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

THE DELIGHTFVLL HISTORY OF THE WIT∣TY KNIGHT DON-QVIXOTE of the MANCHA. THE THIRD PART.

CHAP. I.

Wherein is rehearsed the vnfortunate aduenture hap∣ned to Don-Quixote, by encountring with cer∣taine Yanguesian Carriers.

THE wise Cid Hamete Venengeli re∣counteth that as soone as Don-Quix∣ote had taken leaue of the Goat∣heards his hostes the night before, and of all those that were present at the buriall of the Sheepheard Grisostome, he and his Squire did presently enter into the same wood, into which they had seene the beautifull Sheepheardesse Marcela enter before. And hauing trauelled in it about the space of two houres without finding of her, they arri∣ued in fine to a pleasant meadow, inriched with abun∣dance of flourishing grasse, neere vnto which runnes a de∣lightful and refreshing streame, which did inuite, yea con∣straine them thereby to passe ouer the heat of the day, which did then beginne to enter with great feruour and

vehemencie. Don-Quixote and Sancho alighted, and lea∣uing the Asse and Rozinante to the spaciousnesse of these plaines, to feede on the plenty of grasse that was there, they ransackt their Wallet, where without any ceremony the master and man did eate, with good accord and fel∣lowship, what they found therein. Sancho had neglected to tie Rozinante sure, that hee knew him to be so sober and little wanton, as all the Mares of the Stood of Cordo∣ua could not make him to think the least sinister thought. But fortune did ordaine, or rather the Diuell who sleepes not at all houres, that a troupe of Galician Mares belon∣ging to certaine Yanguesian Carriers, did feede vp and downe in the same valley: which Carriers are wont with their beasts to passe ouer the heats in places situated neere vnto grasse and water. And that wherein Don-Quixote hapned to be, was very fit for their purpose. It therefore befell that Rozinante tooke a certaine desire to sollace himselfe with the Ladie Mares, and therefore as soone as he had smelt them, abandoning his naturall pace and cu∣stome, without taking leaue of his Master, he began a litle swift trot, and went to communicate his necessities to them. But they, who as it seemed, had more desire to feed then to sollace them, entertained him with their heeles and teeth in such sort, as they broke all his gyrts, and left him in his naked haire, hauing ouerthrowne the Saddle. But that which surely grieued him most was, that the Carriers perceiuing the violence that was offered by him to their Mares, repaired presently to their succours, with clubs and trunchions, and did so belabour him, as they fairely laid him along. Now in this season Don-Quixote and Sancho (which beheld the bombasting of Rozinante) approached breathlesse, and Don-Quixote said to San∣cho; for as much as I can perceiue friend Sancho, these men are no Knights, but base rascally people of vile quality: I say it, because thou mayest helpe me to take due reuenge, for the outrage which they haue done be∣fore

our face to Rozinante. What a diuell, quoth Sancho, what reuenge should we take, if these be more then twen∣tie, and we but two, and peraduenture but one & a halfe. I am worth a hundred, replied Don-Quixote, and without making any longer discourse, hee set hand to his sword, and flew vpon the Yanguesians, and Sancho Panca moo∣ued by his Lords example did the like: when with the first blow Don-Quixote piercing a buffe coate that one of them wore, wounded him grieuously in the showlder. The Yanguesians seeing themselues so rudely handled by two men onely, they being so many, ran to the stakes and trunchions of their carriage, and hemming in their aduer∣saries in the midst of them, they laid on them with admi∣rable speede and vehemencie. True it is that at the second peale they strucke Sancho downe to the ground, and the like hapned to Don-Quixote, his dexterity and courage being nothing auailable in that traunce: and his fate so ordayning he fell iust at his coursers feete, who had not yet gotten vp: by which we may ponder the fury where∣withall trunchions batter, being placed in wrathfull and rusticall fists. The Carriers perceiuing the euill they had committed, trussing vp their loading with all possible speede, followed on their way, leauing both the aduentu∣rers in a bad fashion, and a worse talent. The first that came to himselfe was Sancho Panca, who seeing his Lord neere vnto him, said with a weake and pitifull voyce, Sir Don-Quixote! O Sir Don-Quixote! What wouldest thou haue brother Sancho, replied the Knight with the like ef∣feminate and dolefull tune? I would, quoth Sancho haue of your worship, a draught or two of the liquor of Feo∣blas, if you haue any of it at hand, perhaps it is good to cure broken bones, as well as it helpes wounds. What would we want vnhappy that I am, replied Don-Quixote, if I had it here, but I sweare vnto thee Sancho Panca, by the faith of a Knight errant, that before two daies passe (if fortune dispose not otherwise) I will haue it in my po∣wer,

or it shall hardly escape my hands. I pray you, quoth Sancho, within how many dayes thinke you, shall we be able to stir our feete? I can say of my selfe, quoth the crushed Knight, that I cannot set a certaine terme to the dayes of our recouery, but I am in the fault of all, for I should not haue drawne my sword against men that are not Knights, as well as I am, and therefore I beleeue that the God of battels hath permitted that this punishment should be giuen vnto mee, in paine of transgressing the lawes of Knighthood. Wherefore brother Sancho, it is requisite that thou beest aduertised of that which I shall say vnto thee now, for it importeth both our goods very much, and is, that when thou beholdest that the like ras∣cally Kenell doe vs any wrong, do not wait till I set hand to my sword against them; for I will not doe it in any sort. But draw thou thine, and chastise them at thy plea∣sure: and if any Knights shall come to their assistance and succour, I shal know then how to defend thee, and offend them with all my force; for thou hast by this perceiued by a thousand signes and experiences, how farre the valor of this mine inuincible arme extendeth it selfe (so arro∣gant remained the poore Knight, through the victory he had gotten of the hardy Biscaine.) But this aduice of his Lord seemed not so good to Sancho Panca, as that hee would omit to answer vnto him, saying, Sir, I am a peace∣able, quiet, and sober man, and can dissemble any iniurie, for I haue wife and children to maintaine and bring vp: wherefore let this likewise be an aduice to you (seeing it cannot be a commandement) that I will not set hand to my sword in any wise, be it against Clowne or Knight: and that from this time forward I do pardon before God all the wrongs that they haue done, or shall doe vnto me, whether they were, be, or shall be done by high or low person, rich or poore, Gentleman or Churle, without excepting any state or condition. Which being heard by his Lord, hee said; I could wish to haue breath enough,

that I might answere thee with a little more case, or that the griefe which I feele in this ribbe were asswaged e∣uer so little, that I might Panca make thee vnderstand the errour wherein thou art. Come here poore foole, if the gale of Fortune hitherto so contrarie, doe turne in our fauour swelling the sayles of our desire in such sort as we may securely and without any hinderance arriue at the Hauen of any of those Ilands, which I haue promised vn∣to thee what would become of thee, if I conquering it did make thee Lord thereof, seeing thou wouldest disable thy selfe in respect thou art not a Knight, nor desirest to be one, nor wouldst haue valour or will to reuenge thine iniuries, or to defend thy Lordships? For thou must vn∣derstand that in the Kingdomes and Prouinces newly conquered, the minds of the inhabitants are neuer so thoroughly appeased or wedded to the affection of their new Lord, that it is not to be feared, that they wil worke some noueltie to alter things againe, and turne as men say afresh to trie fortune. And it is therefore requisite that the new possessour haue vnderstanding to gouerne, and valour to offend and defend himself in any aduen∣ture whatsoeuer. In this last that hath befallen vs quoth Sancho, I would I had had that vnderstanding and valour of which you speake; but I vow vnto you by the faith of a poore man, that I am now fitter for plaisters then dis∣courses. I pray you trie whether you can arise, and wee will helpe Rozinante, although he deserues it not, for he was the principall cause of all these troubles; I would ne∣uer haue beleeued the like before of Rozinante, whom I euer held to bee as chaste and peaceable a person as my selfe. In fine, they say well, that one must haue a long time to come to the knowledge of bodies, and that thers nothing in this life secure. Who durst affirme that after those mightie blowes which you gaue to that vnfortunate Knight Errant, would succeede so in peste, and as it were in your pursuite this so furious a tempest of staues, that

hath discharged it selfe on our shoulders? Thine Sancho replied Don-Quixote are perhaps accustomed to beare the like showers, but mine nursed betweene Cottons and Hollands, it is most euident that they must feele the griefe of this disgrace. And were it not that I imagine, (but why doe I say I imagine?) I know certainely that all these incommodities are annext to the exercise of armes, I would here die for very wrath and displeasure. To this the Squire answered, Sir, seeing these disgraces are of the essence of Knighthood, I pray you whether they suc∣ceede very often, or whether they haue certaine times li∣mited wherein they befall. For mee thinkes that with∣in two aduentures more, we shall wholly remaine disina∣bled for the third, if the Gods in mercy doe not succour vs. Know friend Sancho, replied Don-Quixote, that the life of Knights errant is subiect to a thousand dangers and misfortunes; and it is also as well in the next degree and power to make them Kings and Emperours, as experi∣ence hath showne in sundry Knights, of whose Histories I haue intire notice. And I could recount vnto thee now, (did the paine I suffer permit me) of some of them which haue mounted to those high degrees which I haue said, onely by the valour of their arme. And the very same men found them both before and after in diuers miseries and calamities. For the valorous Amadis of Gaule saw himselfe in the power of his mortall enemy Arcalaus the inchanter, of whom the opinion runnes infallible, that he gaue vnto him being his prisoner, more then two hun∣dred stripes with his horse bridle, after he had tied him to a piller in his base-court. And there is moreouer a secret Authour of no little credite, who sayes that the Caualier del Febo, being taken in a ginne like vnto a snatch that slipt vnder his feet, in a certaine Castell, after the fall found himselfe in a deep dungeon vnder the earth bound hands and feete; and there they gaue vnto him a glister of snow water and sand, which brought him almost to the end of

