for here are Guests in the House to Night that will be good Customers to you, I warrant you. That's a good hearing, said Peter; and to encourage 'em I'll lower my Prizes, and if I can but get my Charges to night, I'll look for no more; so I will hasten forward the Cart. This said, he ran out of the Door again.

I had forgot to tell you, that this same Master Peter wore over his left Eye and half his Cheeck a Patch of Green Taffata, by which 'twas to be sup∣pos'd that something ail'd that side of his Face. Don Quixote enquir'd who this Master Peter was, and what his Ape and his Show? Why Sir, an∣swer'd the Inn-keeper, he has strolled about the Country here this great while with a curious Pup∣pet-show, which represents the Play of Melisandra and Don Gayferos, one of the best Shows that has been Acted time out of mind in this Kingdom. Then he has an Ape! Bless us, Sir, 'tis such an Ape! But I'll say no more; you shall see, Sir: 'Twill tell you every thing you ever did in your Life. The like was never seen before. Ask him a Question, 'twill listen to you and then, whip, up it leaps on its Master's Shoulder, and whispers first in his Ear what it knows, and then Master Peter tells you. He tells you what's to come, as well as

what is pass'd; 'tis true, he does not always hit so pat as to what's to come; but after all, he's seldom in the wrong; which makes us apt to think, the Devil helps him at a dead lift. Two Reals is the price for every Question he answers, or his Master for him, which is all one, you know; and that will mount to Money at the Year's end, so that 'tis thought the Rogue is well to pass; and indeed much good may't do him, for he's a notable Fellow, and a boon Companion, and leads the merriest life in the World, talks for six Men, and drinks for a dozen, and all this he gets by his Tongue, his Ape, and his Show.

By this time, Master Peter came back with his Puppet-Show and his Ape in a Cart. The Ape was pretty lusty, without any Tail, and his But∣tocks bare like a Felt. Yet he was hot very ugly neither. Don Quixote no sooner saw him, but coming up to him, Mr. Fortune-teller, said he, will you be pleas'd to tell us what Fish we catch, and what will become of us, and here's your Fee? saying this, he order'd Sancho to deliver Mr. Peter two Reals. Sir, answer'd Peter, this Animal gives no Account of Things to come; he knows some∣thing indeed of matters past, and a little of the present Odds bobs! quoth Sancho, I would not give a brass Jack to know what's past; for who knows that better than my self? I'm not so Foolish as to pay for what I know already: But since you say he has such a knack at guessing the present, let good-man Ape tell me what my Wife Teresa is doing, and what she's about, and here's my two Reals. I'll have nothing of you before-hand said Master Peter; so clapping himself on his left Shoulder, up skipp'd the Ape thither at one frisk, and laying his Mouth to his Ear grated his Teeth, and having made Apish Grimaces and a chattering noise for a

minute or two, with another skip down he leap'd on the Ground. Immediately upon this, Master Peter ran to Don Quixote, and fell on his Knees, and embracing his Legs, Oh glorious Restorer of Knight-Errantry, cry'd he, I embrace these Legs, as I would the Pillars of Hercules. Who can suf∣ficiently extoll the great Don Quixote de la Mancha, the reviver of drooping Hearts, the Prop and Stay of the Falling, the Raiser of the Fallen, and the Staff of Comfort to the Weak and Afflicted! At these Words Don Quixote stood amaz'd, Sancho, quak'd, the Page wonder'd, the Brayer bless'd him∣self, the Inn-keeper star'd, and the Scholar was in a brown Study, all astonish'd at Master Peter's Speech; who then turning to Sancho, And thou, honest Sancho Pança, said he, the best Squire to the best Knight in the World, bless thy kind Stars; for thy good Spouse Teresa is a good House-wife, and is at this instant dressing a pound of Flax; by the same token, she has standing by her, on her left hand, a large broken-mouth Jug, which holds a pretty scantling of Wine, to cheer up her Spirits.

By yea and nay, quoth Sancho, that's likely e∣nough, for she's a true Soul, and a jolly Soul, and were it not for a Spice of Jealousy that she has now and then, I would not change her for the Giantess Andondona herself, who as my Master says, was as clever a piece of Woman's-Flesh as ever went upon two Legs. Well, much good may't do thee, honest Teresa; you are resolv'd to pro∣vide for one, I find, though your Heirs starve for it. Well! said Don Quixote, great is the Know∣ledge procur'd by Reading, Travel and Experience! What on Earth but the Testimony of my own Eyes could have perswaded me that Apes had the Gift of Divination! I am indeed the same Don Quixote de la Mancha mention'd by this ingenious

Animal! though I must confess somewhat unde∣serving of so great a Character as it has pleas'd him to bestow on me: But nevertheless I am not sorry to have Charity and Compassion bear so great a Part in my Commendation, since my Nature has al∣ways dispos'd me to do good to all Men, and hurt to none.

Now had I but Money, said the Page, I would know of Mr. Ape what Luck I shall have in the Wars. I have told you already, (said Master Peter, who was got up from before Don Quixote) that this Ape does not meddle with what is to come, but if he could, it should cost you nothing, for Don Quixote's sake, whom to oblige I would Sacrifice all the Interest I have in the World; and as a Mark of it, Gentlemen, I freely set up my Show, and give all the Company in the House some Diversion gratis. The Inn-keeper hearing this, was overjoy'd, and order'd Master Peter a convenient Room to set up his Motion, and he im∣mediately went about it.

In the mean time, Don Quixote, who could not bring himself to believe that an Ape could do all this, taking Sancho to a Corner of the Stable, Look ye, Sancho, said he, I have been weighing and con∣sidering the wonderful Gifts of this Ape, and find, in short, Master Peter must have made a secret compact with the Devil. Nay, quoth Sancho, (mis∣understanding the word Compact) If the Devil and he have pack'd any thing together in hugger-mug∣ger, 'tis a pack of Roguery to be sure, and they are a pack of Knaves for their pains, and let 'em e'en pack together say I. Thou do'st not apprehend me, said Don Quixote, I mean, the Devil and he must have made an Agreement together, that Satan should infuse this knowledge into the Ape, to purchase the owner an Estate; and in return, the

last has certainly engag'd his Soul to this de∣structive Seducer of Mankind. For the Ape's Knowledge is exactly of the same proportion with the Devil's, which only extends to the Discovery of things past and present, having no Insight into Futurity, but by such probable Conjectures and Conclusions as may be deduc'd from the former working of antecedent Causes; true Prescience and Prediction being the Sacred Prerogative of God, to whose all-seeing Eyes, all Ages, past, present, and to come, without the distinction of Succession and Termination, are always present. From this, I say, 'tis apparent this Ape is but the Organ through which the Devil delivers his Answers to those that ask it Questions; and this same Rogue should be put into the Inquisition, and have the Truth press'd out of his Bones. For sure neither the Master nor his Ape can lay any pretence to Judicial Astrology, nor is the Ape so conversant in the Mathematicks, I suppose, as to erect a Scheme. Though I must confess that Creatures of less parts, as foolish-illiterate Women, Foot∣men and Coblers, pretend now a-days to draw Certainties from the Stars, as easily and readily as they shuffle a Pack of Cards, to the Disgrace of the Sublime Science, which they have the Impudence to Profess I knew a Lady that ask'd one of these Figure-casters, if a little foisting Bitch she had should have Puppies, and how many, and of what Colour? My Conjurer, after he had scrawl'd out his Scheme, very judiciously pronounc'd, that the pretty Creature should have three delicate Pup∣pies, one Green, one Red, and another Mix'd-colour'd; provided she should take Dog between eleven and twelve at Night or Noon, either on a Monday or a Saturday; and the success happen'd as exactly as could be expected from his Art; for

the Bitch some Days after, dy'd very fairly of a Surfeit, and Master Figure-slinger was reputed a special Conjurer all the Town over, as most of these Fellows are. For all that, said Sancho, I would have you ask Master Peter's Ape, whether the Passages you told us concerning Montesinos's Cave be true or no; for saving the respect I owe your Worship, I take them to be no better than Fibbs, and idle Stories or Dreams at least. You may think what you will, answer'd Don Quixote, how∣ever I'll do as you would have me, though I con∣fess my Conscience somewhat scruples to do such a thing. While they were thus engag'd in Dis∣course, Master Peter came and told Don Quixote, the Show was ready to begin, and desir'd him to come and see it, for he was sure his Worship would like it. The Knight told him he had a Question to put to his Ape first, and desir'd he might tell him, whether certain things that hap∣pen'd to him in Montesinos's Cave were Dreams or Realities, for he doubted they had something of both in them. Master Peter fetch'd his Ape im∣mediately, and placing him just before the Knight and his Squire; look you, says he, Mr. Ape, this worthy Knight would have you tell him whether some things which happen'd to him in Montesinos's Cave were true or no? Then upon the usual Signal, the Ape jumping upon Master Peter's Shoulder, chatter'd his answer into his Ear, which the Interpreter delivered thus to the Enquirer. The Ape, Sir, Says, that part of those things are false, and part of them true, which is all he can resolve ye, as to this Question; and now his Virtue has left him, and won't return till Friday next. If you would know any more, you must stay till then, and he'll answer as many Questions as you please. Law you there now, quoth Sancho, did

not I tell you, that all you told us of Montesinos's Cave would not hold Water? That the Event will determine, reply'd the Knight, which we must leave to process of Time to produce; for it brings every thing to light, though buried in the Bowels of the Earth. No more of this at present; let us now see the Puppet-show; I fancy we shall find something in it worth seeing. Something! said Master Peter, Sir you shall see a thousand things worth your Sight. I tell you, Sir, I defy the World to shew such another. I say no more. Operibus credite & non verbis. But now let us be∣gin, for it grows late, and we have much to do say and show. Don Quixote and Sancho comply'd, and went into the Room where the Show stood with a good number of small Wax-Lights glim∣mering round about, that made it shine gloriously. Master Peter got to his Station within, being the Man that was to move the Puppets; and his Boy stood before to tell what the Puppets said, and with a white Wand in his Hand to point at the several Figures as they came in and out, and explain the Mystery of the Show. Then all the Audience having taken their Places, Don Quixote, Sancho, the Scholar, and the Page, being preferr'd to the best; the Boy, who was the Mouth of the Motion, began a Story, that shall be heard or seen by those who will take the pains to read or hear the next Chapter.

CHAP. XXVI. A Pleasant Account of the Puppet-Play, with other very good things, truly.

THE Tyrians and the Trojans were all silent; that is, the Ears of all the Spectators hung on the Mouth of the Interpreter of the Show, when in the first place they had a loud flourish of Kettle-Drums and Trumpets within the Ma∣chine, and then several discharges of Artillery; which prelude being soon over, Gentlemen, cry'd the Boy raising his Voice, We present you here with a true History taken out of the Chronicles of France, and the Spanish Ballads, sung even by the Boys about the Streets, and in every Body's Mouth; it tells you how Don Gayferos deliver'd his Wife Melisandra, that was a Prisoner among the Moors in Spain, in the City of Sansuena, now call'd Saragossa. Now, Gallants, the first Figure we pre∣sent you with, is Don Gayferos playing at Tables according to the Ballad.

Now Gayferos the live-long-day, Oh errant shame! at Draughts do's play; And, as at Court most Husbands do, Forget•• his Lady Fair and True.

Gentlemen, in the next place mark that Per∣sonage that peeps out there with a Crown on his Head and a Scepter in his Hand. 'Tis the Em∣peror Charlemain, the fair Melisandra's reputed Fa∣ther,

who, vex'd at the idleness and negligence of his Son-in-Law, comes to chide him; and pray observe with what Passion and Earnestness he rates him, as if he had a mind to lend him half a dozen sound raps over the Pate with his Scepter. Nay, some Authors don't stick to tell ye, he gave him as many, and well laid on too; and after he had told him how his Honour lay a bleeding, till he had deliver'd his Wife out of Durance, among many other pithy Sayings, look to it (quoth he to him as he went) I'll say no more. Mind how the Emperor turns his Back upon him, and how he leaves Don Gayferos nettl'd and in the Dumps. Now see how he starts up, and in a rage dings the Tables one way, and Whirls the Men another, and calling for his Arms with all haste, borrows his Cousin-German Orlando's Sword Durindana. He offers to go along with him in this difficult Adventure; but the valorous enrag'd Knight will not let him; and says he's able to deliver his Wife himself, without his help, tho' they kept her down in the very Center of the Earth. And now he's going to put on his Armour, in order to begin his Journey.

Now Gentlemen, cast your Eyes upon you Tower; you are to suppose it one of the Towers of the Castle of Saragossa, now call'd the Aljaferia. That Lady, whom you see in the Balcony there in a Moorish Habit, is the Peerless Melisandra, that casts many a heavy look towards France, thinking of Paris and her Husband, the only Comfort in her Imprisonment. But now! (Silence, Gentlemen, pray Silence!) here is an Accident wholly new, the like perhaps never heard of before: Don't you see that Moor who comes a tiptoes, creeping and stealing along with his Finger in his Mouth be∣hind Melisandra? Here what a smack he gives on

her sweet Lips, and see how she spits and wipes her Mouth with her white Smock-Sleeve! See how she takes on, and Tears her lovely Hair for very madness, as if 'twere to blame for this Af∣front. Next pray observe that grave Moor that stands in the open Gallery! That's Marsilius the King of Sansuena, who having been an Eye-Wit∣ness of the sauciness of the Moor, order'd him im∣mediately to be apprehended, (tho' his Kinsman and great Favourite) to have two hundred Lashes given him, then to be carried thro' the City, with Criers before to proclaim his Crime, and Rods of Justice behind. And look how all this is put in Execution sooner almost than the Fact is commit∣ted. For your Moors, ye must know, don't use any form of Indictment as we do, neither have they any Legal Tryals. Child, Child, said Don Quixote, go on directly with your Story, and don't keep us here with your Excursions and Ramblings out of the Road: I tell you there had need be a formal Process and Legal Tryal to prove matter of Fact. Boy, said the Master from behind the Show, do as the Gentleman bids you. Don't run so much upon Flourishes, but follow your plain Cant, without venturing on the high Ropes, for fear of spoiling all. I will, Sir, quoth the Boy, and so proceeding, Now, Sirs, he that you see there a Horse-back wrapt up in the Gascoign-Cloak, is Don Gayferos himself, whom his Wife (now re∣veng'd on the Moor for his Impudence) seeing from the Battlements of the Tower, takes him for a Stranger, and talks with him as such, according to the Ballad.

Quoth Melisandra, if per Chance Sir Traveller, you go for France;

For Pity's sake, ask when you're there, For Gayferos, my Husband dear.

I omit the rest, not to tire you with a long Story. 'Tis sufficient that he makes himself known to her, as you may guess by the Joy she shews; and accordingly now see how she lets herself down from the Balcony, to come at her loving Husband, and get behind him. But unhappily alas! one of the skirts of her Gown is caught upon one of the Spikes of the Balcony, and there she hangs and hovers in the Air miserably, without being able to get down. But see how Heaven is merciful, and sends relief in the greatest Distress! Now Don Gayferos rides up to her, and never minding the Richness of her Gown, lays hold on't, and at one pull brings her down, and then at one lift sets her astride upon his Horse's Crupper, bidding her to sit fast, and clap her Arms about him, that she might not fall; for the Lady Melisandra was not us'd to that kind of Riding.

Observe now, Gallants, how the Horse neighs, and shews how proud he is of the burden of his brave Master, and fair Mistress. Look now, how they turn their Backs, and leave the City, and gallop it merrily away towards Paris. Peace be with you, for a peerless Couple of true Lovers! May ye get safe and sound into your own Coun∣try, without any Let or ill Chance in your Journey, and live as long as Nestor in Peace and Quietness among your Friends and Relations. Plainness. Boy, cry'd Master Peter, none of your Flights I beseech you, for Affectation is the Devil. The Boy answer'd nothing, but going on; Now, Sirs, quoth he, some of those idle People that love to pry into every thing, happen'd to spy Melisandra as she was making her Escape, and ran presently and

gave Marsilius notice of it; whereupon he straight commanded to sound an Alarm, and now mind what a Din and Hurly-burly there is, and how the City shakes with the ringing of the Bells back∣wards in all the Mosques! There you are out, Boy, said Don Quixote: The Moors have no Bells, they only use Kettle-Drums, and a kind of Shaulms like our Waits or Hautboys; so that your ringing of Bells in Sansuena is a meer absurdity, good Master Peter. Nay, Sir, (said Master Peter giving over Ringing) if you stand upon these Trifles, with us, we shall never please you. Don't be so severe a Critick! Are there not a thousand Plays that pass with great Success and Applause, tho' they have many greater Absurdities, and Non-sense in abundance! On, Boy, on; let there be as many Impertinencies as Moats in the Sun; no matter, so I get but Money. Well said, an∣swer'd Don Quixote. And now Sirs, quoth the Boy, observe what a vast Company of glittering Horse come pouring out of the City in pursuit of the Christian Lovers; what a dreadful sound of Trumpets and Clarions and Drums and Kettle-drums there's in the Air. I fear they will over∣take 'em, and then will the poor Wretches be dragg'd along most barbarously at the Tails of their Horses, which wou'd be sad indeed. Don Quixote seeing such a number of Moors, and hearing such an alarm, thought it high time to assist the flying Lovers, and starting up, It shall never be said while I live, cry'd he aloud, that I suffer'd such a wrong to be done to so famous a Knight, and so daring a Lover as Don Gayferos. Forbear then, your unjust Pursuit, ye base born Rascals; Stop, or prepare to meet my furious Resentment. Then drawing out his Sword, to make good his Threats, at one Spring he gets to the Show, and with a

[illustration]

Don Quixots Encounter with the puppits. page. ••59

violent Fury lays at the Moorish Puppets, cutting and slashing in a most terrible manner; some he overthrows, and beheads others; maims this, and cleaves that in pieces. Among the rest of his merciless Stroaks, he thunder'd one down with such a mighty force, that had not Master Peter luckily duck'd and squatted down, it had certainly chopp'd off his Head as easily as one might cut an Apple. Hold, hold, Sir, (cry'd the Puppet-Player, after the narrow escape) hold, for pity's sake. What do you mean, Sir? These are no real Moors that you cut and hack so, but poor harmless Pup∣pets made of Pasteboard. Think o' what you do, you ruin me for ever. Oh that ever I was born! you've broke me quite. But Don Quixote, with∣out minding his Words, doubl'd and redoubl'd his blows so thick, and laid about him so out∣rageously, that in less than two Minutes he had cut all the Strings and Wires, mangl'd the Pup∣pets, and spoil'd and demolish'd the whole Mo∣tion. King Marsilius was in a grievous Condition. The Emperor Charlemain's Head and Crown were cleft in two. The whole Audience was in a sad Consternation. The Ape scamper'd off to the top of the House. The Scholar was frighted out of his Wits, the Page was very uneasie, and Sancho himself was in a terrible Fright; for, as he swore after the Hurricane was over, he had never seen his Master in such a Rage before.