his life, and were it not that hee was succoured in that great distresse, by a wise man his very great friend, it had gone ill with the poore Knight. So that I may very well passe among so many worthy persons: for the danger•• and disgraces they suffred were greater then those which we doe now indure. For Sancho I would haue thee to vnderstand, that these wounds which are giuen to one with those instruments that are in ones hand by chaunce, doe not disgrace a man; and it is written in the lawes of single combat in expresse termes, that if the Shoe-maker strike another with the Last which hee hath in his hand, although it be certainly of wood, yet cannot it be said, that he who was striken got the Bastanado. I say this to the end thou maist not thinke, although we remain brui∣sed in this last conflict, that therefore we be disgraced; for the armes which those men bore, and wherewithall they belaboured vs, were none other then their packe staues, & as farre as I can remember, neuer a one of them had a tucke, sword, or dagger. They gaue mee no leisure, answered Sancho, to looke to them so neerely, for scarce had I laide hand on my Trunchant, when they blist my shoulders with their Pines, in such sort as they wholly depriued me of my sight, and the force of my feete toge∣ther, striking mee downe on the place where I yet lie straught, and where the paine of the disgrace receiued by our Cudgelling, doeth not so much pinch me, as the griefe of the blowes, which shall remaine as deepely im∣printed in my memorie as they doe in my backe. For all this thou shalt vnderstand brother Panca, replied Don-Quixote, that there is no remembrance, which time will not end, nor griefe which death will not consume. What greater misfortune quoth Sancho can there be then that, which onely expecteth time and death to end and con∣sume it? If this our disgrace were of that kind, which might bee cured by a payre or two of playsters, it would not be so euill; but I begin to perceiue, that all the salues

of an Hospitall will not suffice to bring them to any good termes. Leaue off Sancho, and gather strength out of weakenesse, said Don-Quixote, for so will I likewise doe, and let vs see how doth Rozinante; for me thinks that the lest part of this mishap hath not falne to his lot: you ought not to maruell at that, quoth Sancho, seeing he is likewise a Knight errant; that whereat I wonder, is thatmine Asse remaines there without payment, where wee are come away without ribbes. Fortune leaues alwayes one doore open in disasters, quoth Don-Quixote, whereby to reme∣die them. I say it, because that little beast may supply Ro∣zinantes want, by carying of me from hence vnto some Castell, wherein I may be cured of my wounds. Nor do I hold this kinde of riding dishonourable; for I remember to haue read that the good old Stlenus tutor of the merry God of laughter, when hee entred into the Citie of the hundred gates, rode very fairely mounted on a goodly Asse. It is like, quoth Sancho, that he rode as you say vp∣pon an Asse; but there is great difference betwixt riding and being cast athwart vpon one like a Sacke of rubbish. To this Don-Quixote answered, the wounds that are re∣ceiued in battell, doe rather giue honour, then depriue men of it. Wherefore friend Panca doe not reply any more vnto me, but as I haue said, arise as well as thou canst, and lay me as thou pleasest vpon thy beast, and let vs depart from hence, before the night ouertake vs in these desarts. Yet I haue heard you say, quoth Panca, that it was an ordinary custome of Knights errant to sleepe in Downes and desarts, the most of the yeare, and that so to do they hold for very good hap. That is said Don-Quix∣ote, when they haue none other shift, or when they are in loue; and this is so true, as there hath beene a Knight that hath dwelt on a rocke exposed to the Sunne, and the sha∣dow, and other annoyances of heauen for the space of two years, without his Ladies knowledge, and Amadis was one of that kind, when calling himself Beltinebros, he

dwelt in the Poore Rocke, nor doe I know punctually eight yeares or eight monethes, for I doe not remember the History well; let it suffice that there hee dwelt doing of pennance, for some disgust which I know not, that his Ladie Oriana did him. But leauing that apart Sancho, dispatch and away before some other disgrace happen like that of Rozinante to the Asse. Euen there lurkes the Diuell, quoth Sancho, and so breathing thirty sobs and threescore sighes, and a hundred and twenty discontents and execrations against him that had brought him there, he a rose, remayning bended in the midst of the way, like vnto a Turkish bow, without being able to addresse him∣selfe: and notwithstanding all this difficulty, he harnessed his Asse (who had beene also somewhat distracted, by the ouermuch liberty of that day) and after he hoysted vp Ro∣zinante, who were he indued with a tongue to complain, would certainly haue borne his Lord and Sancho compa∣nie. In the end Sancho laid Don-Quixote on the Asse, and tied Rozinante vnto him, and leading the Asse by the hal∣ter, trauelled that way which he deemed might conduct him soonest towards the high way. And fortune which guided his affaires from good to better, after he had tra∣uelled a little league, discouered it vnto him, neere vnto which he saw an Inne, which in despite of him, and for Don-Quixotes pleasure must needes be a Castle. Sancho contended that it was an Inne, and his Lord that it was not, and their controuersie indured so long, as they had leisure before they could decide it, to arriue at the lodging; into which Sancho without farther verifying of the dispute, entred with all his loading.

CHAP. II.

Of that which hapned vnto the ingenuous Knight, within the Inne, which he supposed to be a Castle.

THe Inkeeper seeing Don-Quixote laid o∣uerthwart vpon the Asse, demaunded of Sancho, what disease he had? Sancho an∣swered that it was nothing but a fal down from a rock, and that his ribs were therby somewhat bruised. This Inkeeper had a wife, not of the condition that those of that trade are wont to be, for she was of a charitable nature, and would grieue at the cala∣mities of her neighbours, and did therefore presently oc∣curre to cure Don-Quixote, causing her daughter a very comely yong mayden to assist her to cure her guest. There likewise serued in the Inne an Asturian wench, who was broad-faced, flat-pated, saddle-nosed, blinde of one eye, and the other almost out; true it is that the comelinesse of her bodie supplied all the other defects. She was not se∣uen palmes long from her feete vnto her head, and her shoulders which did somwhat burden her, made her look oftner to the ground then she would willingly. This beautifull piece did assist the young mayden, and both of them made a very bad bedde for Don-Quixote in an olde wide chamber, which gaue manifest tokens of it selfe, that it had sometimes serued many yeares only to keepe chopt straw for horses; in which was also lodged a Carrier, whose bedde was made a little way off from Don-Quix∣otes, which though it was made of Canuasse, and coue∣rings of his Mules, was much better then the Knights, that onely contained foure boords roughly plained, placed on two vnequall tressels; A flockebed, which in the thinnesse seemed rather a Quilt; full of pellets, and had not they showen that they were wooll, through certaine breaches

made by antiquity on the Ticke, a man would by the hardnesse rather take them to be stones: a paire of sheets made of the skinnes of Sargets, and a couerlet whose threedes, if a man would number, he should not lose one onely of the account. In this vngratious bed did Don-Quixote lie, and presently the hostesse and her daughter annoint him all ouer, and Maritornes (for so the Asturi∣an wench was called) did holde the candle. The Hostesse at the playstring of him, perceiuing him to be so bruised in sundry places, she said vnto him that those signes ra∣ther seemed to proceed of blowes then of a fall. They were not blowes, replied Sancho, but the rocke had ma∣ny sharpe ends and knobs on it, whereof euery one left behinde it a token; and I desire you good Masters, quoth he, to leaue some flaxe behinde, and there shall not want one that needeth the vse of them; for I assure you my backe doth likewise ake. If that be so, quoth the Hostesse, it is likely that thou didst also fall: I did not fall, quoth Sancho Panca, but with the suddaine affright that I tooke at my Masters fall, my body doth so grieue me, as mee thinkes, I haue beene handsomely belaboured. It may wel happen as thou saiest, quoth the Hostlers daugh∣ter: for it hath befalne me sundry times to dreame, that I fell downe from some high tower, and could neuer come to the ground: and when I awaked, I did finde my selfe so troubled, and broken as if I had verily falne. There is the point Masters, quoth Sancho Panca, that I without drea∣ming at all, but being more awake then I am at this houre, found my selfe to haue very few lesse tokens and markes then my Lord Don-Quixote hath. How is this Gentleman called, quoth Maritornes the Asturian? Don-Quixote of the Mancha, replied Sancho Panca, and he is a Knight errant, and one of the best and strongest that haue beene seene in the world these many ages. What is that, a Knight errant quoth the wench? Art thou so yong in the world, that thou knowest it not, answered Sancho

Panca? Know then sister mine, that a Knight errant is a thing, which in two words you see wel cudgelled, and af∣ter becomes an Emperour. Today he is the most vnfor∣tunate creature of the world, and the most needy; and to morrow he wil haue two or three crowns of Kingdomes to bestow vpon his Squire. If it be so, quoth the Hostesse, why then hast not thou gotten at least an Earledome, seeing thou art this good Knight his Squire? It is yet too soone, replied Sancho, for it is but a moneth sithence wee began first to seeke aduentures; and we haue not yet en∣countred any worthy of the name. And sometimes it be∣fals that searching for one thing we encounter another. True it is that if my Lord Don-Quixote recouer of this wound or fall, and that I be not changed by it, I would not make an exchange of my hopes for the best title of Spaine. Don-Quixote did very attentiuely listen vnto all these discourses, and sitting vp in his bedde as well as hee could, taking his Hostesse by the hand, hee said vnto her:

Beleeue me beautifull Lady, that you may count your selfe fortunate; for hauing harboured my person in this your Castle, which is such, that if I doe not praise it, it is because men say, that proper praise stinkes, but my Squire will informe you what I am: onely this I will say my selfe, that I will keepe eternally written in my memory the seruice that you haue done vnto me, to be gratefull vnto you for it whilst I liue. And I would it might please the highest heauens that loue held mee not so inthralled and subiect to his lawes as he doth, and to the eyes of that ingratefull faire, whose name I secretly mutter, then should those of this beautifull damzell presently signiorize my liberty.

The Hostesse, her daughter, and the good Maritornes remained con∣founded, hearing the speech of our Knight errant, which they vnderstood as well as if hee had spoken Greeke vnto them, but yet they conceiued that they were wordes of complements and loue, and as people vnused to heare the

like language, they beheld and admired him, and hee see∣med vnto them a man of the other world, and so retur∣ning him thankes, with Tauernly phrase for his large of∣fers, they departed. And the Asturian Maritornes cured Sancho, who needed her helpe no lesse then his Master.

The Carrier and she had agreed to passe the night to∣gether, and she had giuen vnto him her word, that when the guests were quiet and her Master sleeping, she would come vnto him, and satisfie his desire, as much as he plea∣sed. And it is said of this good wench, that she neuer pas∣sed the like promise, but that she performed it, although it were giuen in the midst of a wood, and without any witnesse; for shee presumed to be of gentle bloud, and yet shee held it to be no disgrace to serue in an Inne, for shee was wont to affirme that disgraces and misfortunes brought her to that state. The hard, narrow, niggard, and counterfait bedde, whereon Don-Quixote lay, was the first of the foure, and next vnto it was his Squires, that only contained a matte and a couerlet, and rather seemed to be of shorne Canuasse, then wooll. After these two beddes followed that of the Carrier, made as wee haue said, of the pannels and furniture of two of his best Mules, although they were twelue all in number, faire, fat, and goodly beasts, for he was one of the richest Car∣riers of Areualo, as the Author of this history affirmeth, who maketh particular mention of him, because he knew him very well, and besides some men say that hee was somewhat a kinne vnto him. Omitting that Cid Ma∣hamat Benengeli was a very exact Historiographer, and most curious in all things, as may be gathered very well, seeing that those which are related being so minute and triuiall; he would not ouer slip them in silence.

By which those graue Historiographers may take ex∣ample, which recount vnto vs matters so short and suc∣cinctly, as they doe scarse arriue to our knowledge, lea∣uing the most substantiall part of the works drowned in

the inkehorne, either through negligence, malice, or ig∣norance. Many good fortunes beside the Authour of Tablante de Ricamonte, and him that wrote the booke wherein are rehearsed the acts of the Counte Tomillas, Lord with what precisenesse doe they describe euery cir∣cumstance? to conclude, I say, that after the Carrier had visited his Mules, and giuen vnto them their second ra∣tion, he stretched himselfe in his couerlets, and expected the comming of the most exquisite Maritornes. Sancho was also by this plaistered and laid downe in his bedde, and though he desired to sleepe, yet would not the griefe of his ribbes permit him. And Don-Quixote with the paine of his sides, lay with both his eyes open like a hare. All the Inne was drowned in silence, and there was no other light in it, then that of a lampe, which hung ligh∣ting in the midst of the entry. This maruailous quiet∣nesse, and the thoughts which alwaies represented to our Knight the memory of the successes, which at euery pace are recounted in bookes of Knighthood (the principall Authours of his mishap) called to his imagination one of the strangest follies that easily may be coniectured, which was, he imagined that he arriued to a famous Castle (for as we haue said, all the Innes wherein he lodged seemed vnto him to be such) and that the Inne-keepers daughter was the Lord of the Castels, who ouercome by his comli∣nesse and valour, was enamoured of him, and had promi∣sed, that shee would come to solace with him for a good space, after her Father and Mother had gone to bedde. And howling all this quimera and fiction, which he him∣selfe had built in his braine for most firme and certaine, he beganne to be vexed in minde, and to thinke on the dangerous trance, wherein his honesty was like to fall, and did firmely purpose in heart not to commit any dis∣loyaltie against his Lady Dulcinea of Toboso, although very Queene Geneuer with her Lady Queintanonia, should come to sollicite him. Whilest thus hee lay thinking of

these follies, the houre approched (that was vnlucky for him) wherein the Asturian wench should come, who entred into the chamber in search of her Carrier, in her smocke, barefooted, and her haire trust vp in a coife of fustian, with soft and wary steps. But shee was scarse come to the dore, when Don-Quixote felt her, and ari∣sing and sitting vp in his bedde in despite of his a plasters, and with great griefe of his ribbes, he stretched forth his armes to receiue his beautifull Damzell, the Asturian, who crouching, and silently went groping with her hands, to finde out her sweet heart, and incountred with Don-Quixotes armes, who presently seazed very strong∣ly vpon one of her wrests, and drawing her towards him (shee daring not to speake a word) be caused her to sit vpon his beddes side, and presently groped her smocke, and although it was of b the strongest Canuasse, hee thought it was most subtile and fine holland. Shee wore on her wrests certaine bracelets of glasse, which he estee∣med to be precious, Orientall pearles. Her haire which was almost as rough as a horse taile, he held to be wires of the glistringest gold of Arabia, whose brightnesse did obscure that of the Sunne. And her breath which certainly smelled like to stale salt fish, reserued from ouer night, seemed vnto him a most redolent, aromaticall and sweet smell, and finally he painted her in his phantasie of the same very forme and manner; as hee had read in his bookes of Knighthood, of a certaine Princesse which came to visit a Knight who was grieuously wounded, be∣ing ouercome by his loue, embellished with all the orna∣ments that here we haue recounted: and the blindnesse of this poore Gallant was such, as neither the touching, sauour, or other things that accompanied the good Dam∣zell, could vndeceiue him, being such as were able to make any other, saue a Carrier, vomit vp his bowels, but rather he made full account, that he held the God∣desse of loue betweene his armes, and holding her still

very fast, hee beganne to court her with a low and amo∣rous voice in this manner.

I could wish to finde my selfe in termes most high and beautifull Lady, to be a∣ble to recompence so great a fauour, as that which with the presence of your matchlesse feature you haue shewen vnto me: but fortune (who is neuer weary of persecuting the good) hath pleased to lay mee in this bedde, therein I lie so broken and brused, that although I were desirous to satisfie your will, yet is it impossible; specially seeing to thy impossibility may bee added a greater, to wit the promised faith which I haue giuen to the vnmatchable Dulcinea of Toboso, the only Lady of my most hidden thoughts, for did not this let mee, doe not hold me to be so senselesse and madde a Knight as to ouerslip so fortunate an occasion as this, which your bounty hath offered to me.

Maritornes remained sweating through anxiety to see her selfe held so fast by Don-Quixote, and without ei∣ther vnderstanding, or giuing attention to his wordes, shee laboured all that shee could to free her selfe from him without speaking a word. The Carrier whose badde intention kept him still waking, did feare his Lady from the time that shee first entred into the roome, and did at∣tentiuely giue eare to all Don-Quixotes discourses, and iealous that the Asturian should breake promise with him for any other, he drew nearer vnto Don-Quixotes bedde, and stoode quiet to see whereunto those wordes which hee could not vnderstand tended. But viewing that the wench striued to depart, and Don-Quixote laboured to with-hold her, the iest seeming euill vnto him, he vp with his arme, and discharged so terrible a blow on the ina∣moured Knights jawes, as hee bathed all his mouth in bloud, and not content here withall, he mounted vpon the Knight, and did treade on his ribbes, and passed them all ouer with more then a trotte. The bedde which was somewhat vveake, and not very firme of foundation,

being vnable to suffer the addition of the Carrier, fell downe to the ground, vvith so great a noise, as it vvaked the Innekeeper; vvho presently suspecting, that it vvas one of Maritornes conflicts, because shee answered him not, hauing called her lowdly, hee forthwith arose and lighting of a lampe he vvent towards the place vvhere he heard the noise. The vvench perceiuing that her Master came, and that he vvas extreme chollericke, did all asha∣med and troubled runne into Sancho Panca's bedde, who slept all this vvhile very soundly, and there crouched, and made her selfe as little as an egge. Her Master entered crying, vvhoore vvhere art thou? I dare vvarrant that these are some of thy doings. By this Sancho avvaked, and feeling that bulke lying almost vvholly vpon him, he thought it vvas the night Mare, and beganne to lay vvith his fists here & there about him very swiftly, and among o∣thers wraught Maritornes I know not how many blows; vvho grieued for the paine shee indured there casting all honesty aside, gaue Sancho the exchange of his blowes so trimly, as shee made him to awake in despite of his slug∣gishnesse. And finding himselfe to be so abused of an vn∣couth person, vvhom he could not behold, he arose and caught hold of Maritornes as vvell as he could, and they both beganne the best fight and pleasantest skirmish of the vvorld.

The Carrier perceiuing by the light vvhich the Inne∣keeper brought in vvith him, the lamentable state of his Mistris, abandoning Don-Quixote, he instantly repaired to giue her the succor that vvas requisite, vvhich likewise the Innekeeper did, but vvith an other meaning, for hee approched vvith intention to punish the vvench, belee∣uing that shee vvas infallibly the cause of all that harmo∣ny. And so as men say, the Cat to the Rat, the Rat to the Cord, the Cord to the Post; so the Carrier strucke San∣cho, Sancho the vvench, shee returned him againe his li∣berality vvith interest, and the Innekeeper laide lode vp∣pon

his maide also. And all of them did mince it with such expedition, as there was no leasure at all allowed to any one of them for breathing. And the best of all was, that the Innekeepers lampe went out, and then finding themselues in darkenesse, they belaboured one another so without compassion, and at once, as wheresoeuer the blow fell, it brused the place pittifully.

There lodged by chance that night in the Inne one of the Squadron of these, which are called of the old holy brotherhood of Toledo, he likewise hearing the wonder∣full noise of the fight, he laid hand on his rodde of office, and the tinne boxe of his titles, and entred into the cham∣ber without light, saying, stand still to the officer of Iu∣stice, and to the holy brotherhood. And saying to the first whom hee met, was the poore battered Don-Quixote, who lay ouerthrowne in his bedde, stretched, with his face vpward without any feeling, and taking hold of his beard, he cryed out incessantly, helpe the Iustice. But see∣ing that hee whom hee held fast bowed neither hand or foote, hee presently thought that hee was dead, and that those battaillants that fought so eagerly in the roome had slaine him; wherefore hee listed his voice and cryed out lowdly, saying, shut the Inne dore, and see that none escape, for here they haue kild a man. This word asto∣nished all the combattants so much, as euery one left the battaile in the very termes, wherein this voice had o∣uertaken them. The Innekeeper retyred himselfe to his chamber, the Carrier to his couerlets, the wench to her couch, and only the vnfortunate Don-Quixote and San∣cho, were not able to moue themselues from the place wherein they lay. The officer of the holy brotherhood in this space, letting slip poore Don-Quixotes beard, went out for light, to search and apprehend the delinquents, but he could not finde any, for the Innekeeper had pur∣posely quenched the lampe, as hee retyred to his bedde wherefore the officer was constrained to repaire to the

chimney, where with great difficulty, after he had spent a long while doing of it, he at last lighted a candle.

CHAP. III.

Wherein are rehearsed the innumerable misfortunes which Don-Quixote and his good Squire Sancho suffered in the Inne, which he to his harme thought to be a Castle.