The general Rout of the Puppets being over, Don Quixote's Fury began to abate, and with a more pacify'd Countenance turning to the Compa∣ny, Now, said he, cou'd I wish all those incredu∣lous Persons here who slight Knight-Errantry might receive Conviction of their Error, and behold un∣deniable Proofs of the Benefit of that Function: For how miserable had been the Condition of poor

Don Gayferos and the fair Melisandra by this Time, had I not been here and stood up in their Defence! I make no Question but those Infidels wou'd have apprehended 'em, and us'd 'em barbarously. Well, when all's done, long live Knight-Errantry, long let it live, I say, above all things whatsoever in this World. Ay, ay, said Master Peter in a dole∣ful Tone, let it live long for me, so I may die; for why should I live so unhappy, as to say with King* 5.4 Rodrigo, Yesterday I was Lord of Spain, to Day have not a Foot of Land I can call mine? 'Tis not Half an Hour, nay scarce a Moment, since I had Kings and Emperors at Command. I had Horses in Abundance, and Chests and Bags full of fine things; but now you see me a poor sorry undone Man, quite and clean broke and cast down, and in short a meer Beggar. What's worst of all, I've lost my Ape too, who I'm sure will make me sweat e'er I catch him again; and all through the rash Fury of this Sir Knight here, who they say protects the Fatherless, redresses Wrongs, and does other charitable Deeds, but has fail'd in all these good Offices to miserable me, Heaven be prais'd for't! Well may I call him the Knight of the Woeful Figure, for he has put me and all that be∣longs to me in a woeful Case. The Puppet-player's Lamentations moving Sancho's Pity, Come, quoth he, don't cry Master Peter, thou break'st my Heart to hear thee take on so: Don't be cast down M••n, for my Master's a better Christian I'm sure, than to let any poor Man come to Loss by him; when he comes to know he's done you Wrong, he'll pay you for every Farthing of Damage I warrant you.

Truly, said Master Peter, if his Worship wou'd but make good at least some of the Damage he has done me, I'll ask no more, and he'll discharge a good Conscience; for he that wrongs his Neighbour, and does not make Restitution, can never hope to be sav'd, that's certain. I grant it, said Don Quix∣ote; but I am not sensible how I have in the least injur'd you, good Master Peter. No Sir! not in∣jur'd me, cry'd Master Peter! Why these poor Re∣licks that lie here on the cold Ground, cry out for Vengeance against you. Was it not the invincible Force of that powerful Arm of yours that has scatter'd and dismember'd 'em so? And whose were those Bodies, Sir, but mine? and by whom was I maintain'd, but by them? Well, said Don Quixote, now I am thoroughly convinc'd of a Truth, which I have had Reason to believe before, that those cursed Magicians that daily persecute me do nothing but delude me, first drawing me into dangerous Adventures by the Appearances of them as really they are, and then presently after changing the Face of things as they please. Real∣ly and truly Gentlemen, I vow and protest before ye all that hear me, that all that was acted here, seem'd to me to be really transacted ipso facto as it appear'd. To me Melisandra appear'd to be Meli∣sandra, Don Gayferos was Don Gayferos, Marsilius Marsilius, and Charlemain was the real Charlemain: Which being so, I could not contain my Fury, and acted according to the Duties of my Functi∣on, which obliges me to take the injur'd Side. Now, tho' what I have done proves to be quite contrary to my good Design, the Fault ought not to be imputed to me, but to my persecuting Foes; yet I own my self sorry for the Mischance, and will condemn my self to pay the Costs. Let Master Peter see what he must have for the Figures

that are damag'd, and I will pay it him now in good and lawful Money on the Nail. Heaven bless your Worship, cry'd Master Peter with a profound Gringe; I cou'd expect no less from the wonder∣ful Christianity of the valorous Don Quixote de la Mancha, the sure Relief and Bulwark of all mise∣rable Wanderers. Now let my Landlord and the great Sancho be Mediators and Appraisers between your Worship and my self, and I'll stand to their Award. They agreed; and presently Master Peter taking up Marsilius King of Saragossa, that lay by on the Ground with his Head off; You see Gen∣tlemen, said he, 'tis impossible to restore this King to his former Dignity, and therefore, with Sub∣mission to your better Judgments, I think that for his Destruction, and to get him a Successor,* 5.5 seven and twenty Pence is little enough o' Conscience. Pro∣ceed, said Don Quixote. Then for this that is cleft in two (said Master Peter, taking up the Emperor Charlemain) I think he's richly worth† 5.6 one and thirty Pence Half-Penny. Not so richly neither, quoth Sancho. Truly, said the Inn-keeper, I think 'tis pretty reasona∣ble; but we'll make it even Money, let the poor Fellow have Half a Crown. Come, said Don Quixote, let him have his full Price; we'll not stand haggling for so small a Matter in a Case like this: So make Haste Master Peter, for 'tis near Supper-time, and I have some strong Presumptions that I shall eat heartily. Now, said Master Peter, for this Figure here that's without a Nose and blind of one Eye, being the fair Melisandra, I'll be reaso∣nable

with you; give me* 5.7 fourteen Pence. I wou'd not take less from my Brother. Nay, said Don Quix∣ote, the Devil's in't if Melisandra been't by this Time with her Hus∣band upon the Frontiers of France at least; for the Horse that carry'd 'em seem'd to me rather to fly than to gallop; and now you tell me of a Melisan∣dra here without a Nose forsooth! when 'tis ten to one but she's now in her Husband's Arms in a good Bed in France. Come come Friend, God help ev'ry Man to his own; let us have fair Deal∣ing, and so proceed. Master Peter finding that the Knight began to harp upon the old String, was a∣fraid he wou'd fly off; and making as if he had better consider'd of it, Cry y'Mercy Sir, said he; I was mistaken; this cou'd not be Melisandra indeed, but one of the Damsels that waited on her; and so I think five Pence will be fair enough for her. In this Manner he went on, setting his Price upon the Dead and Wounded, which the Arbitrators moderated to the Content of both Parties; and the whole Sum amounted to forty Reals and three Quarters, which Sancho paid him down; and then Master Peter demanded two Reals more, for the Trouble of catching his Ape. Give it him, said Don Quixote, and set the Monkey to catch the Ape; and now wou'd I give two hundred more to be assur'd that Don Gayferos and the Lady Melisnd••a were safely arriv'd in France among their Friends. No Body can better tell than my Ape, said Master Peter; tho' the Devil himself will hardly catch him, if Hunger, or his Kindness for me, don't bring us together again to Night. However, to Morrow will be a new Day, and when 'tis light we'll see what's to be done.

The whole Disturbance being appeas'd, to Sup∣per they went lovingly together; and Don Quixote treated the whole Company, for he was Liberality it self. Before Day the Man with the Lances and Halbards left the Inn; and some Time after the Scholar and the Page came to take Leave of the Knight, the first to return Home, and the second to continue his Journey, towards whose Charges Don Quixote gave him twelve Reals. As for Master Peter, he knew too much of the Knight's Humour to desire to have any thing to do with him, and there∣fore having pick'd up the Ruins of the Puppet-Show, and got his Ape again, by Break of Day he pack'd off to seek his Fortune. The Inn-keeper, who did not know Don Quixote, was as much surpriz'd at his Liberality as at his Madness. In fine, Sancho paid him very honestly by his Master's Order; and mounting a little before eight a Clock, they left the Inn, and proceeded on their Journey; where we will leave 'em, that we may have an Opportu∣nity to relate some other Matters very requisite for the better understanding of this famous History.

CHAP. XXVII. Wherein is discover'd who Master Peter was; as also Don Quixote's ill Success in the Braying Adventure, which did not end so happily as he desir'd and expected.

CID Hamet, the Author of this celebrated His∣tory, begins this Chapter with this Asseve∣ration, I swear as a true Catholick; which the Translator illustrates and explains in this Manner: That Historian's making use of a Christian Oath, tho' he was a Mahometan Moor, ought to be re∣ceiv'd in no other Sense, than that, as a true Ca∣tholick, when he affirms any thing with an Oath, does or ought to swear Truth; so would he relate the Truth, as impartially as a Christian would do, if he had taken such an Oath, in what he design'd to write of Don Quixote; especially as to the Ac∣count that is to be given us of the Person who was known by the Name of Master Peter, and the For∣tune-telling Ape, whose Answers occasion'd such a Noise, and created such an Amazement all over the Country. He says then, that any one who has read the foregoing Part of this History, cannot but remember one Gines de Passamonte, whom Don Quixote had rescu'd, with several other Galley-Slaves in Sierra Morena; a Piece of Service for which the Knight was not over-burden'd with Thanks, and which that ungrateful Pack of Rogues repaid with a Treatment altogether unworthy such

a Deliverance. This Gines de Passamonte, or, as Don Quixote call'd him, Ginesillo de Parapilla, was the ve∣ry Man that stole Sancho's Ass; the Manner of which Robbery, and the Time when it was com∣mitted, being not inserted in the first Part, has been the Reason that some People have laid that which was caus'd by the Printer's Neglect to the Inadvertency of the Author. But 'tis beyond all question that Gines stole the Ass while Sancho slept on his Back, making use of the same Trick and Artifice which Brunello practis'd when he carry'd off Sacripante's Horse from under his Legs at the Siege of Albraca. However Sancho got Possession again, as has been told you before.

Gines it seems being obnoxious to the Law, was apprehensive of the strict Search that was made af∣ter him, in order to bring him to Justice for his repeated Villanies, which were so great and nu∣merous, that he himself had wrote a large Book of 'em; and therefore he thought it advisable to make the best of his Way into the Kingdom of Arragon; and having clapp'd a Plaister over his Left Eye, resolv'd in that Disguise to set up a Puppet-Show, and stroll with it about the Country; for you must know he had not his Fellow at any thing that could be done by Slight of Hand. Now it happen'd, that in his Way he fell into the Company of some Christian Slaves who came from Barbary, and struck a Bargain with 'em for this Ape, whom he taught to leap on his Shoulder at a certain Sign, and to make as if he whisper'd something in his Ear. Having brought his Ape to this, before he enter'd into any Town he inform'd himself in the adjacent Parts, as well as he could, of what particular Ac∣cidents had happen'd to this or that Person; and having a very retentive Memory, the first thing he did was to give 'em a Sight of his Show, that repre∣sented

sometimes one Story and sometimes ano∣ther, which were generally well known and taking among the Vulgar. The next thing he had to do was to commend the wonderful Qualities of his Ape, and tell the Company, That the Animal had the Gift of revealing things pass'd and present, but that in things to come he was al∣together uninstructed. He ask'd* 5.8 two Reals for every Answer, tho' some∣times he lower'd his Price as he felt the Pulse of his Customers. Sometimes when he came to the Houses of People of whose Concerns he had some Account, and who wou'd ask the Ape no Questions because they did not care to part with their Money, he wou'd notwithstanding be making Signs to his Ape, and tell 'em the Animal had ac∣quainted him with this or that Story, according to the Information he had before; and by that Means he got a great Credit among the common People, and drew a mighty Croud after him. At other Times, tho' he knew nothing of the Person, the Subtilty of his Wit supply'd his want of Know∣ledge, and brought him off with Credit; and no Body being so inquisitive or pressing as to make him declare by what Means his Ape attain'd to this Gift of Divination, he impos'd on every one's Understanding, and got almost what Money he pleas'd.

He was no sooner come to the Inn, but he knew Don Quixote, Sancho, and the rest of the Company: But he had like to have paid dear for his Know∣ledge; had the Knight's Sword fallen but a little lower when he made King Marsilius's Head fly and routed all his Moorish Horse, as the Reader may have observ'd in the foregoing Chapter. And this may suffice in relation to Mr. Peter and his Ape.

Now let us overtake our Champion of la Man∣cha. After he had left the Inn, he resolv'd to take a Sight of the River Ebro, and the Country about it, before he went to Saragossa, since he was not streighten'd for Time, but might do that, and yet arrive soon enough to make one at the Jousts and Tournaments at that City. Two Days he travell'd without meeting with any thing worth his Notice or the Reader's, when on the third, as he was rid∣ing up a Hill, he heard a great Noise of Drums, Trumpets, and Guns. At first he thought some Regiment of Soldiers was on its March that Way, which made him spur up Rozinante to the Brow of the Hill that he might see 'em pass by; and then he saw in a Bottom above two hundred Men, as near as he cou'd guess, arm'd with various Wea∣pons, as Lances, Cross-bows, Partisans, Halbards, Pikes, some few Fire-locks, and a great many Tar∣gets. Thereupon he descended into the Vale, and made his Approaches towards the Battallion so near, as to be able to distinguish their Banners, judge of their Colours, and observe their Devices; more especially one that was to be seen on a Stan∣dard of white Sattin, on which was represented to the Life a masculine Ass, much like a Sardinian Ass Colt, holding up his Head, stretching out his Neck, and thrusting out his Tongue in the very Posture of an Ass that is braying, with this Distich written in fair Characters about it;

'Twas something more than Nothing which one Day Made one and t'other Bailiff bray.

Don Quixote drew this Inference from the Motto, That those were the Inhabitants of the braying Town; and he acquainted Sancho with what he had observ'd, giving him also to understand, that the

Man who told 'em the Story of the two braying Aldermen was apparently in the Wrong, since, ac∣cording to the Verses on the Standard, they were two Bailiffs and not two Aldermen. It matters not one Rush what you call 'em, quoth Sancho; for those very Aldermen that bray'd might in Time come to be made Bailiffs of the Town, and so both those Titles might have been given 'em well e∣nough. But what is it to you, or me, or the Sto∣ry, whether the two Brayers were Aldermen or Bailiffs, so they but bray'd as we are told? As if a Bailiff were not as likely to bray as an Alderman!

In short, both Master and Man plainly under∣stood, that the Men who were thus up in Arms, were those that were jeer'd for Braying, got toge∣ther to Fight the People of another Town, who indeed abus'd' them more than was the part of good Neighbours; thereupon Don Quixote advanc'd towards them, to Sancho's great Grief, who had no manner of liking to such kind of Adventures. The Multitude soon got about the Knight, taking him for some Champion, who was come to their Assis∣tance. But Don Quixote lifting up his Vizor, with a graceful Deportment, rode up to the Standard, and there all the chief Leaders of the Army got together about him, in order to take a Survey of his Person, no less amaz'd at this strange Appea∣rance than the rest. Don Quixote seeing 'em look so earnestly on him, and no Man offer so much as a Word or Question, took Occasion from their Si∣lence to break his own; and raising his Voice, Good Gentlemen, cry'd he, I beseech you with all the Endearments imaginable, to give no Inter∣ruption to the Discourse I am now delivering to you, unless you find it distasteful or tedious; which if I am unhappy enough to occasion, at the least hint you shall give me, I will clap a Seal on my

Lips, and a Padlock on my Tongue. They all cry'd, that he might speak what he pleas'd, and they would hear him with all their Hearts. Having this Licence, Don Quixote proceeded. Gentlemen, said he, I am a Knight Errant: Arms are my Ex∣ercise; and my Profession is to shew Favour to those that are in Necessity of Favour, and to give Assistance to those that are in Distress. I have for some Time been no Stranger to the Cause of your Uneasiness, which excites you to take Arms to be reveng'd on your Insulting Neighbours; and having often busied my Intellectuals, in ma∣king Reflections on the Motives which have brought you together, I have drawn this Infe∣rence from it, That according to the Laws of Arms, you really injure your selves, in thinking your selves affronted; for no particular Person can give an Affront to a whole Town and Society of Men, except it be by accusing 'em all of High Treason in general, for want of knowing on which of them to fix some Treasonable Action, of which he supposes some of them to be guilty. We have an Instance of this Nature in Don Diego Ordonnez, de Lara; who sent a Challenge to all the Inhabi∣tants of Zamora, not knowing that Vellido de Oifo•• had Assassinated the King his Master in that Town, without any Accomplices, and so accusing and de∣fying 'em all, the Defence and Revenge belong'd to 'em all in general. Though it must be own'd, that Don Diego was somewhat unreasonable in his Defiance, and strain'd the Point too far: For, it it was very little to the Purpose to defy the Dead, the Waters, the Bread, those that were yet Un∣born, with many other ludicrous matters mention∣ed in the Challenge. But it signifies not much; for when the Choler boils over, the Tongue grows as unruly, and knows no Moderation. Taking it

for granted then, that no particular Person can af∣front a whole Kingdom, Province, City, Common∣wealth, or Body Politick; it is but just to con∣clude, That 'tis needless to revenge such a pretend∣ed Affront; since such an Abuse is no sufficient Provocation, and indeed, positively no Affront. It would be a pretty Piece of Wisdom, truly, should those out of the Town of Reloxa sally out every Day on those, who spend their ill-natur'd Breaths miscalling 'em every while. 'Twould be a fine Business indeed, if the Inhabitants of those several famous Towns that are nick-nam'd by our Rabble, and call'd the one Cheese-mongers, the other Coster-mongers, these Fish-mongers, and those Soap-boilers, should know no better than to think themselves Dishonour'd, and in Revenge, be al∣ways drawing out their Swords at the least Word, for every idle insignificant Quarrel. No, no, Hea∣ven forbid. Men of Sagacity and Wisdom, and well-govern'd Commonwealths are never induc'd to take up Arms, nor endanger their Persons and Estates, but on the four following Occasions. In the first Place, to defend the Holy Catholick Faith. Secondly, for the Security of their Lives, which they are commanded to preserve by the Laws of God and Nature. Thirdly, the Preservation of their good Name, the Reputation of their Family, and the Conservation of their Estates. Fourthly, the Service due to their Prince in a just War; and if we please, we may add a Fifth, which indeed may be referr'd to the second, the Defence of our Country. To these five Capital Causes may be subjoin'd several others, which may perswade Men to vindicate themselves, and have Recourse even to the way of Arms: But to take 'em up for meer Trifles, and such Occasions as rather challenge our Mirth and contemptuous Laughter, than Revenge,

shews the Person who is guilty of such Proceed∣ings, to labour under a Scarcity of Sense. Besides, to seeK after an unjust Revenge (and indeed no Humane Revenge can be just) is directly against the Holy Law we profess, which commands us to forgive our Enemies, and to do good to those that Hate us. An Injunction, which, though it seems difficult in the Implicit Obedience we shou'd pay to it; yet is only such to those who have less of Heaven than of the World, and more of the Flesh than of the Spirit. For, the Redeemer of Man∣kind, whose Words never could deceive, said, That his Yoak was easy, and his Burden light; and accord∣ing to that, he could prescribe nothing to our Prac∣tise which was impossible to be done. Therefore, Gentlemen, since Reason and Religion recommend Love and Peace to you, I hope you will not ren∣der your selves Obnoxious to all Laws, both Hu∣mane and Divine, by a Breach of the publick Tran∣quility— The Devil fetch me, quoth Sancho to himself, if this Master of mine must not have been bred a Parson; if not, he's as like one as one Egg's like another. Don Quixote paus'd a while, to take Breath; and perceiving his Auditory still willing to give him Attention, had proceeded in his Harangue, had not Sancho's good Opinion of his Parts, made him lay hold on this Opportunity to talk in his Turn. Gentlemen, quoth he, my Master Don Quixote de la Mancha, once call'd the Knight of the woeful Figure, and now the Knight of the Lions, is a very judicious Gentleman, and talks Latin and his own Mother-Tongue as well as any one of your Varsity-Doctors. Whatever Discourse he takes in hand, he speaks ye to the Purpose, and like a Man of Metal; he has ye all the Laws and Rules of that same thing you call Duel and Punctilio of Honour, at his Fingers Ends; so that you have no more to

do but to do as he says, and if in taking his Coun∣sel you ever tread awry, let the Blame be laid on my Shoulders. And indeed, as you've already been told, 'tis a very silly Fancy to hear one Bray; for I remember when I was a Boy, I could Bray as of∣ten as I listed, and no body went about to hinder me; and I could do it so rarely, and to the Life, without Vanity be it spoken, that all the Asses i'our Town would fall a Braying when they heard me Bray; yet for all this, I was an honest Body's Child, and came of a good Parentage, d'ye see; 'tis true, indeed, four of the best young Men in our Parish envy'd me for this great Ability of mine; but I car'd not a Rush for their Spight. Now, that you mayn't think I tell you a Flam, do but hear me, and then judge; for this rare Art is like Swimming, which, when once learn'd, is never to be forgotten. This said, he clapp'd both the Palms of his Hands to his Nose, and fell a Braying so ob∣streperously, that it made the Neighbouring Val∣leys ring again. But while he was thus Braying, one of those that stood next him, believing he did it to Mock 'em, gave him such a hearty Blow with a Quarter Staff, that down he brought him Neck and Shoulders to the Ground. Don Quixote seeing what a rough Entertainment had been given to his Squire, mov'd with his Lance in a threatning Pos∣ture towards the Man that had us'd poor Sancho thus; but the Crowd thrust themselves in such a manner between them, that the Knight found it impracticable to pursue the Revenge he design'd. At the same time, finding that a Shower of Stones began to Rain about his Ears, and a great Num∣ber of Cross-Bows and Muskets were getting ready for his Reception, he turn'd Rozinante's Reins, and Gallop'd from 'em as fast as four Legs would carry him, sending up his hearty Prayers to Hea∣ven

to deliver him from this Danger, and, being under grievous Apprehensions at every Step, that he should be shot through the Back, and have the Bullet come out at his Breast, he still went fetch∣ing his Breath, to try if it did any ways fail him. But the Country-Battalion were satisfy'd with see∣ing him fly, and did not offer to shoot at him.

As for Sancho, he was set upon his Ass before he had well recover'd his Senses which the Blow had taken from him, and then they suffer'd him to move off; not that the poor Fellow had Strength enough to guide him; but Dapple naturally fol∣low'd Rozinante of his own accord, not being able to be a Moment from him. The Don being at a good Distance from the Arm'd Multitude, fac'd a∣bout, and seeing Sancho Pacing after him without any troublesome Attendants, stay'd for his coming up. As for the Rabble, they kept their Posts till it grew dark, and their Enemies having not taken the Field to give 'em Battel, they March'd Home, so overjoy'd to have shewn their Courage without Danger, that had they been so well bred, as to have known the antient Custom of the Greeks, they would have erected a Trophy in that Place.

CHAP. XXVIII. Of some Things which Benengeli tells us he that Reads shall know, if he Reads 'em with Attention.

WHen the Valiant flies, he must have disco∣cover'd some foul Play, and 'tis the part of prudent Persons to reserve themselves for more favourable Opportunities. This Truth is verified in Don Quixote, who, rather than expose himself to the Fury of an incens'd and ill-designing Mul∣titude, betook himself to Flight, without any Thoughts of Sancho, till he found himself beyond the reach of those Dangers in which he had left his trusty Squire involv'd. Sancho came after him, as we have told you before, laid a-cross his Ass, and having recover'd his Senses, overtook him at last, and let himself drop from his Pack-saddle at Rozi∣nante's Feet, all Batter'd and Bruis'd, and in a sor∣rowful Condition. Don Quixote presently dismount∣ed to search his Wounds, and finding no Bones bro∣ken, but his Skin whole from Head to Foot; You must Bray, (cry'd he angrily) you must Bray, with a Pox, must you! 'Tis a piece of excellent Discre∣tion to talk of Halters in the House of a Man whose Father was Hang'd. What Counter-part could you expect to your Musick, Blockhead, but a Thorough-Bass of Bastinadoes? Thank Provi∣dence, Sirrah! that as they gave you a dry Bene∣diction with a Quarter-Staff, they did not cross you with a Cutlass. I han't Breath to answer you

at present, quoth Sancho, but my Back and Shoul∣ders speak enough for me. Pray let's make the best of our way from this Cursed Place, and whene'er I Bray again, may I get such another Polt on the Kidneys. Yet I can't help saying, that your Knights-Errant can betake themselves to their Heels to save one upon Occasion, and leave their trusty Squires to be beaten like Stock-fish, in the midst of their Enemies. A Retreat is not to be accounted a Flight, reply'd Don Quixote; for know, Sancho, that Courage that has not Wisdom for its Guide, falls under the Name of Temerity; and the rash Man's successful Actions are rather owing to his good Fortune, than to his Bravery. I own I did Retire, but I deny that I fled; and in such a Retreat I did but imitate many Valiant Men, who, not to hazard their Persons indiscreetly, re∣serv'd themselves for a more fortunate Hour. His∣tories are full of Examples of this nature, which I do not care to relate at present, because this would be more tedious to me, than profitable to thee.

By this time Don Quixote had help'd Sancho to bestride his Ass, and being himself Mounted on Rozinante, they Pac'd softly along, and got into a Grove of Poplar Trees, about a Quarter of a League from the Place where they Mounted. Yet as soft∣ly as they rode, Sancho could not help now and then heaving up deep Sighs and lamentable Groans. Don Quixote ask'd him, why he made such a heavy Moan? Sancho told him, That from his Rump to his Pole, he felt such grievous Pains, that he was ready to sink. Without doubt, said Don Quixote, the Intenseness of thy Torment, is by reason the Staff with which thou wert struck, was broad and long, and so having fallen on those parts of thy Back, caused a Contusion there, and affects them

all with Pain, and had it been of a greater Magni∣tude, thy Grievances had been so much the great∣er. Truly quoth Sancho! you've clear'd that in ve∣ry pithy Words, of which no body made any doubt. Body of me! was the Cause of my ailing so hard to be guess'd, that you must tell me that so much of me was sore as was hit by the Weapon? Shou'd my Ankle-bone ach, and you scratch your Head till you had found out the Cause of it, I would think that something. But for you to tell me that Place is sore where I was Bruis'd, every Fool could do as much. Faith and Troth, Sir Master of mine, I grow Wiser and Wiser every Day: I find you're like all the World, that lay to Heart no body's Harms but their own. I find where abouts we are, and what I'm like to get by you; for e'en as you left me now in the Lurch to be well belabour'd and Rib-roasted, and t'other Day to dance the Carp-Galliard in the Blanket you wot of; so I must expect a hundred and a hun∣dred more of these good Vails i' your Service; and as the Mischief has now lighted on my Shoul∣ders, next Bout I look for it to fly at my Eyes. A Plague of my Jolter-head, I have been a Fool and Set all along, and am never like to be Wiser while I live. Would it not be better for me to trudge home to my Wife and Children, and look after my House with that little Wit that Heaven has given me, without galloping after your Tail high and low, through confounded cross Roads and By-ways, and wicked and crooked Paths, that the Ungodly themselves can't find out! And then most common∣ly to have nothing to moisten one's Weasand that's fitting for a Christian to drink, nothing but meer Ele∣ment and Dog's Porridge! And nothing to stuff one's Puddings that's worthy of a Catholick Stomach! Then after a Man has tir'd himself off his Legs,

when he'd be glad of a good Bed, to have a Ma∣ster cry, Here, are you sleepy? Lie down M•• Squire, your Bed's made: Take six Foot of good hard Ground, and measure your Corps there; and if that won't serve, take as much more and wel∣come: You're at Rack and Manger, spare not, I beseech your Dogship; there's Room enough. Old Nick roast and burn to a Cinder that unlucky Son of Mischief that first set People a madding after this Whim of Knight-Errantry; or at least the first Ninny-hammer that had so little Forecast as to turn Squire to such a Parcel of Mad-men as were your Knights-Errant—in the Days of Yore I mean; I am better bred than to speak ill of those in our Time; no I honour them, since your Wor∣ship has taken up this blessed Calling; for you've a long Nose, the Devil himself could not out∣reach you, you can see farther into a Milstone than he. I durst lay a Wager, said Don Quixote, that now thou art suffer'd to prate without Interruption, thou feel'st no manner of Pain in thy whole Body. Prethee talk on, my Child, say any thing that comes uppermost to thy Mouth, or is Burden∣some to thy Brain; so it but alleviates thy Pain, thy Impertinencies will rather please than offend me; and if thou hast such a longing Desire to be at home with thy Wife and Children, Heaven for∣bid I should be against it. Thou hast Money of mine in thy Hands: See how long 'tis since we Sallied out last from Home, and cast up the Wages by the Month, and Pay thy self. An't like your Worship, quoth Sancho, when I serv'd my Master Carrasco, Father to the Batchelor, your Worship's Acquaintance, I had two Ducats a Month, besides my Victuals: I don't know what you'll give me: tho' I'm sure there's more Trouble in being Squire to a Knight-Errant, than in being Servant to a

Farmer; for truly we that go to Plough and Cart in a Farmer's Service, though we moil and sweat so a-days as not to have a dry Thread to our Backs, let the worst come to the worst, are sure of a Belly∣ful at Night out of the Pot, and to snore in a Bed. But I don't know when I have had a good Meal's Meat, or a good Night's Rest in all your whole Service, unless it were that short time when we were at Don Diego's House, and when I made a Feast on the savoury Skimming of Camacho's Cauldron, and Eat, Drank, and Lay at Master Basil's. All the rest of my time I have had my Lodging on the cold Ground, and in the open Fields, subject to the Inclemency of the Sky, as you call it; living on the Rinds of Cheese, and Crusts of mouldy Bread; drinking sometimes Ditch-water, sometimes Spring, as we chanc'd to light upon't in our way. Well, said Don Quixote, I grant all this, Sancho; then how much more dost thou expect from me, than thou had'st from thy Master Carrasco? Why, truly, quoth Sancho, if your Worship will Pay me Twelve-pence a Month more than Thomas Carrasco gave me, I shall think it very fair, and tolerable Wages; but then in∣stead of the Island which you know you promis'd me, I think you can't in Conscience give me less than six and thirty Pence a Month more, which will make in all Thirty Reals, neither more nor less. Very well, said Don Quixote, let's see then, 'tis now twenty five Days since we set out from home, reckon what this comes to, according to the Wages thou hast allow'd thy self, and be thy own Pay-master. Udsdiggers! quoth Sancho, we are quite out in our Account; for as to the Go∣vernour of an Island's Place, which you promised to help me to, we ought to reckon from the time you made the Promise, to this very Day. Well,

and pray how long is it, ask'd Don Quixote? If I remember rightly, quoth Sancho, 'tis about some twenty Years ago, two or three Days more or less. With that Don Quixote hitting himself a good clap on the Forehead, fell a Laughing heartily. Why, cry'd he, we have hardly been out two Months from the very beginning of our first Ex∣pedition, and in all the time we were in Sierra Mo∣rena, and our whole Progress. And hast thou the Impudence to affirm it's twenty Years since I pro∣mis'd the Grant of the Island? I am now convinc'd thou hast a Mind to make all the Money which thou hast of mine in thy keeping, go for the Pay∣ment of thy Wages. If this be thy Meaning, well and good, e'en take it, and much Good may it do thee; for rather than be troubled any longer with such a Varlet, I would contentedly see my self without a Penny. But tell me, thou Perverter of the Laws of Chivalry that relate to Squires, where did'st thou ever see or read, that any Squire to a Knight-Errant stood capitulating with his Master, as thou hast done with me, for so much or so much a Month? Lanch, unconscionable Wretch, thou Cut-Throat Scoundrel; lanch, thou base Spirit of Mammon, into the vast Ocean of their Histories; and if thou can'st shew me a Precedent of any Squire that ever dar'd to say, or but to think as much as thou hast presum'd to tell me, then will I give thee Leave to affix it on my Fore-head, and hit me four Fillips on the Nose. Away then, pack off with thy Ass this Moment, and get thee home, for thou shalt never stay in my Service any longer. Oh how much Bread, how many Promises have I not ill bestow'd on thee! Vile groveling Wretch, that hast more of the Beast than of the Man! When I was just going to prefer thee to such a Post, that in spight of thy Wife thou had'st been

call'd my Lord, thou sneak'st away from me. Thou'rt leaving me, when I had fully resolv'd, without any more Delay, to make thee Lord of the best Island in the World. Sordid Clod! Well might'st thou say indeed, that Honey is not for the Chaps of an Ass. Thou art indeed a very Ass, an Ass thou wilt live and an Ass thou wilt die; for I dare say thou'lt never have Sense enough while thou liv'st, to know thou art a Brute. While Don Quixote thus upbraided and rail'd at Sancho, the poor Fellow, all dismay'd, and touch'd to the Quick, beheld him with a wistful Look; and the Tears standing in his Eyes for Grief, Good sweet Sir, cry'd he, with a doleful and whining Voice, I confess I want nothing but a Tail to be a perfect Ass; if your Worship will be pleas'd but to put one to my Back-side, I shall deem it well set on, and be your most faithful Ass all the Days of my Life: But forgive me, I beseech you, and take Pi∣ty on my Youth. Consider I've but a dull Head-piece of my own; and if my Tongue runs at random sometimes, 'tis because I'm more Fool than Knave, Sir. Who errs and mends, to Heaven himself commends. I shou'd wonder much, said Don Quixote, if thou should'st not interlard thy Discourse with some pretty Proverb. Well, I'll give thee my Pardon for this once, provided thou correct those Imperfections that offend me, and shew'st thy self of a less craving Temper. Take Heart then, and let the Hopes which thou may'st entertain of the Performance of my Promise raise in thee a nobler Spirit. The Time will come, do not think it impossible because delay'd. Sancho promis'd to do his best, though he could not rely on his own Strength.