BY this time Don-Quixote was come to himselfe againe out of his trance, and with the like lamentable note, as that wherewithall he had called his Squire the day before, when he was ouerthrowne in the value of the Packe-slaues, he called to him, saying, friend Sancho art thou a sleepe? sleepest thou friend Sancho? what I a sleepe? I renounce my selfe quoth Sancho, full of griefe and despite, if I thinke not all the Diuels in hell haue beene visiting of mee here this night. Thou maiest certainly beleeue it replyed Don-Quixote, for either I know very little, or else this Castle is inchanted. For I let thee to wit, but thou must first sweare to keepe secret that which I meane to tell thee now vntill after my death. So I sweare, quoth Sancho. I say it, quoth Don-Quixote, because I cannot abide to take away any bodies honour. Why, quoth Sancho a∣gaine, I sweare that I will conceale it vntill after your Worships daies, and I pray God that I may discouer it to morrow. Haue I wrought thee such harme, Sancho re∣plied the Knight, as thou wouldest desire to see me end so soone? it is not for that Sir quoth Sancho, but because I cannot abide to keepe things long, lest they should rotte in my custody; let it be for what thou pleasest said Don-Quixote,

for I doe trust greater matters then that to thy loue and curtesie. And that I may rehearse it vnto thee briefly, know that a little while since the Lord of this Castels Daughter came vnto me, who is the most faire and beautifull Damzell, that can bee found in a great part of the earth, what could I say vnto thee of the or∣naments of her person? what of her excellent wit? what of other secret things, which, that I may pre∣serue the faith due vnto my Lady Dulcinea of Toboso, I passe ouer in silence? I will only tell thee, that heauen enuious of the inestimable good that fortune had put in my hands. Or perhaps (and that is most probable) this Castell, as I haue said, is inchanted, iust at the time when wee were in most sweet and amourous speech, I being not able to see or know from whence it came, there arriued a hand ioyned to the arme of some migh∣ty Giant, and gaue mee such a blow on the jawes, as they remaine all bathed in bloud, and did after so thumpe and brusemee, as I feele my selfe worse now, then yesterday when the Carriers through Rozinantes madnesse, did vse vs as thou knowest. By which I con∣iecture that the treasure of this Damzels beauty, is kept by some inchanted Moore, and is not reserued for me.

Nor for me quoth Sancho, for I haue beene bumbasted by more then foure hundred Moores, which haue ham∣mered me in such sort, as the brusing of the Packe-slaues, was gilded bread and spice cakes in comparison of it: but Sir I pray you tell me, how can you call this a good and rare aduenture, seeing we remaine so pittifully vsed after it? and yet your harmes may be accounted lesse, in respect you haue held, as you said, that incomparable beauty be∣tweene your armes: but I, what haue I had other then the greatest blowes that I shall euer haue in my life. Vn∣fortunate that I am, and the Mother which bare me, that neither am an errant Knight, nor euer meanes to be any, & yet the greatest part of our mishaps stil fals to my lot. It

seemes that thou wast likewise beaten, replyed Don-Quixote, euill befall my linage quoth Sancho, haue not I told you I was? be not grieued friend replied the Knight, for I will now compound the precious Balsamum, which will cure vs in the twinkling of an eye.

The officer hauing by this time alighted his lampe, entred into the roome to see him, whom he accounted to be dead, and as soone as Sancho saw him, seeing him to come in, in his shirt, his head lapt vp in a kerchiffe, the lampe in his hand, hauing withall a very euill fauoured countenance, hee demaunded of his Lord. Sir is this by chance the inchanted Moore, that turnes a new to torment vs, for somwhat that is yet vnpunished? He cannot be the Moore answered Don-Quixote, for Nigromancers suffer not themselues to bee seene by any. If they suffer not themselues to bee seene quoth Sancho, they suffer them∣selues at least to bee felt, if not, let my shoulders beare witnesse. So might mine also said Don-Quixote, but not∣withstanding this is no sufficient argument to proue him, whom wee see to bee the inchanted Moore; as thus they discoursed, the officer arriued, and finding them to com∣mune in so peaceable & quiet manner, he rested admired. Yet Don-Quixote lay with his face vpward as he had left him, and was not able to stirre himselfe, he was so beaten and be plaistered. The officer approching demaunded of him. Well how dost thou good fellow? I would speake more mannerly quoth Don-Quixote, if I were but such a one as thou art, is it the custome of this Countrey you bottle-head, to talke after so rude a manner to Knights errant? The other impatient, to see one of so vile pre∣sence, vse him with that badde language, could not in∣dure it, but lifting vp the lampe oile and all, gaue Don-Quixote such a blow on the pate with it, as he broke his head in one or two places, and leauing all in darkenesse behinde him, departed presently out of the chamber, without doubt (quoth Sancho seeing this accident) Sir

that was the inchanted Moore, and I thinke he keepeth the treasure for others, and reserueth only for vs fists, and lampe blowes. It is as thou saiest, quoth Don-Quixote, and therefore wee are not to make account of these in∣chantments, or be wroth and angry at them, for in respect that they are inuisible and fantasticall, wee shall not find him on whom we may take reuenge, though wee labour euer so much to doe it. Arise therefore Sancho if thou beest able, and call to the Constable of this Fortresse, and procure me some oile, wine, salt, and vineger, that I make the wholsome Balsamum, for verily I beleeue that I doe neede it very much at this time, the bloud runneth so fast out of the wound which the spirit gaue mee euen now. Sancho then got vp with griefe enough of his bones, and went without light towards the Innekeepers, and in∣countred on the way the officer of the holy brotherhood who stood hearkning what did become of his enemy; to whom hee said; Sir whosoeuer thou beest I desire thee, doe vs the fauour and benefit to giue me a little Rosma∣ry, Oile, Wine, and Salt, to cure one of the best Knights errant that is in the earth, who lieth now in that bed sore∣ly wounded by the hands of an inchanted Moore, that is in this Inne. When the officer heard him speake in that manner, hee held him to bee out of his wits, and because the dawning beganne, he opened the Inne dore, and told vnto the Host, that which Sancho demanded. The Inne∣keeper presently prouided all that he wanted, and Sancho carried it to his Master, who held his head betweene both his hands, and complained much of the griefe that the blow of his head caused, which did him no other hurt then to raise vp two blisters somwhat great, and that which hee supposed to bee bloud, was only the humour which the anxiety and labour of minde he past in this last darke aduenture, had made him to sweate.

In resolution Don-Quixote tooke his simples, of which he made a compound, mixing them altogether, and then

boiling of them a good while, vntill they came (as hee thought) to their perfection, he asked for a violl wherein he might lay this precious liquor, but the Inne being vn∣able to afford him any such, hee resolued at last to put it into a tinne oilepot, which the Host did make freely giue him, and forthwith he said ouer the pot eighty Pater nosters, and as many Aues, Salues, and Creedes, and ac∣companied euery word with a Crosse, in forme of bene∣diction, at all which ceremonies Sancho, the Innekeeper, and the Officer of the holy brotherhood were present, for the Carrier went very soberly to dresse and make ready his Mules.

The liquor being made, he himselfe would presently make experience of the vertue of that precious Balsa∣mum, as he did imagine it to be, and so did drinke a good draught of the ouerplus that could not enter into his pot, being a quart or there abouts, and scarce had he done it; when he began to vomit so extremely, as he left nothing vncast vp in his stomacke, and through the paine and a∣gitation caused by his vomits, hee fell into a very aboun∣dant and great sweate, and therefore commanded him∣selfe to bee well couered, and left alone to take his ease. Which was done forthwith, and hee slept three houres, and then awaking, found himselfe so wonderfully eased, and free from all brusing and paine, as hee doubted not but that he was throughly whole; and therefore did ve∣rily perswade himselfe, that hee had hapned on the right manner of compounding the Balsamum of Fierabras: and that hauing that medicine, hee might boldly from thence forth, vndertake any ruines, battailes, conflicts, or aduentures, how dangerous soeuer: Sancho Panca who likewise attributed the suddaine cure of his Master to miracle, requested, that it would please him to giue him leaue to sippe vp the remainder of the Balsamum, which rested in the kettle, and was no small quantity; which Don-Quixote granted, and he lifting it vp between

both handes, did with a good faith, and better ta∣lent, quaffe it off all, being little lesse then his Ma∣ster had drunke. The successe then of the History is, that poore Sanchos stomacke, was not so deli∣cate as his Lords, wherefore before hee could cast hee was tormented with so many cruell pangues, loa∣things, sweats, and dismayes, as hee did verily per∣swade himselfe, that his last houre was come: and perceiuing himselfe to bee so afflicted and troubled, hee cursed the Balsamum, and on the Theese which had giuen it to him. Don-Quixote seeing of him in that pittifull taking, said, I beleeue Sancho, all this euill befalleth thee, because thou art not dubbed Knight: for I perswade my selfe, that this liquor cannot helpe any one that is not. If your Worship knew that, quoth Sancho, (euill befall mee and all my Image) why did you therefore consent that I should tast it?

In this time the drench had made his operation, and the poore Squire did so swift and vehemently discharge himselfe by both channels, as neither his mat, or can∣uasse couering, could serue after to any vse. Hee swet and swet againe with such excessiue swoonings, as not only himselfe, but likewise all the beholders, did ve∣rily deeme, that his life was ending. This storme and mishappe endured about some two howres, after which hee remayned not cured as his Master, but so vveary and indisposed, as hee vvas not able to stand.

But Don-Quixote, vvho as vvee haue said felt him∣selfe eased and cured, vvould presently depart to seeke aduentures, it seeming vnto him that all the time vvhich hee aboade there, vvas no other then a depriuing, both of the world and needefull peo∣ple, of his fauour and assistance; and more through the security and confidence that hee had in his Balsa∣mum.

And carried thus away by this desire, hee him∣selfe sadled his Horse Rozinante, and did empannell his Squires beast, whome hee likewise holpe to ap∣parell himselfe, and to mount vppon his Asse. And presently getring a Horse-backe, hee roade ouer to a corner of the Inne, and laide hand on a Iaueline that vvas there, to make it serue him in steede of a Launce. All the people that were in the Inne stoode beholding of him, vvhich were aboue twenty in number.

The Innekeepers Daughter did also looke vppon him, and hee did neuer withdraw his eye from her, and would euer and anon breathe foorth so dolefull a sigh, as if hee had plucked it out of the bottome of his heart, vvhich all the beholders tooke to pro∣ceede from the griefe of his ribbes, but specially such as had seene him playstered the night before. And being both mounted thus a Horse-backe, hee called the Innekeeper and said vnto him with a graue and stayed voyce.

Many and great are the fauours, Sir Constable, vvhich I haue receiued in this your Castell, and doe remayne most obliged to gratifie you for them all the dayes of my life. And if I may pay or recompence them by reuenging of you vpon any prowde Miscreant, that hath done you any vvrongs, know that it is mine Of∣fice to helpe the weake, to reuenge the wron∣ged, and to chastise Traytours. Call therefore to memory, and if you finde any thing of this kinde to commend to my correction, you neede not but once to say it, for I doe promise vnto you by the Order of Knighthood, which I haue receiued to satisfie and appay you according vnto your owne desire.