Matters Being thus amicably adjusted, they put into the Grove, where the Don laid himself at the

Foot of an Elm, and his Squire at the Foot of a Beach; for every one of those Trees, and such o∣thers, has always a Foot, tho' never a Hand. San∣cho had but an ill Night's Rest of it, for his Bruises made his Bones more than ordinarily sensible of the Cold. As for Don Quixote, he entertain'd him∣self with his usual Imaginations. However they both slept, and by Break of Day continu'd their Journey towards the River Ebro, where they met — what shall be told in the next Chapter.

CHAP. XXIX. The famous Adventure of the inchanted Bark.

FAIR and softly, Step by Step, their Tongues wagging faster than their Horses, Don Quix∣ote and his Squire got in two Day's Time to the Banks of the River Ebro, which yielded a very en∣tertaining Prospect to the Knight. The Verdure of its Banks, and the abounding Plenty of the Water, which, clear like liquid Crystal, flow'd gently along within the spacious Channel, awak'd a thousand amorous Chimera's in his roving Imagi∣nation, and more especially the Thoughts of what he had seen in Montesinos's Cave; for tho' Master Peter's Ape had assur'd him that it was partly false as well as partly true, he was rather inclin'd to believe it all true; quite contrary to Sancho, who thought it every Tittle as false as Hell.

While the Knight went on thus agreeably a∣mus'd, he spy'd a little Boat without any Oars or Tackle, moor'd by the River-Side to the Stump of

a Tree: Thereupon looking round about him, and discovering no Body, he presently alighted, and order'd Sancho to do the like, and tie their Beasts fast to some of the Elms or Willows thereabouts. Sancho ask'd him what was the Meaning of all this? Thou art to know, answer'd Don Quixote, that most certain this Boat lies here for no other Reason but to invite me to embark in it, for the Relief of some Knight or other Person of high Degree that is in great Distress: For thus, according to the Method of Inchanters, in the Books of Chi∣valry, when any Knight whom they protect hap∣pens to be involv'd in some very great Danger, from which none but some other valorous Knight can set him free; then though they be two or three thousand Leagues at least distant from each other, up the Magician snatches the auxiliary Champion in a Cloud, or else provides him a Boat, and in the Twinkling of an Eye, in either Vehi∣cle, through the airy Fluid or the liquid Plain, he wafts him to the Place where his Assistance is wanted. Just to the same Intent does this very Bark lie here; 'tis as clear as the Day, and there∣fore, before it be too late, Sancho, tie up Rozinante and Dapple, let us commit our selves to the Gui∣dance of Providence; for embark I will, though bare-footed Friars should beg me to desist. Well, well, quoth Sancho, if I must I must. Since you will every Foot run haring into these — I don't know how to call them, these confounded Vaga∣ries, I have no more to do but to make a Leg, and submit my Neck to the Collar; for, as the Saying is, Do as thy Master bids thee, though it be to sit down at his Table. But for all that, fall Back fall Edge, I must and will discharge my Conscience, and tell you plainly, that, as blind as I am, I can see with Half an Eye, that it is no inchanted Bark, but

some Fisherman's Boat; for there are many in this River, whose Waters afford the best Shads in the World. This Caution did Sancho give his Maste•• while he was tying the Beasts to a Tree, and going to leave them to the Protection of Inchanters, full sore against his Will. Don Quixote bid him not be concern'd at leaving them there, for the Sage who was to carry 'em through in a Journey of such an Extent and Longitude, would be sure to take Care of the Animals. Nay, nay, as for that Matter, quoth Sancho, I don't understand your Longitude, I never heard such a cramp Word in my Born-days. Longitude, said Don Quixote, is the same as Length: I don't wonder that thou do'st not understand the Word, for thou'rt not oblig'd to understand Latin. Yet you shall have some forward Coxcombs pre∣tend to be knowing, when they are ignorant. Now the Beasts are fast Sir, quoth Sancho, what's next to be done? Why now, answer'd Don Quixote, let us recommend our selves to Providence and weigh Anchor, or to speak plainly, embark, and cut the Cable. With that, leaping in, and Sancho follow∣ing, he cut the Rope, and so by Degrees the Stream carry'd the Boat from the Shore. Now when San∣cho saw himself towards the Middle of the River, he began to quake for fear; but nothing griev'd his Heart so much as to hear Dapple bray, and to see Rozinante struggle to get loose. Sir, quoth he, hark how my poor Dapple brays, to bemoan ou•• leaving of him; and see how poor Rozinante tugs hard to break his Bridle, and is e'en wild to throw himself after us. Alack and alack! my poor dear Friends, Peace be with you where you are, and when this mad Freak, the Cause of our doleful parting, is ended in Repentance, may we be brought back to your sweet Company again. This said, he fell a blubbering, aed set up such a Howl, that Don

Quixote had no Patience with him, but looking angrily on him, What dost thou fear, cry'd he, thou great white-liver'd Calf? What dost thou cry for? Who pursues thee? Who hurts thee, thou dastardly Craven, thou Cowardly Mouse, thou Soul of a Milk-sop, thou Heart of Butter? Dost want for any thing, base unsatisfy'd Wretch? What would'st thou say, wert thou to climb bare∣foot the rugged Snowy Alps? Thou that sittest here in State like an Archduke, Plenty and De∣light on each side of thee, whilst thou glidest gent∣ly down the calm Current of this delightful River, which will soon convey us into the Main Ocean? We have already flow'd down some seven or eight hundred Leagues. Had I but an Astrolabe here to take the Latitude of the Pole, I could easily tell thee how far we have proceeded to an Inch: Tho' either I know but little, or we have just pass'd, or shall presently pass the Equinoctial Line, that divides and sets the two opposite Poles at an equal distance.

And when we come to this same Line you speak of, quoth Sancho, how far have we gone then? A mighty way, answer'd Don Quixote. When we come under the Line I spoke of, we shall have measur'd the other half of the Terraqueous Globe, which according to the System and Computation of Ptolomy, who was the greatest Cosmographer in the World, contains three hundred and sixty De∣grees. Odsbodikins! quoth Sancho, you've brought me now a notable Fellow to be your Voucher, Goodman T••llme, with his Amputation and Cistern, and the rest of your gibberish! Don Quixote smil'd at Sancho's Blunders, and going on, The Spaniards, said he, and all those that Embark at Cadiz for the East-Indies, to know whether they have pass'd the Equinoctial Line, according to an Observation that

has been often experienc'd, need do no more than look whether there be any Lice left alive among the Ship's Crew; for if they have pass'd it, not one is to be found in the Ship, though they would give his weight in Gold for him. Look therefore, Sancho, and if thou find'st any such Vermin still creeping about thee, then we have not yet pass'd the Line; but if thou dost not, then we have surely pass'd it. The Devil a Word I believe of all this, quoth Sancho: However, I'll do as you bid me. But hark you me, Sir, now I think on't again, where's the need of trying these Quirks! Don't I see with my two Eyes that we are not five Rods length from the Shore? Look you there stands Rozinante and Dapple, upon the very spot where we left them; and now I look closely into the matter, I will take my Corporal Oath that we move no faster than a Snail can Gallop, or an Ant can Trot. No more words, said Don Quixote, but make the Experiment as I bid you, and let the rest alone. Thou dost not know what belongs to Colures, Lines, Parallels, Zodiacks, Eclipticks, Poles, Solstices, Equinoctials, Planets, Signs, Points, and Measures, of which the Spheres Celestial and Terrestrial are compos'd; for didst thou know all these things, or some of them at least, thou might∣est plainly perceive what Parallels we have cut, what Signs we have pass'd, and what Constella∣tions we have left, and are now leaving behind us. Therefore I would wish thee once again to search thy self; for I cannot believe but thou art as clear from Vermin as a Sheet of white Paper. There∣upon Sancho advancing his Hand very gingerly to∣wards the left side of his Neck, after he had grop'd a while, lifted up his Head; and staring in his Master's Face, look you Sir, quoth he, pulling out something, either your Rule is not worth this,

or we are many a fair League from the place you spoke of. How! answer'd Don Quixote, hast thou found something then, Sancho? Ay, marry have I, quoth Sancho, and more things than one too, and so saying, he shook and snap'd his Fingers, and then dipp'd his whole Hand into the River; down whose Stream the Boat drove gently along, with∣out being mov'd by any secret Influence or hidden Inchantment, but only by the help of the Current, hitherto calm and smooth.

By this time they descry'd two great Water-mills in the middle of the River, which Don Quixote no sooner spy'd, but calling to his Squire, Look, look, my Sancho, cry'd he! see'st thou you City or Castle there! This is the Place where some Knight lies in Distress, or some Queen or Princess is detain'd, for whose Succour I am con∣vey'd hither. What a Devil do you mean with your City or Castle, cry'd Sancho? Body of me! Sir, don't you see as plain as the Nose in your Face, they are nothing but Water-mills, in the midst of the River, to grind Corn. Peace, Sancho, reply'd Don Quixote, they look like Water-mills I grant you, but they are no such things: How often, have I not told thee already, do these Ma∣gicians change and overturn every thing as they please, not that they can change their very Being, but they disguise and alter the appearances of them; in which we have an Instance in the un∣happy Transformation of Dulcinea, the only Re∣fuge of my Hope.

The Boat being now got into the very strength of the Stream, began to move less slowly than it did before. The People in the Mills perceiving the Boat to come a-drift full upon the Mill-wheels, came running out with their long Poles to stop it; and as their Faces and Cloaths were

Powder'd all over with Meal-dust, they made a very odd Appearance. So-ho! there, cry'd they, as loud as they could bawl, is the Devil in the Fel∣lows? Are ye mad in the Boat there? Hold! You'll be drown'd or Ground to pieces by the Mill-wheels. Don Quixote having cast his Eyes on the Millers, did I not tell thee, Sancho, said he, that we should arrive where I must exert the strength of my Arm. Look what Hang-dogs, what horrid Wretches come forth to make Head a∣gainst me! How many Hobgoblins oppose my Passage! Do but see what deform'd Physiogno∣mies they have, Meer Bug-bears! But I shall make ye know, Scoundrels, how insignificant all your Efforts must prove. Then standing up in the Boat, he began to threaten the Millers in a haugh∣ty Tone. Ye paltry Slaves, cry'd he, base and ill-advis'd Scum of the World, release instantly the Captive Person who is injuriously detain'd and Oppress'd within your Castle or Prison, be he of high or low Degree; for I am Don Quixote de la Mancha, otherwise call'd the Knight of the Lions; for whom the happy Atchievement of this Adven∣ture is reserv'd, by the Decree of Heaven. This said, he unsheath'd his Sword, and began to Fence with the Air, as if he had been already engaging the Millers, who hearing, but not understanding his mad Words, stood ready with their Poles to stop the Boat, which was now near the Mill-dam, and falling into the rapid Stream and narrow Chan∣nel of the Wheels.

In the mean time, Sancho was devoutly fallen on his Knees, praying Heaven for a happy delive∣rance out of this mighty plunge, but this one time. And indeed his Prayers met with pretty good suc∣cess; for the Millers so bestirr'd themselves with their Poles that they stopp'd the Boat, yet not so

[illustration]

Don Quixots Adventure of the Enchanted Bark. page 29••

cleverly but they over-set it, tipping Don Quix∣ote and Sancho over into the River. 'Twas well for the Knight that he could swim like a Duck; and yet the weight of his Armour sunk him twice to the Bottom, and had it not been for the Mil∣lers, who jump'd into the Water, and made a shift to pull out both the Master and the Man, in a Manner Craning them up, there had been an end of them both.

When they were both hawl'd a-shore, more over-drench'd than thirsty, Sancho betook himself to his Knees again, and with up-lifted Hands and Eyes made a long and hearty Prayer, that Heaven might keep him from this time forwards clear of his Master's Rash Adventures.

And now came the Fisher-men who own'd the Boat, and finding it broken to pieces, fell upon Sancho, and began to strip him, demanding Satis∣faction both of him and his Master for the loss of their Bark. The Knight with a great deal of Gra∣vity and Unconcern, as if he had done no manner of Harm, told both the Millers and the Fisher∣men, that he was ready to pay for the Boat, pro∣vided they would fairly surrender the Persons that were detain'd unjustly in their Castle. What Per∣sons, or what Castle, you mad Oaf, said one of the Millers? Marry guep, would you carry away the Folk that come to grind their Corn at our Mills? So, said Don Quixote, a Man had as good Preach to a Stone-wall as to expect to perswade with Entreaties such Dregs of Humane-kind to do a good and generous Action. Two Sage Inchan∣ters certainly clash in this Adventure; and the one thwarts the other: One provided me a Bark, t'other overwhelm'd me in it. Heaven send us better Times! There is nothing but Plotting and Coun∣ter-plotting, Undermining and Counter-mining

in this World. Well, I can do no more. Then raising his Voice, and casting a fix'd Eye on the Millers, Well! my dear Friends, cry'd he, who∣ever you are that are immur'd in this Prison, Par∣don me, I beseech ye; for so my ill Fate and yours Ordains, that I cannot free you from Op∣pression: The Adventure is reserv'd for some o∣ther Knight. This said, he came to an Agree∣ment with the Fisher-men, and order'd Sancho to pay them fifty Reals for the Boat. Sancho pull'd out the Money with a very ill will, and parted with it with a worse, muttering between his Teeth, that two Voyages like that would sink their whole Stock.

The Fisher-men and the Millers could not for∣bear admiring at two such Figures of Humane Off-spring, that neither spoke nor acted like the rest of Mankind: for they could not so much as guess what Don Quixote meant by all his Extrava∣gant Speeches; so taking them for Mad-men, they left 'em, and went, the Millers to their Mills, and the Fishermen to their Hutts. Don Quixote and Sancho return'd to their Beasts like a couple of as Senseless Animals; and thus ended the Adven∣ture of the Inchanted Bark.

CHAP. XXX. What happen'd to Don Quixote with the Fair Huntress.

WITH wet Bodies and Melancholick Minds, the Knight and Squire went back to Ro∣zinante and Dapple; though Sancho was the more cast down and out of Sorts of the two; for it griev'd him to the very Soul to see the Money dwindle; being as Chary of that as of his Heart's-Blood, or the Apples of his Eyes. To be short, to Horse they went without speaking one Word to each other, and left the famous River: Don Quixote Bury'd in his Amorous Thoughts, and Sancho in those of his Preferment, which he thought far enough off yet. For, as much a Fool as he was, he plainly perceiv'd that all or most of his Master's Actions were idle and silly: There∣fore he but waited an opportunity to give him the Slip, and go home without coming to any farther Reckoning, or taking a formal Leave. But For∣tune provided for him much better than he ex∣pected.

It happen'd that the next Day about Sun-set as they were coming out of a Wood, Don Quixote cast his Eyes round a Verdant Meadow, and at the farther end of it descry'd a Company, whom upon a nearer view he judg'd to be Persons of Quality that were taking the Diversion of Hawking; ap∣proaching nearer yet, he observ'd among 'em a very fine Lady upon a white pacing Mare, in

green Trappings, and a Saddle of Cloath of Silver. The Lady her self was dress'd in Green, so Rich and so Gay, that nothing could be finer. She rode with a Goss-hawk on her left Fist, by which Don Quixote judg'd her to be of Quality, and Mis∣tress of the Train that attended; as indeed she was. Thereupon calling to his Squire, Son Sancho, cry'd he, Run and tell that Lady on the Palfrey with the Goss-hawk on her Fist, that I the Knight of the Lions humbly salute her Highness, and that if she pleases to give me leave, I should be proud to receive her Commands, and have the Honour of waiting on her, and kissing her fair Hands. But take special care, Sancho, how thou deliverest thy Message, and be sure don't Lard my Compliment with any of your old Sawe. Why this to me, quoth Sancho? Marry you need not talk of Lard∣ing, as if I had never went Ambassador before to a High and Mighty Dame. I don't know that ever thou did'st, reply'd Don Quixote, at least on my Account, unless it were when I sent thee to Dul∣cinea. It may be so, quoth Sancho: But a good Pay-master needs no Surety; and where there's Plenty, the Guests can't be empty. That is to say, I need none of your telling nor tutoring a∣bout that matter; for, as silly as I look, I know something of every thing. Well, well, I believe it said Don Quixote. Go then in a good Hour, and Heaven Inspire and Guide thee.

Sancho put on, forcing Dapple from his old Pace to a Gallop; and approaching the fair Huntress, he alighted, and falling on his Knees; Fair Lady quoth he, that Knight yonder, call'd the Knight of the Lions, is my Master, I am his Squire, Sancho Pança by Name. This same Knight of the Lions, who but t'other day was call'd the Knight of the Woeful Figure, has sent me to tell you, That so

please your Worship's Grace to give him leave with your good liking to do as he has a mind, which, as he says, and as I believe, is only to Serve your high-flown Beauty, and be your ternal Vassal, you may chance to do a thing that will be for your own good, and he will take it for a huge∣ous kindness at your Hands. Indeed, honest Squire, said the Lady, you have acquitted your self of your Charge with all the graceful Circum∣stances which such an Embassy requires: Rise, pray rise, for 'tis by no means fit the Squire to so great a Knight, as the Knight of the Woeful Fi∣gure, to whose Name and Merits we are no Strangers, should remain on his Knees. Rise then, and desire your Master by all means to honour us with his Company, that my Lord Duke and I may pay him our Respects at a House we have hard by.

Sancho got up, no less amaz'd at the Lady's Beauty, than at her Affability, but much more be∣cause she told him they were no Strangers to his Master the Knight of the Woeful Figure. Nor did he wonder why she did not call him by his Title of Knight of the Lions; considering, he had but lately assum'd it.

Pray (said the Dutchess, whose particular Title we don't yet know) is not this Master of yours the Person, whose History came out in Print, by the Name of the Renowned Don Quixote de la Man∣cha, the Mistress of whose Affections is a certain Lady call'd Dulcinea del Toboso? The very same, an't please your Worship, said Sancho, and that Squire of his that is, or should be in the Book, Sancho Pança by Name, is my own self, if I was not chang'd in my Cradle; I mean, chang'd in the Press. I am mighty glad to hear all this, said the Dutchess. Go then, Friend Pança, and tell your

Master, That I congratulate him upon his arrival in our Territories, to which he is welcome, and assure him from me, that this is the most agree∣able News I could possibly have heard.

Sancho, over-joy'd with this gracious Answer, return'd to his Master, to whom he repeated all that the great Lady had said to him; praising to the Skies, in his Clownish Phrase, her great Beauty, and Courteous Nature.

Don Quixote pleas'd with this good beginning, seated himself handsomely in the Saddle, fix'd his Toes in his Stirrups, set the Bever of his Helmet as he thought best became his Face, rous'd up Rozinante's Mettle, and with a graceful assurance mov'd forwards to kiss the Dutchess's Hand. As soon as Sancho went from her, she sent for the Duke her Husband, and gave him an account of Don Quixote's Embassy. Thereupon they both attended his coming with a pleasant Impatience; for, having read the first Part of his History, they were no less desirous to be acquainted with his Per∣son; and resolv'd, as long as he stay'd with them, to give him his own Way, and Humour him in all things, treating him still with all the Forms Essential to the Entertainment of a Knight-Er∣rant; which they were the better able to do, having been much conversant with Books of that kind.

And now Don Quixote drew nigh with his Vizor up; and Sancho seeing him offer to alight, made all the haste he could to be ready to hold his Stirrup: But, as Ill-luck would have it, as he was throwing his Leg over his Pack-Saddle to get off, he entangl'd his Leg so strangely in the Rope, that serv'd him instead of a Stirrup, that not be∣ing able to get his Foot out, he hung by the Heel with his Nose to the Ground. On the other Side.

Don Quixote, who was us'd to have his Stirrup held when he dismounted, thinking Sancho had hold of it already, lifted up his right Leg over the Saddle to alight; but as it happen'd to be ill-girt, down he brought it with himself to the Ground, confounded with Shame, and muttering between his Teeth many a hearty Curse against Sancho, who was all the while with his Foot in the Stocks. The Duke seeing 'em in that Con∣dition, order'd some of his People to help 'em; and they rais'd Don Quixote, who was in no very good Case with his Fall; however, limping as well as he could, he went to pay his Duty to the Lady, and would have fall'n on his Knees at her Horse's Feet: But the Duke alighting, would by no means permit it, and embracing Don Quixote; I am sorry, said he, Sir Knight of the Woeful Figure, that such a Mischance should happen to you at your first coming on my Ground; but the Negli∣gence of Squires is often the cause of worse Acci∣dents. Most generous Prince, said Don Quixote, I can think nothing bad that could befal me here, since I have had the happiness of seeing your Grace: For though I had fallen low as the very Center, the Glory of this Interview would raise me up again. My Squire indeed, a Vengeance seize him for't, is much more apt to give his Saucy Idle Tongue a Loose, than to gird a Saddle well; but Prostrate or Erect, on Horse-back or on Foot, in any Posture I shall always be at your Grace's Command, and no less at her Grace's, your worthy Consort's Service. Worthy did I say, yes, she is worthy to be call'd the Queen of Beau∣ty and Soveraign Lady of all Courtesy. Pardon me there, said the Duke, Noble Don Quixote de la Mancha; where the Peerless Dulcinea is re∣membr'd,

the Praise of all other Beauties ought to be forgot.

Sancho was now got clear of the Noose, and standing near the Dutchess, an't please your Wor∣ship's Highness, quoth he, before his Master could answer, it can't be deny'd, nay, I dare vouch it in any Ground in Spain, that my Lady Dulcinea del Toboso is woundy Handsome and fair: But where we least think, there starts the Hare. I've heard your great Scholards say, That she you call Dame Na∣ture, is like a Potter, and he that makes one hand∣some Pipkin may make two or three hundred. And so, d'ye see, you may understand by this, that my Lady Dutchess here does not a jot come short of my Lady Dulcinea del Toboso. Don Quixote upon this addressing himself to the Dutchess, Your Grace must know, said he, that no Knight-Errant ever had such an eternal Babbler, such a bundle of Conceit for a Squire, as I have; and if I have the honour to continue for some time in your Service, your Grace will find it true. I am glad, answer'd the Dutchess, that honest Sancho has his Conceits, its a shrew'd sign he is wise; for merry Conceits, you know, Sir, are not the Off-springs of a dull Brain, and therefore if Sancho be jovial and jocose, I'll warrant him also a Man of Sense. And a Prater, Madam, added Don Quixote. So much the better, said the Duke; for a Man that talks well, can never talk too much. But not to lose our time here, Come on, Sir Knight of the Woe∣ful Figure,—Knight of the Lions, your High∣ness should say, quoth Sancho: The Woeful Figure is out of date; and so pray let the Lions come in play. Well then, said the Duke, I entreat the Knight of the Lions to vouchsafe us his Presence at a Castle I have hard by, where he shall find such Entertainment as is justly due to so eminent

a Personage, such Honours as the Dutchess and my self are wont to pay to all Knight-Errants that travel this Way.

Sancho having by this got Rozinante ready, and girded the Saddle tight, Don Quixote mounted his Steed, and the Duke a stately Horse of his own; and the Dutchess riding between 'em both, they mov'd towards the Castle: She desir'd that Sancho might always attend near her, for she was ex∣tremely taken with his notable Sayings; Sancho was not hard to be entreated, but crowded in be∣tween 'em, and made a fourth in their Conversa∣tion. The Duke and the Dutchess were very well satisfied, esteeming themselves very fortunate in having an Opportunity to entertain at their Castle such a Knight-Errant and such an erring Squire.

CHAP. XXXI. Which Treats of many and great Matters.

SAncho was over-joy'd to find himself so much in the Dutchess's Favour, flattering himself that he shou'd fare no worse at her Castle than he had done at Don Diego's and Basil's Houses; for he was ever a Cordial Friend to a plentiful way of Living, and therefore never fail'd to take Opportunity by the Fore-top, where-ever he met her. Now the History tells us, that before they got to the Castle, the Duke rode away from them, to instruct his Servants how to behave themselves toward Don Quixote; so that no sooner did the Knight come near the Gates, but he was met by

two of the Duke's Lacquies or Grooms in long Vests like Night-Gowns of fine Crimson-Sattin. These suddenly took him in their Arms, and lift∣ing him from his Horse without any further Cere∣mony, go great and mighty Sir, said they, and help my Lady Dutchess down. Thereupon Don Quixote went and offer'd to do it; and many Com∣pliments, and much Ceremony pass'd on both sides; but in Conclusion, the Dutchess's earnest∣ness prevail'd; for she wou'd not alight from her Palfry but in the Arms of her Husband, excusing her self from incommoding so great a Knight with so insignificant a Burden. With that the Duke took her down. And now, being enter'd into a large Court-yard, there came two Beautiful Dam∣sels who threw a long Mantle of fine Scarlet over Don Quixote's Shoulders. In an instant all the Gal∣leries about the Court-yard were crouded with Men and Women, the Domesticks of the Duke, who cry'd out, Welcome, Welcome, the Flower and Cream of Knight-Errantry! Then most, if not all of 'em, sprinkl'd whole Bottles of sweet Water upon Don Quixote, the Duke and the Dutchess. This usage agreeably surpriz'd the Don, and this was indeed the first Day he knew aad firmly believ'd himself to be a Real Knight-Errant, and that his Knighthood was more than Fancy; finding himself Treated just as he had read the Brothers of the Order were entertain'd in former Ages.

Sancho was so transported, that he even forsook his beloved Dapple, to keep close to the Dutchess, and enter'd the Castle with the Company. But his Conscience flying in his Face for leaving that dear Companion of his alone, he went to a reverend old Duena who was one of the Dutchess's Retinue, and Whispering her in the Ear, Mrs. Gonsales, or

Mrs—Pray forsooth may I crave your Name? Donna Rodriguez, de Grijalva is my Name, said the old Waiting-woman, What is your Business with me, Friend? Pray now, Mistress, quoth Sancho, do so much as go out at the Castle-Gate, where you'll find a Dapple Ass of mine; see him put into the Stable, or else put him in your self; for, poor thing, 'tis main fearful and timersome, and can't abide to be alone in a strange Place. If the Master, said she pettishly, has no more Manners than the Man, we shall have a fine time on't. Get you gone, you saucy Jack, the Devil take thee and him that brought you hither, to affront me. Go seek somewhere else for Ladies to look to your Ass, you Lollpoop! I'd have you to know, that Gentlewomen like me are not us'd to such Drud∣geries. Don't take Pepper in your Nose at it, re∣ply'd Sancho, you need not be so frumpish, Mistress. As good as you have don't. I have heard my Master say (and he knows all the Histories in the World) that when Sir Lancelot came out of Bri∣tain, Damsels look'd after him, and Waiting-wo∣men after his Horse. Now by my Troth! whe∣ther you believe it or no, I wou'd not swop my Ass for Sir Lancelot's Horse, I'll tell you that. I think the Fool rides the Fellow, quoth the Wait∣ing-woman: Hark you, Friend, if you be a Buf∣foon, keep your stuff for those Chapmen that will bid you fairer. I wou'd not give a Fig for all the Jests in your Budget. Well enough yet, quoth Sancho, and a Fig for you too, an' you go to that: Adad! shou'd I take thee for a Fig. I might be sure of a ripe one, your Fig's rotten Ripe, for∣sooth; say no more; if sixty's the Game, you're a Peep out. You Rascally Son of a Whore, cry'd the Waiting-woman in a pelting Chafe, whether I am Old or no, Heaven best knows, I shan't

stand to give an Account to such a Raggamuffin as thou, thou Garlick-eating Stinkard. She spoke this so loud, that the Dutchess overheard her, and seeing the Woman so alter'd and as red as Fire, ask'd what was the matter? Why, Madam, said the Waiting-woman, here's a Fellow wou'd ha' me put his Ass in the Stable, telling me an idle Story of Ladies that look'd after one Lancelot, and Waiting-women after his Horse; and because I won't be his Ostler, the Rake-shame very civilly calls me Old. Old, said the Dutchess, that's an Affront no Woman can well bear. You are mistaken, honest Sancho, Rodriguez is very Young, and the long Vail she wears is more for Authority and Fashion-sake than upon account of her Years. May there be ne'er a good one in all those I've to live, quoth Sancho, if I meant her any Harm, only I've such a natural Love for my Ass, an't like your Worship, that I thought I cou'd not recommend the poor Titt to a more Charitable Body than this same Madam Rodriguez. Sancho, said Don Quixote, with a sower Look, do's this talk befit this place? D'you know where you are? Sir, quoth Sancho, every Man must tell his Wants, be he where he will. Here I bethought my self of Dapple, and here I spoke of him: Had I call'd him to mind in the Stable, I wou'd have spoken of him there.

Sancho has reason on his side, said the Duke; and no Body ought to chide him for it. But let him take no further care, Dapple shall have as much Provender as he will eat, and be us'd as well as Sancho himself.

These small Jars being over, which yielded Diversion to all the Company, except Don Quixote, he was led up a stately Stair-case, and then into a noble Hall, sumptuously hung with rich Gold-Brocade. There his Armour was taken off by six

Young Damsels, that serv'd him instead of Pages, all of 'em fully instructed by the Duke and Dutchess, how to behave themselves so towards Don Quixote, that he might look on his Entertainment as con∣formable to those which the Famous Knight-Er∣rants receiv'd of Old.

When he was unarm'd, he appear'd in his close Breeches, and Shamoy-doublet, raw-boned and meagre, tall and lank, with a pair of Lantern-Jaws that met i'the middle of his Mouth; in short, he made so very odd a Figure, that notwithstanding the strict Injunction the Duke had laid on the Young Females who waited on him, to stifle their Laughter, they were hardly able to contain. They desir'd he would give 'em leave to take off his Cloaths, and put him on a clean Shirt. But he would by no Means permit, giving 'em to under∣stand, That Modesty was as commendable a Vertue in a Knight as Valour; and therefore he desir'd them to leave the Shirt with Sancho, and then retiring to an adjacent Chamber where there was a rich Bed, he lock'd himself up with his Squire, pull'd off his Cloaths, shifted himself, and then while they were alone he began to take him to Task.

Now, said he, modern Buffoon and Jolter-head of old, what can'st thou say for thy self? Where learned you to abuse such a Venerable Ancient Gentlewoman▪ one so worthy of Respect as Donna Rodriguez? Was that a proper time to think of your Dapple? Or can you think Persons of Quality who nobly Entertain the Masters, forget to pro∣vide for their Beasts? For Heavens sake, Sancho, mend thy Behaviour, and don't betray thy home∣spun Breeding, lest thou be thought a scandal to thy Master Dost not thou know, saucy Rustick, that the World often makes an Estimate of the Master's Discretion by that of his Servants,

and that one of the most considerable advantages the Great have over their Inferiours, is to have Servants as good as themselves? Art thou not sensible, pitiful Fellow as thou art, the more un∣happy I, that if they find thee a gross Clown, or a Mad Buffoon, they will take me for some Hedge-Knight or palltry shifting Rook? Prithee, there∣fore, dear Sancho, shun these Inconveniencies; for he that aims too much at Jests and Drolling, is apt to trip and tumble, and is at last despis'd as an in∣sipid ridiculous Buffoon. Then curb thy Tongue, think well, and ponder thy Words before they get loose; and take notice, we are come to a place whence by the Assistance of Heaven, and the Force of this puissant Arm, we may depart better'd five to one in Fortune and Reputation. Sancho pro∣mis'd him to behave himself better for the future, and to sow up his Mouth or bite out his Tongue, rather than speak one Word which was not duly consider'd, and to the purpose; so that his Master need not fear any one shou'd find out what they were. Don Quixote then dress'd himself, put on his Belt and Sword, threw his Scarlet-Cloak over his Shoulders, and clapt on a Monteer-Cap of Green Velvet, which had been left him by the Damsels. Thus accoutr'd he enter'd the State-Room, where he found the Damsels rang'd in two rows, attending with Water, and all Necessaries to wash in State; and having done him that Office, with many humble Court'sies and solemn Cere∣monies, immediately twelve Pages with the Gentle∣man-Sewer at the Head of 'em, came to conduct him to Supper, letting him know that the Duke and Dutchess expected him. Accordinly, they led 'em in great Pomp, some walking before and some behind, into another Room, where a Table was magnificently set out for four People.

As soon as he approach'd, the Duke and the Dutchess came as far as the Door to receive him, and with them a grave Clergy-man, one of those that assume to govern Great Men's Houses, and who, not being nobly born themselves, don't know how to instruct those that are, but wou'd have the Liberality of the Great measur'd by the narrowness of their own Souls, making those whom they govern stingy, when they pretend to teach 'em Frugality. One of these in all likeli∣hood, was this grave Ecclesiastick who came with the Duke to receive Don Quixote.

After a thousand Courtly Compliments on all sides, Don Quixote at last approach'd the Table, between the Duke and the Dutchess, and here a∣rose a fresh Contest; for the Knight, being offer'd the Upper end of the Table, thought himself oblig'd to decline it. However, he cou'd not withstand the Duke's pressing Importunities, but was forc'd at last to comply. The Parson sat right against him, and the Duke and the Dutchess on each side.