The Innekeeper answered him againe with like gra∣uity and stayednesse, saying, Sir Knight, I shall not neede

your assistance when anywrong is done to me, for I know very well my selfe, how to take the reuenge that I shall thinke good when the iniury is offered. That only which I require is that you defray the charges whereat you haue beene here in the Inne this night, as well for the Straw and Barly giuen to your two horses, as also for both your beddes. This then is an Inne? quoth Don-Quixote. That it is and an honourable one too, replyed the Innekeeper. Then haue I hitherto liued in an errour, quoth Don-Quixote, for in very good sooth I tooke it till nowe to bee a Castell, and that no meane one neyther. But since that it is no Castell but an Inne, that which you may doe for the present time is to forgiue me those expences, for I cannot doe ought against the customes of Knights Errants; of all which I most certainely knowe (without euer hauing read vntill this present any thing to the contrarie) that they neuer paide for their lodging, or other thing, in any Inne wheresoeuer they lay. For by all Law and right, any good entertainement that is giuen vnto them is their due, in recompence of the insupportable trauels they indure, seeking of aduentures both day and night, in Summer and Winter, a foote and a horsebacke, with thirst and hunger, in heate and cold, being subiect to all the distemperatures of Heauen, and all the discommo∣dities of the earth. All that concernes me nothing re∣plied the Inkeeper, pay vnto me my due, and leaue these tales and Knighthoods apart, for I care for nothing else, but how I may come by mine owne. Thou art a mad and a bad Hoste, quoth Don-Quixote, and saying so he spurd Rozinante, and flourishing with his Iaueline, hee issued out of the Inne, in despight of them all, and without loo∣king behind him to see once whether his squire followed, he roade a good way off from it.

The Inkeeper seeing hee departed without satisfying him, came to Sancho Panca, to get his money of

him, who answered, that since his Lord would not pay, he would likewise giue nothing, for being, as hee was Squire to a Knight Errand, the very same rule and rea∣son that exempted his Master from payments in Innes and Tauernes ought also to serue, and be vnderstood as well of him. The Inkeeper grew wroth at these words and threatned him, that if hee did not pay him speedily, hee would recouer it in manner that would grieue him. Sancho replied, swearing by the order of Knighthood which his Lord had receiued, that hee would not pay one denier, though it cost him his life, for the good and auncient customes of Knights Errants, should neuer through his default bee infringed, nor should their Squires which were yet to come into the world euer complaine on him, or vpbraide him for transgressing or breaking so iust a duetie. But his bad fortune ordained that there were at the very time in the same Inne fowre Clothiers of Segouia, and three Point-makers of the Stewes of Cordoua, and two neighbours of the Market of Siuill, all pleasant folke, well minded, malicious, and playsome, all which pricked and in a manner moued all at one time and by the very same spirit came neere to Sancho, and pulling him downe off his Asse, one of them ranne in for the Inkeepers Couerlet, and casting him in∣to it, they looked vp and seeing the House was some∣what too low for their intended businesse, they deter∣mined to goe into the base Court, which was ouer head onely limitted by heauen, and then Sancho being laide in the midst of the Blanket, they began to tosse him a∣loft and sport themselues with him, in the maner they were wont to vse Dogges at Shrouetide. The out-cries of the miserable betossed Squire were so many and so lowde, as they arriued at last to his Lords hearing, who standing a while to listen attentiuely what it was, belie∣ued that some new aduenture did approach, vntill hee perceiued at last that hee which cried was his Squire,

wherefore turning the Raignes, hee made towards the Inne with a loathsome galloppe, and finding it shut, he rode all about it to see whether hee might enter into it. But scarce was he arriued at the walles of the base court which were not very hie, when he perceiued, the foule play that was vsed towards his Squire, for hee saw him descend and ascend into the ayre againe with such grace and agilitie, that did his choller permit, I certaine∣ly perswade my selfe hee would haue burst for laughter. He assayed to mount the wall from his Horse, but hee was so bruised and broken, as he could not doe as much as a light from his backe. Wherefore from his backe he vsed such reprochfull and vile language to those which tossed Sancha, as it is impossible to lay them downe in writing. And notwithstanding all his scornefull speech, yet did not they cease from their laughter and labour, nor the flying Sancho, from his complaints, now and then medled with threats, now and then with intrea∣ties; but auailed very little, nor could preuaile, vntill they were constrained by wearinesse to giue him ouer. Then did they bring him his Asse againe, and helping him vp vpon it, they lapt him in his mantle. And the compassionate Maritornes beholding him so afflicted and orelaboured, thought it needfull to helpe him to a draught of water, and so brought it him from the well, because the water thereof was coolest. Sancho tooke the pot and laying it to his lips, he abstained from drin∣king by his Lords perswasion, who cryed to him aloud saying, Sonne Sancho drinke not water, drinke it not Sonne, for it will kill thee. Behold I haue here with me the most holy Balsamum (and shewed him the oile pot of the drenches he had compounded) for with only two drops that thou drinkest, thou shalt without all doubt remaine whole and sound. At those wordes Sancho looking behinde him, answered his Master with a low∣der voice, haue you forgotten perhaps so soone, how

that I am no Knight, or doe you desire, that I vomit the remnant of the poore bowels that remaine in mee since yesternight, keepe your liquor for your selfe in the Diuels name, and permit me to liue in peace; and the con∣clusion of this speech and his beginning to drinke, was done all in one instant, but finding at the first draught that it was water, he would not tast it any more, but requested Maritornes that shee would giue him some wine, which shee did streight with a very good will, and likewise paied for it out of her owne purse; for in effect it is writ∣ten of her, that though shee followed that trade, yet had shee some shadowes and lineaments in her of Christiani∣ty. As soone as Sancho had drunken, he visited his Asse ribs with his heeles twise or thrise, and the Inne being o∣pened he issued out of it, very glad that he had payed no∣thing, and gotten his desire, although it were to the cost of his ordinary sureties, to wit, his shoulders. Yet did the Innekeeper remaine possest of his wallets, as a payment for that he ought him, but Sancho was so distracted when he departed, as he neuer missed them. After he departed, the Innekeeper thought to haue shut vp the Inne doore againe, but the Gentlemen tossers would not permit, being such folke, that if Don-Quixote were verily one of the Knights of the round Table, yet would not they e∣steeme him two chips.

CHAP. IIII.

Wherein are rehearsed the discourses passed betweene Sancho Panca, and his Lord Don-Quixote, with other aduentures worthy the recitall.

SAncho arriued to his Master all wanne and dismayed, in so much as he was scarce able to spur on his beast. When Don-Quixote beheld him in that case, hee said to him, now do I wholly perswade my selfe friend Sancho, that that Castle or Inne, is doubt∣lesly inchanted. For those which made pastime with thee in so cruell manner, what else could they be but spirits, or people of an other world: which I doe the rather be∣leeue, because I saw, that whilest I stoode at the barrier of the yard, beholding the acts of thy sadde Tragedy; I was not in any wise able either to mount it, or alight from Rozinante, for as I say, I thinke they held me then inchan∣ted. For I vow to thee by mine honour, that if I could haue either mounted or alighted, I would haue taken such vengeance on those lewde and treacherous Caitiss, as they should remember the iest for euer, though I had therefore aduentured to transgresse the lawes of Knight∣hood. Which as I haue oftimes said vnto thee permitteth not any Knight to lay hands on one that is not Knighted, if it bee not in defence of his proper life and person, and that in case of great and vrgent necessity. So would I al∣so haue reuenged my selfe, quoth Sancho, if I might, were they Knights or no Knights, but I could not: and yet I do infallibly belieue, that those which tooke their pleasure with me, were neither ghosts, nor inchanted men as you say, but men of flesh and bones as we are, and all of them as I heard them cald whilest they tossed-mee had proper names, for one was tearmed Peter Martinez, and an∣other

Tenorio Herriander, and I heard also the Innekee∣per called Iohn Palameque the deafe, so that for your in∣ability of not leaping ouer the barriers of the yard, or a∣lighting off your horse was only inchauntments in you. Whereby I doe clearly collect this much, that these ad¦uentures which we goe in search of, will bring vs at last to so many disuentures, as wee shall not be able to know which is our right foote. And that which wee might doe best according to my little vnderstanding, were to re∣turne vs againe to our village, now that is reaping time, and looke to our goods, omitting to leape thus as they say, out of the frying pan into the fire.

How little doest thou know Sancho, replyed Don-Quixote, what appertaineth to Chiualry; peace and haue patience, for a day will come wherein thou shalt see with thine owne eyes, how honourable it is to follow this ex¦ercise. If not, tell me, what greater content may there be in this world, or what pleasure can equall that of winning a battaile, and of triumphing ouer ones enemy? none without doubt. I thinke it be so, quoth Sancho, although I doe not know it; only this I know, that since we be∣came Knights errant, or that you are one (for there is no reason why I should count my selfe in so honourable a number) wee neuer ouercame any battaile, if it was not that of the Biscaine, and you came euen out of the very same with halfe your eare and beauer lesse. And euer af∣ter that time, we haue had nothing but cudgels, and more cudgels, blowes, and more blowes. I carrying with me besides of ouerplus, the tossing in the blanket, and that, by reason it was done to me by inchanted persons, I can∣not be reuenged, and by consequence shall not know that true gust and delight, that is taken by vanquishing mine enemies, whereof you speake euen now. That is it which grieues me, as it should thee also, Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote: but I will procure hereafter to get a sword, made with such art, that whosoeuer shall weare it, no

kinde of inchantment shall hurt him. And perhaps for∣tune will present mee the very same which belonged to Amadis, when he called himselfe the Knight of the bur∣ning sword, which was one of the best, that euer Knight had in this world: for besides the vertue that I told, it did also cut like a Razer, and no armour were it euer so strong or inchanted could stand before it. I am so fortunate, quoth Sancho, that when this befell, and that you found such a sword, it would only serue and be beneficiall, and stand in stead such as are dubbed Knights, as doth your Balsamum, whilest the poore Squires are cramd full with sorrowes. Feare not that Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote, for fortune will deale with thee more liberally then so.