Sancho stood by all the while, gaping with won∣der to see the Honour done his Master; and ob∣serving how many Ceremonies pass'd, and what Entreaties the Duke us'd to prevail with him to sit at the Upper end of the Table: With your Worship's good leave, quoth he, I'll tell you what happen'd once i'our Town, in reference to this stir and ado that you've had now about Places. The Words were scarce out of his Mouth, when Don Quixote began to tremble, as having reason to be∣lieve he was going to throw up some impertinent thing or other. Sancho had his Eyes upon him, and presently understanding his Motions, Sir, quoth he, don't fear; I won't be Unmannerly, I warrant you. I'll speak nothing, but what shall be

pat to the purpose: I han't so soon forgot the Lesson you gave me about talking Sense or Non∣sense, little and much. I don't know what thou mean'st, said Don Quixote; say what thou wilt, so thou say'st it but quickly. Well, quoth Sancho, what I am going to tell you is every tittle true. Shou'd I trip never so little in my Story, my Master is here to take me up, and give me the Lie. Prithee, said Don Quixote, lie as much as thou wilt, for all me. I won't be thy hindrance. But take heed what thou say'st. Nay, nay, quoth Sancho, let me alone for that: I have heeded it and re-heed∣ed it over and over, and that you shall see— I warrant you. Truly, my Lord, said Don Quixote, it were convenient, that your Grace shou'd order this Fellow to be turn'd out of the Room; for he will plague you with a thousand Impertinences. Oh! as for that you must excuse me, said the Dutchess; Sancho must not stir a step from me; I'll engage for him, he shall say nothing, but what's very proper. Many and many proper Years, quoth Sancho, may your Holiness live, Madam Dutchess, for your Good Opinion of me; tho' 'tis more your Goodness than my Deserts. Now then for my Tale.

Once upon a time a Gentleman in our Town, of a good Estate, and Family, for he was of the Blood of the Alamos of Medina del Campo, and mar∣ried one Donna Mencia de Quinones, who was the Daughter of Don Alonzo de Maramon, a Knight of the Order of St. Jago, the very same that was drown'd in the Herradura, about whom that Quarrel happen'd formerly in our Town, in which I heard say, that my Master Don Quixote was em∣broil'd, and little Tom, the Mad-Cap, who was the Son of Old Balvastro the Farrier, happen'd to be sorely hurt— Is not all this true now,

Master? Speak the Truth and shame the Devil, that their Worships Graces may know that I am neither a Prater nor a Lyar. Thus far, said the Clergy man, I think thou are the first rather than the latter; I can't tell what I shall make of thee by and by. Thou producest so many Witnesses, Sancho, said Don Quixote, and mention'st so many Circumstances, that I must needs own, I believe what thou say'st to be true. But go on, and shorten the Story; for as thou beginnest, I'm afraid thou'lt not have done these two Days. Pray don't let him shorten it, said the Dutchess: Let him go his own way, tho he were not to make an end these six Days: I'll hear him with Pleasure, and think the time as pleasantly employ'd as any I ever pass'd in my Life.—I say then, my Masters, quoth Sancho, that this same Gentleman I told you of at first, and I know him as well as I know my right Hand from my left, for 'tis not a Bow-shot from my House to his; this Gentleman invited a Husbandman to Dine with him, who was a Poor Man, but main Honest—On, Friend, said the Chaplain, at the rate you proceed, you won't have made an end before you come to t'other World. I shall stop short of half way, quoth Sancho, and it be Heaven's blessed Will: A little more of your Christian Patience, good Doctor! Now this same Husbandman, as I said before, coming to this same Gentleman's House, who had given him the In∣vitation, Heaven rest his Soul, Poor Heart! For he's now dead and gone, and more than that, they say he dy'd the Death of an Angel. For my part, I was not by him when he dy'd; for I was gone to Harvest-Work, at that very time, to a place call'd Trembleque. As you love your Life, Friend, said the Clergy-man, leave your Reaping, come back quickly from Trembleque, without staying to

bury the Gentleman, unless you've a Mind to make more Funerals; and pray make an end of your Story.—You must know then, quoth Sancho, that as they two were ready to sit down at Table— I mean the Husbandman and the Gentleman—Methinks I see them now be∣fore my Eyes plainer than ever I did in my born Days. The Duke and the Dutchess were infinitely pleas'd to find how Sancho spun out his Story, and how the Clergy-man fretted at his Prolixity, and Don Quixote spent himself with Anger and Vexation. Well, quoth Sancho, to go on with my Story, when they were going to sit down, the Husbandman wou'd not sit till the Gentleman had taken his place; but the Gentleman made him a sign to put himself at the Upper-end. By no means, Sir, quoth the Husbandman. Sit down said t'other. Good your Worship, quoth the Husbandman— Sit where I bid thee, said the Gentleman. Still the other excus'd himself, and would not, and the Gentleman told him, he should, as meaning to be Master in his own House. But the over-manner∣ly Lolpoop, fancying he should be huge well Bred and Civil in it, scrap'd and cring'd and refus'd; till at last the Gentleman, in a great Passion e'en took him by the Shoulders and forc'd him into the Chair. Sit there, Clod-pate, cry'd he, for let me sit where-ever I will, that still will be the Up∣per-end, and the place of Worship to thee. And now you have my Tale, and I think I ha' spoke nothing but what's to the purpose.

Don Quixote's Face was in a thousand Colours that speckl'd its natural Brown; so that the Duke and the Dutchess were obliged to Check their Mirth, when they perceiv'd Sancho's Roguery, that Don Quixote might not be put too much out of Countenance. And therefore to turn the Dis∣course,

that Sancho might not run into other Fool∣eries, the Dutchess ask'd Don Quixote, what News he had of the Lady Dulcinea, and how long it was since he had sent her any Giants or Robbers for a Present, not doubting but that he had lately sub∣du'd many such? Alass! Madam, answer'd he, my Misfortunes have had a beginning, but they will never have an end. I have vanquish'd Giants, Elves and Cuthroats, and sent them to the Mistress of my Soul, but where shall they find her? She is Inchanted, Madam, and Transform'd to the ugliest Piece of Rusticity that can be imagin'd. I don't know, Sir, quoth Sancho, when I saw her last, she seem'd to be the finest Creature in the Varsal World; thus far at least I can safely vouch for her upon my own Knowledge, that for Activity of Body, and leaping, the best Tumbler of 'em all does not go beyond her. Upon my honest Word, Madam Dutchess, she'll Vault from the Ground upon her Ass like a Cat. Have you seen her In∣chanted, said the Duke? Seen her, quoth Sancho! And who the Devil was the first that hit upon this Trick of her Inchantment, think you, but I? She is as much Inchanted as my Father.

The Church-man hearing 'em talk of Giants, Elves, and Inchantments, began to suspect this was Don Quixote de la Mancha, whose History the Duke so often us'd to Read, tho' he had several times reprehended him for it, telling him 'twas a Folly to Read such Follies. Being confirm'd in his Suspicion, he address'd himself very angrily to the Duke. My Lord, said he, your Grace will have a large account to give one Day for Pamper∣ing this Poor Man's Follies. I suppose this same Don Quixote, or Don Quite Sot, or whatever you are pleas'd to call him, cannot be quite so besotted as you endeavour to make him, by giving him such

Opportunities to run on in his Fantastical Humours. Then directing his Discourse to Don Quixote, Hark ye, said he, Good-man Addle-pate, who has put it into your Crown that you are a Knight-Errant, that you vanquish Giants and Robbers? Go, go, get you home again, look after your Children, if you have any, and what honest Business you have to do, and leave wandring about the World, build∣ing Castles in the Air, and making your self a Laughing-stock, to all that know you or know you not. Where have you found, in the Name of Mischief, that there ever has been or are now any such Things as Knight-Errants? Where will you meet with Giants in Spain, or Monsters in La Mancha? Where shall one find your inchanted Dulcinea's, and all those Legions of Whimsies and Chimera's that are talk'd of on your Account, but in your empty Scull?

Don Quixote gave this reverend Person the hearing, listening with great Patience to his severe Reproof. At last, seeing him Silent, without minding his Respect to the Duke and Dutchess, up he started with Indignation and Fury in his Looks, and said—But his Answer deserves a whole Chapter by it self.

CHAP. XXXII. Don Quixote's Answer to his Reprover, with other grave and merry Accidents.

DON Quixote being thus suddenly got up, shaking from head to Foot for Madness, as if he had Quick-silver in his Bones, cast an angry look on his indiscreet Censor, and with an eager delivery, sputtering and stammering with Choler, This Place, cry'd he, the Presence of these Noble Persons, and the Respect I have always had for your Function, check my just Resentment, and tie up my Hands from taking the Satisfaction of a Gentleman. For these Reasons, and since every one knows that you Gown-men, as well as Women, use no other Weapon but your Tongues, I'll fair∣ly engage you upon equal Terms, and Combat you at your own Weapon. I should rather have expected sober Admonitions from a Man of your Character, than infamous Reproaches. Charitable and wholesom Correction ought to be manag'd at another rate, and with more Moderation. The least that can be said of this Reproof which you've given me here so bitterly, and in Publick, is, that it has exceeded the bounds of Christian Correction, and a gentle one had been much more becoming, Is it fit that without any insight into the Offence which you reprove, you should without any more ado call the Offender Fool, Sot, and Addle-pate? Pray Sir, what Foolish Action have you seen me do, that should provoke you to give me such ill

Language, and bid me so Magistratically go home to look after my Wife and Children, before you knew whether I have any? Don't you think those deserve as severe a Censure who screw themselves into other Men's Houses, and pretend to Rule the Master? A fine World 'tis truly, when a poor Pedant, who has seen no more of it than lies with∣in twenty or thirty Leagues about him, shall take upon him to prescribe Laws to Knight-Errantry, and judge of those who profess it! You, forsooth, esteem it an idle Undertaking, and Time lost to wander through the World, though scorning its Pleasures, and sharing the hardships and toils of it, by which the Vertuous aspire to the high Seat of Immortality. If Persons of Honour, Knights, Lords, Gentlemen, or Men of any Birth, should take me for a Fool or a Coxcomb, I should think it an irreparable Affront. But for meer Scholars that never trod the Paths of Chivalry, to think me mad, I despise and laugh at it. I am a Knight, and a Knight will I die, if so it please Omnipo∣tence. Some chuse the high Road of haughty Ambition, others the low ways of base servile Flattery, a third sort take the crooked Path of de∣ceitful Hypocrisy, and a few, very few, that of true Religion. I for my own part, guided by my Stars, follow the narrow Track of Knight-Er∣rantry; and for the Exercise of it, I despise Riches, but not Honour. I have redress'd Grie∣vances, and righted the Injur'd, chastis'd the In∣solent, vanquish'd Giants, and trod Elves and Hobgoblins under my Feet! I am in Love, but no more than the Profession of Knight-Errantry obliges me to be; yet I am none of this Age's Vicious Lovers, but a chaste Platonick. My In∣tentions are all directed to Vertuous Ends, and to do no Man wrong, but good to all the World.

And now let your Graces judge, most excellent Duke and Dutchess, whether a Person who makes it his only Study to practise all this, deserves to be upbraided for a Fool.

Well said, I'faith! quoth Sancho; say no more for your self, my good Lord and Master; stop when you're well; for there's not the least mat∣ter to be added more on your side, either in Word Thought, or Deed. Besides, since Mr. Parson has had the Face to say point-blank, as one may say, That there neither are, nor ever were any Knight-Errants in the World, no mar'l he does not know what he says. What! said the Clergyman, I war∣rant you are that Sancho Pança, to whom they say your Master has promis'd an Island? Ay, marry am I, answer'd Sancho; and I am he that deserves it as well as another Body; and I am one of those of whom they say, keep with good Men and thou shalt be one of them; and of those of whom 'tis said agen, not with whom thou wert bred, but with whom thou hast fed; and lean against a good Tree, and it will shelter thee. I have lean'd and stuck close to my good Master, and kept him Company this many a Month; and now he and I are all one; and I must be as he is, an't be Heaven's blessed Will; live he, and I shall live. He shan't want King∣doms to Rule, nor shall I want Islands to Go∣vern.

That thou shalt not, honest Sancho, said the Duke; for I on the great Don Quixote's Account will now give thee the Government of an odd one of my own of no small Consequence. Down, down on thy Knees, Sancho, cry'd Don Quixote, and kiss his Grace's Feet for this Favour. Sancho did accordingly: But when the Clergyman saw it, he got up in a great beat. By the Habit which I wear, cry'd he, I can scarce forbear telling your

Grace, that you are as mad as these Sinful Wretches. Well may they be mad, when Wise Men Humour and Canonize their Frenzy; you may keep 'em here and stay with 'em your self, if your Grace pleases; but for my part I'll leave you and go home, to excuse my self from reprehending what I can't remedy. With that, leaving the rest of his Dinner behind him, away he flung; the Duke and the Dutchess not being able to pacify him: Though indeed the Duke could not say much to him, for laughing at his impertient Passion. When he had done Laughing, Sir Knight of the Lions, said he, you've answer'd so well for your self, and your Profession, that you need no farther Satisfaction of the Angry Clergy-man, especially if you con∣sider, that whatever he might say, it was not in his power to fix an Affront on a Person of your Character, since Women and Church-men cannot give an Affront. Very true, My Lord, said Don Quixote, and the Reason is, because he that cannot receive an Affront, consequently can give none. Women, Children and Church-men, as they can∣not Vindicate themselves when they are Injur'd, so neither are they capable of receiving an Affront. For there is this difference betwixt an Affront and an Injury, as your Grace very well knows; an Affront must come from a Person that is both able to give it, and maintain it when he has given it. An Injury may de done by any sort of People whatsoever. For Example, a Man walking in the Street about his Business is set upon by ten Arm'd Men, who Cudgel him; he draws his Sword to revenge the Injury, but the Assailants over power∣ing him he cannot have the Satisfaction he de∣sir'd. This Man is Injur'd but not Affronted. But to confirm it by another Instance, suppose a Man comes behind another's back, hits him a box o'the

Ear, and then runs away; the other follows him, but can't overtake him. He that has receiv'd the Blow has receiv'd an Injury, 'tis true, but not an Affront; because to make it an Affront, it should have been justifi'd. But if he that gave it, though he did it basely, stands his Ground, and faces his Adversary, then he that receiv'd it is both Injur'd. and Aff••onted: Injur'd, because he was struck in a Cowardly manner; Aff••onted, because he that struck him stood his Ground to maintan what he had done. Therefore according to the settled Laws of Duelling, I may be Injur'd, but am not Affronted; for Children and Women are in no Danger, they need not fly, nor are they oblig'd to stand; and 'tis the same thing with the Clergy, for they carry no Arms, either Offensive or Defen∣sive. Therefore though they are naturally bound by the Law of Self-preservation to defend them∣selves, yet are they not oblig'd to offend others. Upon second Thoughts then, though I said just now, I was Injur'd, I think now, I am not. For he that can receive no Affront can give none. Therefore I ought not to have any resentment for what that good Man said, neither indeed have I any. I only wish he would have staid a little longer, that I might have convinc'd him of his Errour, in believing there were never any Knight-Errants in the World. Had Amad•• or any one of his innumerable Race, but heard him say any thing like this, I can assure his Reverence, it would have gone hard with him. I'll be sworn it would, quoth Sancho, they would have undone him, as you would undo an Oister; and have cleft him from Head to Foot, as one would slice a Pome∣granate, or a ripe Muskmelon; take my Word for't. They were a parcel of tough Blades, and would not have swallow'd such a Pill. By the

Mackins I verily believe, had Rinaldo of Montalban but heard the poor Toad talk at this Rate, he would have laid him on such a poult over the Chaps with his Shoulder o' Mutton Fist, as would have secur'd him from prating these three Years. Ay, ay, if he had fallen into their Clutches, see how he would have got out again!

The Dutchess was ready to die with laughing at Sancho, whom she thought a more pleasent Fool, and a greater Mad-man than his Master; and she was not the only Person at that time of this Opinion. In short, Don Quixote being pacify'd, they made an end of Dinner; and then while some of the Ser∣vants were taking away, there came in four Damsels, one carrying a Silver-Bason, another an Ewer of th•• same Metal; a third two very fine Towels over her Arm, and the fourth, with her Sleeves tuck'd above her Elbows, held in her Lilly-white Hand (for doubtless white it was) a large Wash-ball of Naples-Soap. Presently she that held the Bason, went very civilly, and clap∣p'd it under Don Quixote's Chin, while he, won∣dring at this extraordinary Ceremony, yet fancying it was the Custom of the Country to wash the Face instead of the Hands, thrust out his long Chin, without speaking a Word; and then the Ewer began to Rain upon his Face, and the Damsel that brought the Wash-ball fell to Work, and be∣lather'd his Beard so effectually, that the Suds, like huge Flakes of Snow, flew all over the passive Knight's Face; insomuch, that he was forc'd to shut his Eyes.

The Duke and the Dutchess, who knew nothing of the matter, stood expecting where this ex∣traordinary Scouring would end. The Femal•• Barber, having thus laid the Knight's Face a soak∣ing a handful high in Suds, pretended she wanted

Water, and sent another with the Ewer for more•• telling her the Gentleman would stay for it. She went and left him in one of the most odd Ridi∣culous Figures that can be imagin'd. There he sat expos'd to all the Company, with half a yard of Neck stretch'd out, his bristly Beard and Chaps all in a white Foam, which did not at all mend his Walnut-Complexion, insomuch that 'tis not a little strange- how those that had so comical a Spectacle before 'em could forbear laughing out∣right. The Malicious Damsels, who had a Hand in the Plot, did not dare to look up, nor let their Eyes meet those of their Master or Mistress, who stood strangely divided between Anger and Mirth, not knowing what to do in the Case, whether they should punish the Girls for their Boldness, or reward 'em for the Diversion they took in seeing the Knight in that Posture.

At last the Maid came back with the Water, and the other having rins'd off the Soap, she that held the Linnen, gently wip'd and dry'd the Knight's Beard and Face; after which all four dropping a low Curtsy were going out of the Room. But the Duke, that Don Quixote might not smell the Jest, call'd to the Damsel that car∣ry'd the Bason, and order'd her to come and Wash him too, but be sure she had Water enough. The Wench being sharp and cunning, came and put the Bason under the Duke's Chin, as she had done to Don Quixote, but with a quicker Dispatch, and then having dry'd him clean, they all made their Honours, and went off. It was well they understood their Master's Meaning, in serving him as they did the Knight; for, as it was after∣wards known, had they not done it, the Duke was resolv'd to have made 'em pay dear for their Frolick.

Sancho took great Notice of all the Ceremonies at this Washing. S'Life! quoth he, I'd fain know whether 'tis not the Custom of this Country to scrub the Squire's Beard, as well as the Knight's. For o' my Conscience mine wants it not a little. Nay, if they would run it over with a Razor too, so much the better. What art thou talking to thy self, Sancho, said the Dutchess? Why, an't like your Gace's Worship, quoth Sancho, I'm only say∣ing, that I've been told how in other great Houses, when the Cloath is taken away, they use to give Folks Water to wash their Hands, and not Suds to scour their Beards. I see now 'tis good to Live and Learn. There's a Saying indeed, he that Lives long, suffers much. But I have a huge Fancy, that to suffer one of these same Scourings, is rather a Pleasure than a Pain. Well, Sancho, said the Dutchess, trouble thy self no farther, I'll see that one of my Maids shall Wash thee, and if there be occasion, lay thee a Bucking too. My Beard is all I want to have scrubb'd at present, quoth Sancho: As for the rest, we'll think on't another time. Here, Steward, said the Dutchess, see that Sancho has what he has a Mind to, and be sure do just as he would have you. The Steward told her Grace, that Signior Sancho shou'd want for nothing; and so he took Sancho along with him to Dinner.

Mean while Don Quixote stay'd with the Duke and Dutchess, talking of several Matters, but all relating to Arms and Knight-Errantry. The Dutchess then took an Opportunity to desire the Knight to give a particular Description of the Lady Dulcinea del Toboso's Beauty and Accomplish∣ments, not doubting but his good Memory wou'd enable him to do it well; adding withal, that ac∣cording to the Voice of Fame, she must needs be

the finest Creature in the whole World, and con∣sequently in all La Mancha.

With that, Don Quixote, fetching a deep Sigh, Madam, said he, cou'd I rip out my Heart, and expose it to you Grace's View in a Dish on this Table, I might save my Tongue the Labour of at∣tempting that which it cannot express, and you can scarce believe; for there your Grace wou'd see her Beauty depainted to the Life. But why should I undertake to delineate, and copy one by one each several Perfection of the Peerless Dulcinea! That Burden must be sustain'd by stronger Shoul∣ders than mine: That Task were worthy of the Pencils of Parrhasius, Timantes, and Apelles, or the Tools of Lysippus. The Hands of the best Painters and Statuaries shou'd indeed be employ'd to give in Speaking Paint, in Marble and Corinthian Brass, an exact Copy of her Beauties; while Ciceronian and Demosthenian Eloquence labour'd to reach the Praise of her other Endowments. Pray, Sir, ask'd the Dutchess, what do you mean by that Word De∣mosthenian? Demosthenian Eloquence, Madam, said Don Quixote, is as much as to say, the Eloquence of Demosthenes, and the Ciceronian that of Cicero, the two greatest Orators that ever were in the World. 'Tis true, said the Duke; and you but shew'd your Ignorance, my Dear, in asking such a Ques∣tion. Yet the Noble Don Quixote would highly oblige us if he would but be pleas'd to attempt her Picture now; for even in a rude Draught of her Lineaments, I question not but she will appear so Charming, as to deserve the Envy of the B••ightest of her Sex. Ah! my Lord, said Don Quixote, It should be so indeed if the Misfortune which not long since befel her, had not in a manner raz'd the Idea out of the Seat of my Memory; and as it is, I ought rather to be wail her Change, than describe

her Person: For your Grace must know, that as I lately went to Kiss her Hands, and obtain her Leave for my intended Absence in quest of new Adven∣tures, I found her quite another Creature than I expected. I found her Inchanted, Transform'd, from a Princess to a Country-Wench, from Beauty to Ugliness, from Courtliness to Rus∣ticity, from a reserv'd Lady to a Jumping Joan, from Sweetness it self to the Stench of a Pole-cat, from Light to Darkness, from an Angel to a Devil; and, in short, from Dulcinea del Toboso, to a Peasantess of Sayago. Bless us! cry'd the Duke, with a loud Voice, What Villain has done the World such an Injury? Who has robb'd it not on∣ly of the Beauty that was its Ornament, but of those charming Graces that were its Delight, and that Vertue which was its Living Honour? Who should it be, reply'd Don Quixote, but one of those Damn'd Inchanters, one of those numerous En∣vious Fiends, that without Cessation Persecute me. That wicked Brood of Hell, Spawn'd into the World to Eclipse the Glory of Good and Valiant Men, and Blemish their Exploits, while they Labour to Exalt and Magnifie the Actions of the Wicked. These Cursed Magicians have Persecut∣ed me, and Persecute me now, and will con∣tinue till they have sunk me and my lofty Deeds of Chivalry into the Profound Abyss of Oblivion. Yes, yes, they chuse to Wound me in that Part which they well know is most sensible: Well knowing, that to deprive a Knight-Errant of his Lady, is to rob him of those Eyes with which he sees, of th•• Sun that Enlightens him, and the Food that Sustains him. For, as I have often said, a Knight-Errant without a Lady, is like a Tree without Leaves, a Building without Mortar, or a Shadow without a Body that causes it.

I grant all this, said the Dutchess; yet if we may believe the History of your Life, which was lately Publish'd with Universal Applause, it seems to imply, to the best of my Remembrance, that you never saw the Lady Dulcinea, and that there is no such Lady in the World; but rather that she it a meer Notional Creature, engender'd and brought forth by the Strength and Heat of your Fancy, and there Endow'd with all the Charms and good Qualifications, which you are pleas'd to ascribe to her.

Much may be said upon this Point, said Don Quixote; Heaven knows whether there be a Dul∣cinea in the World or not, and whether she be a Notional Creature or not. These are Mysteries not to be so narrowly inquir'd into. Neither have I Engender'd, or Begot that Lady. I do indeed make her the Object of my Contemplations, and, as I ought, look on her as a Lady endow'd with all those Qualifications that may raise the Cha∣racter of a Person to Universal Fame. She is to me bautiful without Blemish, reserv'd without Pride, Amorous with Modesty, agreeable for her Cour∣teous Temper, and Courteous, as an Effect of her generous Education; and, in short, of an Illustri∣ous Parentage. For Beauty Displays its Lustre to a higher Degree of Perfection when match'd with Noble Blood, than it can in those that are meanly Descended.

The Observation is just, said the Duke; but give me leave, Sir, to propose to you a Doubt, which the Reading of that History has started in my Mind: 'Tis, that, allowing there be a Dulci∣••e•• at Toboso, or elsewhere, and as Beautiful as you describe her, yet I do not find she can any way equal in greatness of Birth the Oriana's, the Alastrajarea's, the Madasima's, and a thousand others

of whom we read in those Histories, with which you have been so Conversant. To this, said Don Quixote, I Answer, that Dulcinea is the Daughter of her own Actions, and that Virtue ennobles the Blood. A virtuous Man of mean Condition, is more to be Esteem'd than a Vicious Person of Quality. Besides, Dulcinea is possess'd of those o∣ther Endowments that may entitle her to Crowns and Scepters, since Beauty alone has rais'd many of her Sex to the Throne. Where Merit has no Limits, Hope may well have no Bounds; and to be Fair and Vertuous is so Extensive an Advan∣tage, that it gives, tho' not a Formal, at least a Virtual Claim to larger Fortunes. I must own, Sir, said the Dutchess, that in all your Discourse, you, as we say, proceed with the Plummet of Reason, and Fathom all the Depths of Contro∣versie. Therefore, I submit, and from this time I am resolv'd to believe and maintain, that there is a Dulcinea del Toboso Extant, and Living at this Day; that she is Beautiful and of good Extraction; and to summ up all in a Word, altogether de••er∣ving the Services of so great a Knight as the Noble Don Quixote; which I think is the highest Com∣mendation I can bestow on her. But yet I must confess, there is still one Scruple that makes me uneasie, and causes me to have an ill Opinion of Sancho. 'Tis that the History tells us, that when Sancho Pança carried your Letter to the Lady Dulcinea, he found her Winnowing a Sack of Corn, by the same Token that it was the worst sort of Wheat, which makes me much doubt her Quality.

Your Grace must know, answer'd Don Quixote, that almost every thing that relates to me, is manag'd quite contrary to what the Affairs of other Knight-Errants us'd to be. Whether it be the unfatho∣mable Will of Destiny, or the Implacable Malice

of some envious Inchanter orders it so, or no, I can't well tell. For 'tis beyond all doubt, that most of us Knight-Errants still have had some∣thing peculiar in our Fates. One has had the Privilege to be above the Power of Inchantments, another to be Invulnerable, as the Famous Orlando one of the twelve Peers of France, whose Flesh, they tell us, was impenetrable every where but in the Sole of his left Foot, and even there too he cou'd be Wounded with no other Weapon than the Point of a great Pin; so that when Bernardo del Carpio depriv'd him of Life at Roncesvalles, finding he cou'd not Wound him with his Sword, he lifted him from the Ground, and squeez'd him to Death in his Arms; remembring how Hercules kill'd An∣taeus, that cruel Giant, who was said to be the Son of the Earth. Hence I infer, that probably I may be secur'd in the same manner, under the Protection of some particular Advantage, tho' 'tis not that of being Invulnerable; for I have often found by Experience, that my Flesh is tender, and not impenetrable. Nor does any private Preroga∣tive free me from the Power of Inchantment; for I have found my self clapp'd into a Cage, where all the World cou'd not have Lock'd me up, but the force of Necromantick Incantations. But since I got free again, I believe that even the force of Magick will never be able to Confine me thus another time. So that these Magicians find∣ing they cannot work their wicked Ends directly on me, revenge themselves on what I most e∣steem, and endeavour to take away my Life by Persecuting that of Dulcinea, in whom, and for whom I Live. And therefore I believe, when my Squire deliver'd my Embassy to her, they Transform'd her into a Count••y-Dowdy, poorly busied in the low and base Employment of Win∣nowing

Wheat. But I do aver, that it was nei∣ther Rye, nor Wheat, but Oriental Pearl; and to prove this, I must acquaint your Graces, that pas∣sing t'other Day by Toboso, I could not so much as find Dulcinea's Palace; whereas my Squire went the next Day, and saw her in all her Native Charms, the most Beautiful Creature in the World; yet when I met her presently after, she appear'd to me in the Shape of an Ugly, Course, Country-Mawkin, Boorish, and Ill-bred, though she really is Discretion it self. And therefore, because I my self cannot be Inchanted, the unfortunate Lady must be thus Inchanted, Mis-us'd, Disfigur'd, chopp'd and chang'd. Thus my Enemies wreak∣ing their Malice on her, have Reveng'd them∣selves on me; which makes me abandon my self to Sorrow, till she be restor'd to her former Per∣fections.

I have been the more large in this Particular, that no body might insist on what Sancho said of her sifting of Corn: For if she appear'd Chang'd to me, what Wonder is it if she seem'd so to him. In short, Dulcinea is both Illustrious and well-born, being descended of the most ancient and best Families in Toboso, of whose Blood I am positive she has no small share in her Veins; and now that Town will be no less famous in after-Ages for being the Place of her Nativity, than Troy for Helen, or Spain for* 5.9 Cava, though on a more Honourable Account.

As for Sancho Pança's part, I assure your Grace he is one of the most pleasant Squires that ever

waited on a Knight-Errant. Sometimes he comes out with such sharp Simplicities, that one is plea∣santly puzzl'd to judge, whether he be more Knave or Fool. The Varlet, indeed, is full of Roguery enough to be thought a Knave; but then he has yet more Ignorance, and may better be thought a Fool. He doubts of every thing, yet believes e∣very thing; and when one would think he had entangl'd himself in a piece of downright Folly beyond recovery, he brings himself off of a sud∣den so cleverly, that he is applauded to the Skies. In short, I would not change him for the best Squire that wears a Head, tho' I might have a City to boot, and therefore I don't know whether I had best let him go to the Government which your Grace has been pleas'd to promise him. Though, I must confess, his Talent seems to lie pretty much that way: For, give never so little a whet to his Understanding, he will manage his Government as well as the King does his Customs. Then Experience convinces us, that neither Learn∣ing nor any other Abilities are very material to a Governour. Have we not a hundred of 'em that can scarce Read a Letter, and yet they Govern as sharp as so many Hawks. Their main Business is only to mean well, and to be resolv'd to do their best; for they can't want able Counsellors to In∣struct 'em. Thus those Governors who are Men of the Sword, and no Scholars, have their Assessors on the Bench to direct them. My Counsel to Sancho shall be, that he neither take Bribes, nor lose his Privileges, with some other little Instruc∣tions, which I have in my Head for him, and which at a proper time I will communicate, both to his private Advantage, and the publick Good of the Island he is to Govern.

So far had the Duke, the Dutchess, and Don Quixote been Discoursing together, when they heard a great Noise in the House; and by and by Sancho came running in unexpectedly into the Room where they sate, in a terrible Fright, with a Dish-clout before him instead of a Bib. The Scullions, and other greasie Rabble of the Kitchen were about him, one of 'em pursuing him with a little Kneading-Trough full of Dish-water, which he endeavour'd by any means to put under his Chin, while another stood ready to have wash'd the poor Squire with it. How now, Fellow, said the Dutchess! What's the matter here? What wou'd you do with this good Man? Don't you consider he's a Governor Elect? Madam, quoth the Barber-Scullion, the Gentleman won't let us wash him according to Custom, as my Lord Duke and his Master were. Yes marry but I will, quoth Sancho, in a mighty Huff, but then it shall be with clearer Sudds, cleaner Towels, and not quite so stovenly Paws; for there's no such difference be∣tween my Master and me neither, that he must be wash'd with Angel-Water, and I with the Devil's Lye: So far the Customs of great Men's Houses are good as they give no Offence. But this same Beastly washing in a Puddle, is worse Pennance than a Frier's Flogging. My Beard is clean e∣nough, and wants no such refreshing. Stand clear, you had best; for the first that comes to wash me or touch a Hair of my Head (my Beard I would say) Sir, Reverence of the Company, I'll take him such a Dowse o' th' Ear, he shall feel it a Twelvemonth after: For these kind of Ceremo∣nies and Soapings, d'ye see, look more like Flouts and Jeers, than like a civil Welcome to Strangers! The Dutchess was like to have burst her Sides with Laughing, to see Sancho's Fury, and hear how

he argu'd for himself. But Don Quixote did not very well like to see him with such a nasty Dish-Clout about his Neck, and made the sport of the Kitchen-Pensioners. Therefore after he had made a deep Bow to the Duke, as it were desiring Leave to speak, looking on the Scullions: Hark ye, Gentlemen, cry'd he, very gravely, Pray let the Young Man alone, and get you gone as you came, if you think fit. My Squire is as cleanly is another Man; your Trough won't do, you might as well have brought him a Dram-Cup. Away; be advis'd by me, and leave him: For neither he nor I can abide such slovenly Jestings. No, no, quoth Sancho, taking the Words out of his Master's Mouth, let 'em stay, and go on with their Show. I'll pay my Barbers, I'll warrant ye. They had as good take a Lion by the Beard as meddle with mine. Let 'em bring a Comb hither, or what they will, and Curry-comb it, and if they find any thing there that should not be there, I'll give 'em leave to cut and mince me as small as a Horse. Sancho is in the right, said the Dutchess, still Laughing, and will be in the right, in all he says; he is as clean and neat as can be, and needs none of your scouring; and if he does not like our way of Washing, let him do as he pleases. Besides, you who pretend to make others clean, have shewn your selves now very Careless and Idle. I don't know whether I mayn't say Impudent too, to of∣fer to bring your Kneading-Trough and your Dish-clouts to such a Person, and such a Beard, in∣stead of a Golden Bason and Ewer, and fine Diaper-Towels. But you are a Pack of unmannerly Var∣lets, and like saucy Rascals as you are, can't help shewing your Spight to the Squires of Knight-Errants.

The greasy Regiment, and even the Steward, who was with 'em, thought verily the Dutchess had been in earnest. So they took the Cloath from Sancho's Neck, and sneak'd off quite out of Countenance. Sancho seeing himself deliver'd from his Apprehensions of this Danger, ran and threw himself on his Knees before the Dutchess. Heaven bless your Worship's Grace, quoth he, Madam Dutchess. Great Persons are able to do great Kindnesses. For my part, I don't know how to make your Worship amends for this you've done me now. I can only wish I might see my my self an Arm'd Knight-Errant for your sake, that I might spend all the Days of my Life in the Service of so high a Lady. I am a poor Country-Man, my Name is Sancho Pança, Children I have, and serve as a Squire. If in any of these Matters, I can do you any good, you need but speak; I'll be nimbler in doing than your Worship shall be in ordering. 'Tis evident Sancho, said the Dutch∣ess, that you have learn'd Civility in the School of Courtesy it self, and have been bred up under the Wings of Don Quixote, who is the very Cream of Compliment, and the Flower of Ceremonies. All Happiness attend such a Knight and such a Squire; the one the North-Star of Chivalry-Errant, the o∣ther the bright Luminary of Squire-like Fidelity. Rise, my Friend Sancho, and assure your self, that for the Recompence of your Civilities. I will per∣swade my Lord Duke to put you in Possession of the Government he promis'd you, as soon as he can. After this, Don Quixote went to take his Afternoon's Sleep. But the Dutchess desir'd Sa••∣cho, if he were not very sleepy, he would pass the Afternoon with her and her Women in a cool Room. Sancho told her Grace, that indeed he did

use to take a good sound Nap, some four or five hours long in an Afternoon; but to do her good Honour a Kindness, he wou'd break an old Custom for once, and do his best to hold up that Day, and wait on her Worship. The Duke on his side, gave fresh Orders that Don Quixote shou'd be en∣tertain'd exactly like a Knight-Errant, without de∣viating the least step from the Road of Chivalry, such as is observable in Books of that kind.