In these discourses Don-Quixote and his Squire roade, when Don-Quixote perceiuing a great and thicke dust to arise in the way, wherein he trauailed, turning to Sancho said, this is (Sancho) the day, wherein shall bee manifest the good which Fortune hath reserued for me. This is the day, wherein the force of mine arme must bee showen as much as in any other whatsoeuer, and in it will I doe such feates, as shall for euer remaine recorded in the books of fame; doest thou see Sancho the dust which ariseth there? know that it is caused by a mighty army and sundry and innumerable Nations, which come marching there; if that be so, quoth Sancho, then must there be two armies, for on this other side is raised as great a dust. Don-Qui∣xote turned backe to behold it, and seeing it was so in∣deede, he was maruailous glad, thinking that they were doubtlessely two armies, which came to fight one with an other, in the midst of that spacious plaine. For he had his fantasie euer replenished with these battailes, inchant∣ments, successes, rauings, loues, and challenges, which are rehearsed in bookes of Knighthood: and all that euer he spoke, thought, or did, was addrest and applyed to the like things: and the dust which hee had seene was raised by two great flocks of Sheepe, that came through the

same field by two different wayes, and could not be dis∣cerned by reason of the dust, vntill they were very neare. Don-Quixote did affirme that they were two armies, with so very good earnest as Sancho beleeued it, and de∣manded of him, Sir what then shall we two doe? What should we do? (quoth Don-Quixote) but assist the need∣full and weaker side. For thou shalt know Sancho, that he who comes towards vs is the great Emperor Alifam∣faron, Lord of the great Island of Trapobana. The other who marcheth at our backe is his enemy the King of the Garamantes, Pentapoline of the naked arme, so called because hee still entereth in battayle, with his right arme naked. I pray you good Sir, quoth Sancho, to tell me why these two Princes hate one another so much? they are enemies, replyed Don-Quixote, because that this Alifamfaron is a furious Pagan, and is enamoured of Pentapolins Daughter, who is a very beautifull and gra∣cious Princesse, and moreouer a Christian. And her Fa∣ther refuseth to giue her to the Pagan King, vntill first he abandon Mahomets false sect, and become one of his re∣ligion. By my beard, quoth Sancho, Pentapolin hath rea∣son, and I will helpe him all that I may. By doing so, quoth Don-Quixote, thou performest thy duty; for it is not requisite that one be a Knight, to the end hee may enter into such battailes. I doe apprehend that my selfe, quoth Sancho, very well, but where shall we leaue this Asse in the meane time, that we may be sure to finde him againe after the conflict, for I thinke it is not the custome to en∣ter into battaile, mounted on such a beast.

It is true, quoth Don-Quixote, that which thou maist doe is, to leaue him to his aduentures, and care not whether hee be lost or found, for we shall haue so many horses, after comming out of this battaile victors, that very Rozi∣nante himselfe, is in danger, to be changed for another. But be attentiue, for I meane to describe vnto thee the principall Knights of both the armies. And to the end

thou maiest the better see and note all things, let vs re∣tire our selues there to that little hillocke, from whence both the Armies may easily be deseryed.

They did so, and standing on the toppe of a hill, from whence they might haue seene both the flocks, which Don-Quixote called an army very well, if the cloudes of dust had not hindred it and blinded their sight, yet not∣withstanding our Knight seeing in conceit that which really hee did not see at all, beganne to say with a lowde voice.

That Knight which thou seest there with the yellow armour, who beares in his shield a Lyon crownd, crou∣ching at a Damzeis feete, is the valorous Laurcalio, Lord of the Siluer Bridge: the other whose armes are powdred with flowers of gold, and Beares in an Azure field, three Crownes of siluer is the dreaded Micoco∣lembo, great Duke of Quirocia: the other limmed like a Giant, that standeth at his right hand, is the vndaun∣ted Brandabarbaray of Boliche, Lord of the three A∣rabias: and comes armed with a Serpents skinne, bea∣ring for his shield as is reported one of the gates of the Temple, which Sampson at his death ouerthrew, to be reuenged of his enemies. But turne thine eyes to this other side, and thou shalt see first of all, and in the front of this other army the euer victor and neuer vanquish∣ed Timonel of Carcaiona, Prince of new Biskaye, who comes armed, with armes parted into Blew, Greene, White, and Yellow quarters, and beares in his shield in a field of Tawney a Catte of gold, with a letter that saies Miau, which is the beginning of his Ladies name, which is as the report runnes, the peerelesse Miaulina, Daughter to Duke Alfeniquen of Algarue. The other that burdens and oppresseth the backe of that mighty Courser, whose armour is as white as snow, and also his shield without any deuise is a Knight nouell of France, called Pierres Papin, Lord of the Ba∣rony

of Vtrique. The other that beates his horse sides with his armed heeles, and beares the armes of pure Azure, is the mighty Duke of Nerbia Espart afilardo of the Wood. Who beares for his deuise a Harrow, with a Motto that saies, So trailes my Fortune.

And thus he proceeded forward, naming many Knights of the one and the other squadron, euen as hee had imagined them, and attributed to each one, his armes, his colours, imprese, and Mottoes, suddainly borne away by the ima∣gination of his wonderfull distraction. And without stam∣mering he proceeded, saying.

This first squadron con∣taineth folke of many Nations, in it are those which tast the sweet waters of famous Xante. The Mountai∣nous men that treade the Mafilical fields. Those that doe sift the most pure and rare gold of Arabia Foelix. Those that possessed the famous and delightfull bankes of cleare Termodonte. Those that let bloud many and sundry waies the golden Pactolus. The Numides vn∣steadfast in their promise. The Persians famous for Ar∣chers. The Parthes and Medes that fight flying. The Arabs inconstant in their dwellings. The Scithes as cruell as white. The Aethiops of boared lips, and other infinite Nations whose faces I know and behold, al∣though I haue forgotten their denominations. In that other army come those that tast the Christaline streams of the Oliue-bearing Betis, those that dippe and polish their faces with the liquor of the euer-rich and golden Tagus. Those that possesse the profitable fluent of di∣uine Genile. Those that trample the Tartesian fields so abundant in pasture. Those that recreat themselues in the Elisean fields of Xerez. The rich Manchegans crow∣ned with ruddy eares of corne: Those apparelled with yron, the ancient relikes of the Gothish bloud. Those that bathe themselues in Pisuerga, renowmed for the smothnesse of his current. Those that feede their flocks in the vast fields of the wreathing Guadiana, so cele∣brated

for his hidden course. Those that tremble through the cold of the busty Pirens, and the lofty Apenines. Finally, all those that Europe in it selfe con∣tayneth.

Good God, how many Prouinces repeated he at that time, and how many Nations did he name, giuing to e∣uery one of them, with maruailous celerity and briefnesse, their proper attributes, being swallowed vp and ingulfed in those things which hee had read in his lying bookes. Sancho Panca stood suspended at his speech, and spoke not a word, but only would now and then turne his head to see whether he could marke those Knights and Giants, which his Lord had named; and by reason he could not discouer any, he said. Sir I giue to the Diuell any man, Giant, or Knight, of all those you said that appeareth: at least I cannot discerne them. Perhaps all is but inchant∣ment, like that of the Ghosts of yesternight. How? saiest thou so, quoth Don-Quixote? Doest not thou heare the horses neigh, the trumpets sound, and the noyse of the drummes? I heare nothing else, said Sancho, but the great bleating of many Sheepe. And so it was indeede, for by this time, the two flocks did approch them very neare. The feare that thou conceiuest Sancho, quoth Don-Qui∣xote, maketh thee that thou canst neither heare nor see a∣right, for one of the effects of feare is to trouble the sen∣ses, and make things appeare otherwise then they are, and seeing thou fearest so much, retire thy selfe out of the way, for I alone am sufficient to giue the victory to that part which I shall assist, and hauing ended his speech, hee set spurres to Rozinante, and setting his Lance in the rest hee flung downe from the hillocke like a thunderbolt. Sancho cryed to him as lowd as he could, saying, returne good Sir Don-Quixote, for I vow vnto God that all those which you goe to charge, are but Sheepe and Muttons. Returne I say, alas that euer I was borne, what madnesse is this? looke, for there is neither Giant, nor Knight, nor

Cats, nor Armes, nor Shields, parted, nor whole, nor pure Azures, nor diuelish. What is it you doe wretch that I am? For all this Don Quixote did not returne, but ra∣ther roade, saying with a lowde voice; On on Knights, all you that serue and march vnder the banners of the va∣lorous Emperour Pentapolin of the naked Arme, follow mee all of you, and you shall see how easily I will re∣uenge him on his enemy Alifamfaron of Trapobana, and saying, so hee entred into the middest of the flocke of Sheepe, and beganne to Launce them with such cou∣rage and fury, as if hee did in good earnest encounter his mortall enemies.

The Sheepe-heards that came with the flocke, cryed to him to leaue off, but seeing their wordes tooke no effect, they vnloosed their slings and beganne to sa∣lute his pate with stones as great as ones fist. But Don-Quixote made no account of their stones, and did fling vp and downe among the Sheepe, saying, where art thou prowde Alifamfaron, where art thou? come to mee, for I am but one Knight alone, vvho desires to proue my forces with thee man to man, and de∣priue thee of thy life, in paine of the wrong thou doest to the valiant Pentapolin the Garamiante. At that in∣stant a stone gaue him such a blow on one of his sides, as did bury two of his ribbes in his body. Hee beholding himselfe so ill dight, did presently beleeue that hee vvas either slaine or sorely wounded; and remem∣bring himselfe of his liquor, hee tooke out his oyle pot, and set it to his mouth to drinke, but ere he could take as much as hee thought was requisite to cure his hurts, there commeth another Almond which strucke him so full vppon the hand and oyle pot as it broke it into pecces, and carryed away with it besides three or foure of his cheeke teeth, and did moreouer bruise very sorely two of his fingers. Such was the first and the second blowe, as the poore Knight

was constrained to fall downe off his horse. And the Sheep-heards arriuing did verily beleeue they had slaine him; and therefore gathering their flocke together with all speede, and carrying away their dead Muttons, which were more then seuen, they went away without verifying the matter any further.