CHAP. XXXIII. The savoury Conference which the Dutchess and her Women held with Sancho Pança, worth your Reading and Observation.

THE Story afterwards informs us, that Sanch•• slept not a Wink all that Afternoon, but waited on the Dutchess as he had promis'd. Being mightily taken with his comical Discourse, she or∣der'd him to take a low Chair and sit by her; but Sancho, who knew better things, absolutely declin'd it, till she press'd him again to sit as he was a Go∣vernour, and speak as he was a Squire, in both which Capacities he deserv'd the very Seat of Cid Ruy Diaz, the famous Champion. Sancho shrugg'd up his Shoulders and obey'd, and all the Dutchess's Women standing round about her to give her si∣lent Attention, she began the Conference.

Now that we are private, said she, and no Body to over-hear us, I would desire you, my Lord Go∣vernour, to resolve me of some Doubts in the printed History of the great Don Quixote which puzzle me very much. First, I find that the good Sancho had never seen Dulcinea, (the Lady Dulcinea del Toboso I should have said) nor carried her his Master's Letter, as having left the Table-Book be∣hind him in Sierra Morena; how then durst he feign an Answer, and pretend he found her winnowing Wheat? a Fiction and Banter so injurious to the Reputation of the peerless Dulcinea, and so great a

Blemish on the Character of a faithful Squire. Here Sancho got up without speaking a Word, laid his Finger on his Lips, and with his Body bent, crept cautiously round the Room, lifting up the Hang∣ings, and peeping in every Hole and Corner: At last, finding the Coast clear, he return'd to his Seat. Now, quoth he, Madam Dutchess, since I find there's no Body here but our-selves, you shall e'en hear, without Fear or Favour, the Truth of the Story, and what else you'll ask me; but not a Word of the Pudding. First and foremost I must ••ell you, I look on my Master Don Quixote to be no better than a down-right Mad-man, tho' sometimes he'll stumble on a Parcel of Sayings so quaint and so tightly put together that the Devil himself could not mend 'em; but in the main, I can't beat it out of my Noddle but that he's as mad as a March-Hare. Now, because I'm pretty confident of knowing his blind Side, whatever Crotchets come into my Crown, though without either Head or Tall, yet can I make 'em pass upon him for Gospel. Such was the Answer to his Letter, and another Sham that I put upon him but t'other Day, and is not in Print yet, touching my Lady Dulcinea's Inchantment; for you must know, between you and I, she's no more inchanted than the Man in the Moon. With that, at the Dutchess's Request, he related the whole Passage of the late pretended Inchantment very faithfully, to the great Diversion of the Hear∣ers. But Sir, said the Dutchess, I have another Scruple in this Affair no less unaccountable than the former; for I think I hear something whisper me in the Ear, and say▪ If Don Quixote de la Man∣ch•• be such a Shallow-brains, why does Sancho Pan∣ça, who knows him to be so, wait upon this Mad∣man, and rely thus upon his vain extravagant Pro∣mises? I can only infer from this, that the Man is

more a Fool than the Master; and if so, will not Madam Dutchess be thought as mad as either of 'em, to bestow the Government of an Island, or the Command of others, on one who can't govern himself? By'r Lady, quoth Sancho, your Scruple comes in Pudding-time. But it need not whisper in your Ear, it may e'en speak plain, and as loud as it will. I am a Fool that's certain, for if I'd been wise, I had left my Master many a fair Day since; but it was my Luck and my vile Errantry, and that's all can be said on't. I must follow him through Thick and Thin. We are both Towns-born Children; I have eaten his Bread, I love him well, and there's no Love lost between us. He pays me well, he has giv'n me three Colts, and I am so very true and trusty to him, that nothing but Death can part us. And if your High and Mighti∣ness does not think fit to let me have this same Go∣vernment, why even do so; with less was I born, and with less shall I die; it may be for the Good of my Conscience to go without it. I am a Fool 'tis true, but yet I understand the Meaning of the Saying, The Pismire had Wings to do her Hurt; and Sancho the Squire, may sooner get to Heaven than Sancho the Governour. There's as good Bread bak'd here as in France, and Joan's as good as my Lady in the Dark. Unhapppy's he that wants his Breakfast at two in the Afternoon. 'Tis always good Fasting after a good Breakfast. There's no Man has a Stomach a Yard bigger than another, but let it be never so big, there will be Hay and Straw enough to fill it. A Belly full's a Belly full. The Sparrow speeds as well as the Sparrow-Hawk. Good Serge is fine, but coarse Cloth is warm; and four Yards of the one are as long as four Yards of the other. When the Hour is come we must all be pack'd off; the Prince and the Prick-Louse go

the same Way at last; the Road is no fairer for the one than the other, and the Pope and the Sex∣ton may peer in the Pit; and so good Den and good Night, Friends must part, as the King said to his Hounds. And let me tell you again, if you don't think fit to give me an Island 'cause I'm a Fool, I'll be so wise as not to care whether you do or no. 'Tis an old Saying, The Devil lurks be∣hind the Cross. All is not Gold that glisters. From the Tail of the Plough Bamba was made King of Spain; and from his Silks and Riches was Rodrigo ••••st to be devour'd by the Snakes, if the old Bal∣lads say true, and sure they are too old to tell a Lie. That they are indeed, said Donna Rodriguez, the old Waiting-Woman, who listen'd among the rest; for I remember one of the Ballads tells us how Don Rodrigo was shut up alive in a Tomb full of Toads, Snakes, and Lizards; and how after two Days he was heard to cry out of the Tomb in a low and doleful Voice, now they eat me, now they gnaw me in the Part where I sinn'd most, And according to this the Gentleman is in the Right, in saying he had rather be a poor Labourer, than a King, to be gnaw'd to Death by Vermin.

Sancho's proverbial Aphorisms, and the simple Waiting-woman's Comment upon the Text, were no small Diversion to the Dutchess. You know, said she, he ••••st Sancho, that the Promise of a Gen∣tleman or Knight, must be as precious and sacred to him as his Life; I make no Question then, but that my Lord Duke (who is also a Knight, though not of your Master's Order) will infallibly keep his Word with you in Respect of your Govern∣ment. Take Courage then Sancho, for when you least dream on't, in spight of all the Envy and Ma∣lice of the World, you will suddenly see your self in full Possession of your Government, and seated

in your Chair of State in your rich Robes, with all your Marks and Ornaments of Power about you. But be sure to administer true Justice to your Vassals, who by their Loyalty and Discretion will merit no less at your Hands.

As for the governing Part, quoth Sancho, let me alone. I was ever charitable and good to the Poor, and scorn to take the Bread out of another Man's Mouth. On the other Side, by'r Lady, they shall play me no foul Play. I'm an old Cur at a Crust, and can sleep Dog-sleep when I list. I can look sharp as well as another, and let me alone to keep the Cobwebs out of my Eyes. I know where the Shooe wrings me; I'll know who and who's toge∣ther. Honesty's the best Policy. I'll stick to that. The Good shall have my Hand and Heart, but the Bad neither Foot nor Fellowship. And in my Mind, the main Point in this Point of Governing, is to make a good Beginning. I'll lay my Life, that as simple as Sancho sits here, in a Fortnight's Time he'll manage ye this same Island as tightly as a Sheaf of Barley. You say well Sancho, said the Dutchess, for Time ripens all things. No Man's born wise; Bishops are made of Men, and not of Stones. But to return once more to the Lady Dulcinea; I am more than half perswaded that Sancho's Design of putting the Trick upon his Master, was turn'd into a greater Cheat upon himself: For I am well assur'd that the Creature whom you fancy'd to be a Country-Wench, and took so much Pains to per∣swade your Master that she was Dulcinea del Toboso, was really the same Dulcinea del Toboso, and really inchanted, as Don Quixote thought; and the Ma∣gicians that persecute your Master first invented that Story, and put it into your Head. For you must know, that we have our Inchanters here that have a Kindness for us, and give us an Account of

what happens in the World faithfully and imparti∣ally, without any Tricks or Equivocations; and take my Word for't, the jumping Country-Wench was and is still Dulcinea del Toboso, who is as certain∣ly inchanted as the Mother that bore her; and when we least expect it, we shall see her again in her true Shape and in all her native Lustre, and then Sancho will find 'twas he himself was bubbl'd. Troth Madam, quoth Sancho, all this might well be: And now I am apt to believe what my Ma∣ster tells me of Montesino's Cave; where, as he says, he saw my Lady Dulcinea del Toboso in the self-same Garb, and as handsome as I told him I had seen her when it came into my Noddle to tell him she was inchanted. Ay, my Lady, it must be quite contrary to what I ween'd, as your Worship's Grace well observes; for, Lord bless us! who the Devil can imagine that such a Numskull as I should have it in him to devise so cunning a Trick of a Sudden? Besides, who can think that my Master's such a Goose, as to believe so unlikely a Matter up∣on the single Vouching of such a dunder-headed Fellow as I? But for all that, my good Lady, I hope you know better things than to think me a Knave; alack-a-day, it can't be expected that such an Ignoramus as I am shou'd be able to divine into the Tricks and Wiles of wicked Magicians. I in∣vented that Flam only because my Master wou'd never leave teizing me; but I had no Mind to a∣buse him, not I; and if it fell out otherwise than I meant, who can help it? Heaven knows my Heart. That's honestly said, answer'd the Dut∣chess; but pray tell me, Sancho, What was it you were speaking of Mont••sino's Cave? I've a great Mind to know that Story. Thereupon Sancho hav∣ing related the whole Matter to the Dutchess; Look you, said she, this exactly makes out what I said

to you just now; for since the great Don Quixot•• affirms he saw there the same Country-Wench that Sancho met coming from Toboso, 'tis past all Doubt 'twas Dulcinea; and this shews the Inchant∣ers are a subtil sort of People that will know every thing, and give a quick and sure Information. Well, quoth Sancho, if my Lady Dulcinea del Toboso be inchanted, 'tis the worse for her: What have I to do to quarrel with all my Master's Enemies? They can't be few for ought I see, and they are plag••y Fellows to deal withall. Thus much I dare say, She I saw was a Country-Wench; a Country-Wench I took her to be, and a Country-Wench I left her. Now if that same Dowdy was Dulcinea in good Earnest, how can I help it? I ought not to be call'd to an Account for't. No, let the Saddle be set upon the right Horse, or we shall ne'er ha' done. Sancho told me this, crys one; Sancho told me that, crys t'ther; Sancho o' this Side, Sancho o' that Side; Sancho did this, and Sancho did that▪ as if Sancho were I don't know who, and not the same Sancho that goes already far and near thro' the World in Books, as Sampson Carrasco tells me, and he's no less than a Batchelor of Arts at Salamanc•• Varsity, and such Folks as he can't tell a Lie, unless they be so dispos'd, or it stands 'em in good stead. So let no Body meddle or make, nor offer to pick a Quarrel with me about the Matter, since I'm a Man of Reputation; and, as my Master says, a good Name is better than Riches. Clap me but in∣to this same Government once, and you shall see Wonders. He that has been a good Servant, will make a good Master; a trusty Squire will make a rare Governour I'll warrant you. Sancho speaks like an Oracle, said the Dutchess; every thing he says is a Sentence like those of Cato, or at least the very Marrow of Michael V••rino, Florentibus occidit An∣nis;

that is, he dy'd in his Spring: In short, to speak after his Way, Under a bad Cloak look for a good Drinker.

Faith and Troth Madam Dutchess, quoth Sancho, I never drank out of Malice in my born Days; for Thirst perhaps I may; for I ha'n't a Bit of Hypo∣crisy in me. I drink when I have Occasion, and sometimes when I have no Occasion: I'm no proud Man d'ye see, and when the Liquor's offer'd me I whip it off, that they mayn't take me for a Churl or a Sneaksby, or think I don't understand my self nor good Manners; for when a Friend or a good Fellow drinks and puts the Glass to one, who can be so hard-hearted as to refuse to pledge him, when it costs nothing but to open one's Mouth? Howe∣ver I commonly look before I leap▪ and take no more than needs must. And truly there's no Fear we poor Squires to Knights-Errant should be great Trespassers that Way. Alack-a-day! meer Ele∣ment must be our daily Beveridge, Ditch-water, for want of better, in Woods and Desarts, on Rocks and Mountains, without lighting on that Blessing of one merciful Drop of Wine, tho' you'd give one of your Eyes for a single Gulp.

I believe it Sancho, said the Dutchess; but now it grows late, and therefore go and take some Rest; after that we'll have a longer Conversation, as you're pleas'd to word it. Sancho kiss'd the Dut∣chess's Hand once more, and begg'd her Worship's Grace that special Care might be taken of his Dap∣••le, for he was as chary of him as of the Apple of his Eye. What is that Dapple? ask'd the Dutchess. My Beast, an't like your Honour, answer'd Sancho; my Ass I would say, saving your Presence; but because I won't call him Ass, which is so common a Name among Men, I call him Dapple. 'Tis the very same Beast I wou'd have given Charge of to

this same Gentlewoman when I came first to this Castle; but her Back was up presently, and she flew out as if I had call'd her ugly Face, old Witch, and what not. However I'll be judg'd by any one, whether such-like sober grave Bodies as she and o∣ther Duenas are, be not fitter to look after Asses, than to sit with a prim Countenance to grace a fine State-Room? Passion o'my Heart! What a deadly Grudge a certain Gentleman of our Town, that shall be nameless, had to those Creatures! Some filthy Clown I dare engage, said Donna Rodriguez the Du••na; had he been a Gentleman, or a Person of good Breeding, he wou'd have prais'd 'em up to the Skies. Well, said the Dutchess, let's have no more of that; let Donna Rodriguez hold her Tongue, and Signior Sancho Pança go to his Re∣pose, and leave me to take Care of his Dapple's good Entertainment; for since I find him to be one of Sancho's Movables, I'll place him in my Esteem a∣bove the Apples of my Eyes. Place him in the Stable, my good Lady, reply'd Sancho, that's as much as he deserves; neither he nor I are worthy of being plac'd a Minute of an Hour where you said: Odsbobs! I'd sooner be stuck in the Guts with a Butcher's Knife than you shou'd be serv'd so; I am better bred than that comes to; for tho' my Lord and Master has taught me, that in Point of Haviour one ought rather to over-do than un∣der-do, yet when the Case lies about an Ass and the Ball of one's Eye, 'tis best to think twice, and go warily about the Matter. Well, said the Dut∣chess, your Ass may go with you to the Govern∣ment, and there you may feed him, and pamper him, and make as much of him as you please. Adad! my Lady, quoth Sancho, don't let your Worship think this will be such a strange Mat∣ter neither, I have seen more Asses than one go to

a Government before now; and if mine goes too, 'twill be no new thing e'trow.

Sancho's Words set again the Dutchess a laugh∣ing; and so sending him to take his Rest, she went to the Duke, and gave him an Account of the plea∣sant Discourse between her and the Squire. After this they resolv'd to have some notable Contrivance to make Sport with Don Quixote, and of such a ro∣mantick Cast as shou'd humour his Knight-Erran∣try. And so successful they were in their Ma∣nagement of that Interlude, that it may well be thought one of the best Adventures in this famous History.

The End of the Third Volume.

Notes

• * 1.1

  A sort of Fruit in Spain, which they boil with their Beef and Mutton, as we do Carrots, &c.
• * 1.2

  A Name the Spaniards desire to be distinguish'd from the Jews and Moors by.
• * 1.3

  A common thing in Spain for the Fryars, in an ex∣traordinary fit of Zeal, to preach in any part of the Street or Market-Place.
• * 1.4

  Boscan, one of the first Reformers of the Spanish Poetry.
• * 1.5

  The Custom of Spain is to pay their Servants Wages by the Month.
• * 2.1

  O dulces prendas, the Beginning of a Sonnet in the Diana of Montemayor.
• * 5.1

  Several Rarities of Spain.
• * 5.2

  Several Places of Devotion.
• * 5.3

  Regidor.
• * 5.4

  The last King of the Goths that reign'd in Spain, conquer'd by the Moors.
• * 5.5

  Four Reals and a Half.
• † 5.6

  Five Reals and a Quar∣ter.
• * 5.7

  Two Reals and twelve Maravedis.
• * 5.8

  About a Shilling.
• * 5.9

  The Nick-name of Count Julian's Daughter, who having been Ravish'd by King Rodrigo, occasion'd the bringing in of the Moors into Spain.