Sancho remained all this while on the height, behol∣ding his Masters follies, pulling the haires of his beard for very despite, and cursed the houre and moment wherein hee first knew him; but seeing him ouer throwne to the earth, and the Sheep-heards fled away, hee came downe to him, and found him in very badde taking, yet had hee not quite lost the vse of his senses, to whom he said. Did not I bidde you Sir Knight returne, and told you that you went not to inuade an army of men, but a flocke of sheep. That theefe the wiseman who is mine aduersary, quoth Don-Quixote, can counterfait, and make men to seeme such, or vanish away as he pleaseth, for Sancho thou ough∣test to know, that it is a very easie thing for those kinde of men, to make vs seeme what they please, and this Ma∣ligne that persecuteth mee, enuying the glory which hee saw I was like to acquire in this battaile, hath conuerted the enemies squadrons into Sheepe; and if thou wilt not beleeue me Sancho; yet doe one thing for my sake, that thou maiest remoue thine errour, and perceiue the truth which I affirme, get vp on thine Asse and follow them faire and softly aloofe, and thou shalt see that as soone as they are parted any distance from hence, they will turne to their first forme, and leauing to be sheepe, will become men, as right and straight as I painted them to thee at the first, but goe not now for I haue neede of thy helpe and assistance, draw nearer to me and see, how many cheeke teeth and others I want, for mee thinks there is not one left in my mouth. With that Sancho approched so neare, that he laid almost his eyes on his Masters mouth, and it was iust at the time that the Balsamum had now wrought

his effect in Don-Quixote his stomacke, and at the very season that Sancho went about to looke into his mouth, he disgorged all that he had in his stomacke, with as great violence as it had beene shot out of a Musket, iust in his compassiue Squires beard. O holy Mother Mary, quoth Sancho, what is this that hath befallen mee, the poore man is mortally wounded without doubt, for hee vomi∣teth vp bloud at his mouth. But looking a little nearer to it, hee perceiued in the colour and smell that it was not bloud, but the Balsamum of his Masters oile-bottle, wher∣at hee instantly tooke such a loathing, that his stomacke likewise turned, and hee vomited out his very bowels al∣most, all in his Masters face. And so they both remained like Pearles. Soone after, Sancho ranne to his Asse to take somewhat to cleare himselfe, and to cure his Lord out of his wallet, which when he found wanting, he was ready to runne out of his wits: there hee beganne a new to curse himselfe, and made a firme resolution in minde, that he would leaue his Master and turne to his Countrey againe, although he were sure both to loose his wages, and the hope of the Gouernment of the promised Island.

By this Don-Quixote arose, and setting his left hand to his mouth, that the rest of his teeth might not fall out, he caught hold on the raignes of Rozinantes bridle with the other, who had neuer stird from his Master: (such was his loyaltie and good nature) hee went towards his Squire, that leaned vpon his Asse, with his hand vnder his cheeke, like one pensatiue and malecontent. And Don-Quixote seeing of him in that guise, with such signes of sadnesse, said vnto him. Know Sancho that one man is not more then another, if he doe not more then another. All those stormes that fall on vs are arguments that the time will waxe calme very soone, and that things will haue better successe hereafter, for it is not possible that ei∣ther good or ill be durable. And hence wee may collect that our misfortunes hauing lasted so long, our fortune

and weale must bee likewise neare. And therefore thou oughtest not thus to afflict thy selfe for the disgraces that befall mee, seeing no part of them fall to thy lot. How not, quoth Sancho? was hee whom they to fled yesterday in the couerlet by fortune, any other mans Sonne then my Fathers? and the wallet that I want to day, with all my prouision, was it any others then mine owne? what doest thou want thy wallet Sancho? quoth Don-Quixote. I, that I doe, quoth hee. In that manner replyed Don-Quixote, wee haue nothing left vs to eate to day? that would be so, quoth Sancho, if we could not finde among these fields the hearbs which I haue heard you say you know, wherewithall such vnlucky Knights errant as you, are wont to supply like needes. For all that, quoth Don-Quixote, I would rather haue now a quarter of a loafe, or a cake and two pilchers heads, then all the hearbs that Dioscorides describeth, although they came glosed by Doctor Lagima himselfe. But yet for all that get vpon thy beast Sancho the good, and follow me, for God who is the prouider for all creatures, will not faile vs. And principally seeing we doe a worke so greatly to his seruice as we doe, seeing he doeth not abandon the little flies of the aire, nor the wormelings of the earth, nor the spawn∣lings of the water. And he is so mercifull that he maketh his Sunne shine on the good and the euill, and raines on sinners and iust men. You were much fitter, quoth San∣cho, to be a Preacher, then for a Knight errant. Knights errant knew and ought to know some what of all things, quoth Don-Quixote. For there hath beene a Knight er∣rant in times past, who would make a Sermon or discourse in the midst of a campe riall, with as good grace as if hee were graduated in the Vniuersity of Paris: by which we may gather that the Lance neuer dulled the Pen, nor the Pen the Lance. Well then, quoth Sancho, let it be as you haue said, and let vs depart hence, and procure to finde a lodging for this night, where, I pray God, may be no co∣uerlets

and tossers, nor Spirits, nor inchanted Moores, for if there bee, Ile bestow the flocke and the hooke on the Diuell. Demaund that of God Sonne Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote, and leade me where thou pleasest, for I will leaue the election of our lodging to thy choice for this time: yet I pray thee giue mee thy hand, and feele how many cheeke teeth or others I want in this right side of the vpper jaw, for there I feele most paine. San∣cho put in his fingers, and whilest he felt him, demanded how many cheeke teeth were you accustomed to haue on this side? foure, quoth hee, besides the hindermost; all of them very whole and sound. See well what you say Sir, quoth Sancho. I say foure, quoth Don-Quixote, if they were not fiue, for I neuer in my life drew or lost any tooth, nor hath any fallen or beene worme-eaten, or mard by any rhume. Well then, quoth Sancho, you haue in this nether part but two cheeke teeth and a halfe, and in the vpper, neither a halfe, nor any, for all there is as plaine as the palme of my hand. Vn∣fortunate I (quoth Don-Quixote) hearing the sorrow∣full newes that his Squire told vnto him) for I had ra∣ther loose one of mine armes, so it were not that of my sword. For Sancho thou must wit, that a mouth without cheeke teeth, is like a Mill without a milstone: and a tooth is much more to bee esteemed then a Dia∣mant.

But wee which professe the rigorous Lawes of Armes, are subiect to all these disasters, wherefore mount gentle friend and giue the way, for I will follow thee what pace thou pleasest. Sancho obeyed, and roade the way where hee thought hee might finde lodging, without leauing the high way, which was there very much bea∣ten. And going thus by little and little (for Don-Quixote his paine of his jawes did not suffer him rest, or make ouermuch hast,) Sancho to entertayne him and diuert his thought by saying some things, beganne to aboord

him in the forme we meane to rehearse in the Chapter ensuing.

CHAP. V.

Of the discreet discourses passed betweene Sancho and his Lord: with the aduenture succeeding of a dead body: and other notable occurrences.

ME thinks, good Sir, that all the mishaps that befell vs these dayes past, are without any doubt in punishment of the sinne you committed against the order of Knight∣hood, by not performing the Oath you swore, not to eate bread on table clothes, nor to sport with the Queene, with all the rest which in∣sueth, and you vowed to accomplish, vntil you had wonne the Helmet of Malandrino, or I know not how the Moore is called, for I haue forgotten his name. Thou saiest right Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote, but to tell the truth in deede, I did wholly forget it: and thou maiest likewise thinke certainly, that because thou didest not re∣member it to mee in time, that of the couerlet was infli∣cted as a punishment on thee. But I will make amends, for we haue also manners of reconciliation for all things in the order of Knighthood. Why did I by chance sweare any thing, quoth Sancho? it little imports, quoth Don-Quixote, that thou hast not sworne, let it suffice that I know thou art not very cleare from the fault of an acces∣sary. And therefore at all aduentures it will not bee ill to prouide a remedy. If it bee so, quoth Sancho, be∣ware you doe not forget this againe, as you did that of the Oath, for if you should, perhaps those spirits will take againe a fancy to solace themselues with mee, and

peraduenture with you your selfe, if they see you obsti∣nate.

Being in these and other such discourses, the night o∣uertooke them in the way, before they could discouer a∣ny lodging, and that which was worst of all, they were almost famisht with hunger, for by the losse of their wal∣lets, they lost at once both their prouision and warder∣house. And to accomplish wholly this disgrace, there succeeded a certaine aduenture, which certainly hapned as wee lay it downe without any addition in the world, and was this; the night did shut vppe with some darke∣nesse, yet notwithstanding they trauailed on still, Sancho beleeuing that since that was the high way, there must be within a league or two in all reason some Inne. Trauai∣ling therefore as I haue said, in a darke night, the Squire being hungry, and the Master hauing a good stomacke, they saw comming towards them in the very way they trauailed, a great multitude of lights, resembling nothing so well as wandering starres. Sancho beholding them was strucke into a wonderfull amazement, and his Lord was not much better. The one drew his Asse halter, the other held his horse, and both of them stoode still, behol∣ding attentiuely what that might be, and they perceiued that the lights drew still nearer vnto them; and the more they approched, they appeared the greater, at the sight Sancho did tremble like one infected by the fauour of Quicksiluer, and Don-Quixotes haire did stand vp like bristles, who animating himselfe a little, said, Sancho this must be questionlesse a great and most dangerous aduen∣ture, wherein it is requisite that I shew all my valour and strength. Vnfortunate I, quoth Sancho if by chance this aduenture were of Ghosts, as it seemeth to me that it is, where will there bee ribbes to suffer it? bee they neuer so great Ghosts, said Don-Quixote, I will not consent that they touch one haire of thy garment: For if they lested with thee the other time, it was because I could not leape

ouer the walles of the yard, but now wee are in plaine field where I may brandish my sword as I please. And if they inchant and benumme you as they did the other time quoth Sancho, what will it then auaile vs to bee in open field or no? For all that replyed Don-Quixote, I pray thee Sancho bee of good courage, for experience shall shew thee how great my valour is; I will and please God, quoth Sancho, and so departing somewhat out of the way, they beganne againe to view earnestly what that of the trauailing lights might bee; and after a very little space they espied many white things, whose dreadfull vi∣sions did in that very instant conclude Sancho Panca his courage, and now beganne to chatter with his teeth, like one that had the cold of a Quartane, and when they did distinctly perceiue what it was, then did his beating and chattering of teeth increase, for they discouered about some twenty all couered with white a horse-backe, with Tapers lighting in their hands, after which followed a lit∣ter couered ouer with blacke, and then insued other sixe a horse-backe, attired in mourning, and likewise their Mules, euen to the very ground; for they perceiued that they were not horses, by the quietnesse of their pace. The white folke rode murmuring somewhat among them∣selues with a low and compassiue voice. Which strange vision, at such an houre, and in places not inhabited, was very sufficient to strike feare into Sanchos heart, and euen in his Masters. If it had beene any other then Don-Qui∣xote, but Sancho tumbled here and there, being quite o∣uerthrowne with terrour. The contrary hapned to his Lord, to whom in that same houre his imagination re∣presented vnto him most liuely, the aduenture wherein hee was to bee such a one, as hee oftimes had read in his bookes of Chiualry. For it is figured vnto him, that the litter was a beere, wherein was carryed some grieuously wounded or dead Knight, whose reuenge was only re∣serued for him. And without making any other discourse

hee set his Launce in the rest, seated himselfe surely in his saddle, and put himselfe in the middest of the way by which the white folke must forcibly passe, with great spi∣rit and courage. And when he saw them draw neare, he said with a lowde voice: stand Sir Knight, whosoeuer you be, and render me account what you are? from whence you come? where you goe? and what that is which you carry in that beere? for according as you shew, either you haue done to others, or others to you some iniury. And it is conuenient and needfull that I know it, either to cha∣stice you for the ill you haue cōmitted, or else to reuenge you of the wrong which you haue suffered, we are in hast quoth one of the white men, and the Inne is farre off, and therefore cannot expect to giue so full relation as you re∣quest, and with that spurring his Mule, passed forward. Don-Quixote, highly disdayning at the answere, tooke by the bridle and held him, saying, stay prowde Knight, and bee better mannered another time, and giue mee account of that which I demanded, if not, I defie you all to mor∣tall battaile. The Mule whereon the white man rode was somewhat fearefull and skittish, and being taken thus rudely by the bridle, shee tooke such a fright, that rising vp on her hinder legges, shee vnhorsed her Rider; one of the Lackeyes that came with them seeing him fallen, be∣ganne to reuile Don-Quixote, who being by this through∣ly enraged, without any more adoe, putting his Launce in the rest, runne vpon one of the mourners, and threw him to the ground very sore wounded: and turning vpon the rest, it was a thing worthy the noting with what dex∣terity he did assault, breake vpon them, and put them all to flight, and it seemed none other, but that Rozinante had gotten then wings, hee bestirred himselfe so nimbly and couragiously.

All those white men were fearefull people, and vnar∣med, and therefore fled away from the skirmish in a trice, and beganne to trauerse that field with their Tapers ligh∣ting,

that they seemed to bee maskers that vse to runne vp and downe in nights of Ioue and recreation. The mourners likewise were so lapped vp and muffled, by their mourning weedes as they could scarce stirre them, so that Don-Quixote did without any danger of his person giue them all the Bastonado. And caused them to forsake their roomes whether they would or no, for all of them did ve∣rily thinke that he was no man but a Diuell of hell, that met them to take away the dead body which they carried in the litter. All this did Sancho behold, maruailously ad∣mired at his Masters boldnes, which made him say to him∣self, my master is infallibly as strong and valiant as he said.

There lay on the ground by him whom his Mule had first ouerthrowne, a waxe Taper still burning, by whose light, Don-Quixote perceiued him, and comming ouer to him, he laid the point of his Launce vpon his face, saying, that he should render himselfe, or else he would slay him. To which the other answered, I am already rendred more then enough, seeing I cannot stirre mee out of the place, for one of my legges is broken. And if you be a Christian, I desire you not to kill mee, for therein you would com∣mit a great sacriledge, I being a Licenciate, and haue re∣ceiued the first Orders. Well then, quoth Don-Quixote, what Diuell brought thee hither being a Church-man? Who Sir replied the ouerthrowne but my misfortune? yet doth a greater threaten thee, said Don-Quixote, if thou doest not satisfie me in all that which I first deman∣ded of thee. You shall easily be satisfied, quoth the Licen∣ciate, and therefore you shall wit, that although first of all I said I was a Licenciate, I am none, but a Batcheler, and am called Alonso Lopez, borne at Alcouendas, and I came from the Citty of Baeca, with eleuen other Priests, which are those that fled away with the Tapers; we tra∣uailed towards Segonia, accompanying the dead body that lies in that litter of a certaine Gentleman who dyed in Baeca, and was there deposited for a while, and now as

I say, we carry his bones to his place of buriall, which is in Segonia, the place of his birth. And who killed him, quoth Don-Quixote? God, quoth the Batcheler, with certaine pestilentiall feauers that he tooke. In that manner, quoth Don-Quixote, our Lord hath deliuered mee from the paines I would haue taken to reuenge his death, if any other had slaine him. But hauing kild him, he that did it, there is no other remedy but silence, and to lift vp the shoulders, for the same I must my selfe haue done, if hee were likewise pleased to slea me. And I would haue your reuercnce to vnderstand, that I am a Knight of the Man∣cha, called Don-Quixote, and mine office and exercise is to goe throughout the world righting of wrongs, and vndoing of iniuries. I cannot vnderstand how that can be of righting wrongs, quoth the Batcheler, seeing you haue made me who was right before, now very crooked by breaking of my legge, which can neuer be righted a∣gaine, as long as I liue, and the iniury which you haue vn∣done in me, is none other but to leaue me so iniuried, as I shall remaine iniuried for euer. And it was very great disuenture to haue encountred with you, that goe about to see aduentures. All things, quoth Don-Quixote, suc¦ceede not of one fashion: the hurt was Master Batcheler Alonso Lopez, that you trauailed thus by night couered with those Surplices, with burning Tapers, and couered with weedes of dole, so that you appeared most properly some badde thing, and of the other world, and so I could not omit to fulfill my duty, by assaulting you, which I would haue done although I verily knew you to bee the Sathans themselues of hell. For, for such I iudged and accounted you euer till now.

Then since my badde fortune hath so disposed it, quoth the Batcheler; I desire you good Sir Knight errant (who hath giuen me so euill an errant) that you will helpe me to get vp from vnder this Mule, who holds still my legge betwixt the stirrop and saddle. I would haue staid talking

vntill to morrow morning, quoth Don-Quixote, and why did you expect so long to declare your griefe to me? he presently called to Sancho Panca to come ouer: but hee had little minde to doe, for hee was otherwise imployed, ransacking of a sumpture Mule, which those good folke brought with them, well furnished with belly ware. San∣cho made a bagge of his Casacke, and catching all that he might, or could containe, he laid it on his beast, and then presently after repaired to his Master, and holpe to deli∣uer the good Batcheler from the oppression of his Mule. And mounting him againe on it, he gaue him his Taper, and Don-Quixote bade him to follow his fellowes, of whom he should desire pardon in his name, for the wrong hee had done them. For it lay not in his hands to haue done the contrary. Sancho said to him also, if those Gen∣tlemen would by chance know, who the valorous Knight is, that hath vsed them thus, you may say vnto them that hee is the famous Don-Quixote of Mancha, otherwise called the Knight of the Il fauourd face.

With this the Batcheler departed, and Don-Quixote demaunded of Sancho, what had moued him to call him the Knight of the Il fauoured face, more at that time, then at any other? I will tell you that, quoth Sancho; I stood beholding of you a pretty while by the Taper light, which that vnlucky man carrieth, and truly you haue one of the euill-fauouredst countenances of late, that euer I saw. Which either proceedeth of your being tyred after this battaile, or else through the losse of your teeth. That is not the reason, said Don-Quixote. But rather, it hath seemed fit to the wise man, to whose charge is left the writing of my History that I take some appellatiue name, as all the other Knights of yore haue done: for one cal∣led himselfe, The Knight of the burning sword. Another that of the Vnicorne, this, him of the Phoenix. The other, that of the Damzels. Another the Knight of the Griphen. And some other the Knight of Death, and by these names

and deuices, they were knowne throughout the com∣passe of the earth. And so I say, that the wiseman whom I mentioned, set in thy minde and tongue the thought to cal me the Knight of the Il fauoured face, as I meane to call my selfe from hencefoorth, and that the name may be∣come me better, I will vpon the first occasion cause to be painted in my shield, a most ill fauoured countenance. You neede not, quoth Sancho, spend so much time and money in hauing the like countenance painted; but that which you may more easily doe, is, to discouer your owne, and looke directly on those that behold you, and I will warrant you, that without any more adoe, or new pain∣ting in your shield, they will call you, him of the Il fauou∣red face. And let this be said in iest, that hunger and the want of your teeth, haue giuen you, as I haue said, so e∣uill fauoured a face, as you may well excuse all other hea¦uy portraitures. Don-Quixote laught at his Squires con∣ceit, and yet neuerthelesse he purposed to call himselfe by that name, as soone as euer he should haue commodity to paint his shield, or buckler. And after hee had paused a while, he said to Sancho, I beleeue Sancho that I am ex∣communicated, for hauing laid violent hands vpon a con∣secrated thing. Iuxta illud: si quis suadente diabolo, &c. Although I am certaine I laid not my hands vpon him, but only this Iaueline: and besides I did not any way su∣spect that I offended Priests or Church men, which I doe respect and honour as a Catholike and faithfull Christian; but rather that they were shadowes and spirits of the o∣ther world. And if the worst hapned, I remember well that which befell the Cid Ruy Diaz, when he broke that other Kings Embassadours chaire before the Popes holi∣nesse, for which he excommunicated him, and yet for all that the good Rodericke Viuar behaued himselfe that day like an honourable and valiant Knight.

About this time the Batcheler departed, as is said, without speaking a word, and Don-Quixote would faine

haue seene whether the corps that came in the litter, was bones or no, but Sancho would not permit him, saying, Sir, you haue finished this perilous aduenture, most with your safety of any one of those I haue seene. This people although ouercome and scattered, might perhaps fall in the consideration, that he who hath ouercome them is but one person alone, and growing ashamed thereof, would perhaps ioyne and vnite themselues, and turne vpon vs, and giue vs enough businesse to doe. The Asse is in good plight according to my desire, and the mountayne at hand, and hunger oppresseth vs; therefore wee haue no∣thing else to doe at this time, but retire our selues with a good pace, and as it is said, to the graue with the dead, and let them liue to the bread. And pricking on his Asse, he re∣quested his Master to follow him, who seeing that San∣cho spoke not without reason, he spurd after him without replying. And hauing trauailed a little way, betweene two small mountaines they found a large and hidden val∣ley, where they alighted, and Sancho lighting his beast; and lying both along vpon the greene grasse, holpen by the sauce of hunger, they broke their fasts, dyned, ate their beauer, and supper all at one time; satisfying their appetites with more then one dish of cold meate, which the dead Gentlemans Chaplaines (which knew how to make much of themselues) had brought for their prouisi∣on. But here succeeded another discōmodity which San∣cho accounted not as the least, and was, that they had no wine to drinke; no, nor as much as a droppe of water to rinse their mouthes, and being scorched with drought, Sancho perceiuing the field where they were full of thicke and greene grasse, said that which shall ensue in the Chapter following.

CHAP. VI.

Of a wonderfull aduenture, atchieued with lesse ha∣zard, then euer any other Knight did any, by the valorous Don-Quixote of Mancha.

IT is not possible my Lord, but that these greene hearbs doe argue, that neere vnto this place must bee some Fountayne or streame that watereth them, and therefore I pray you let vs goe a little farther, and wee shall meete that which may mitigate the terrible thirst that afflicts vs, which sets vs questionlesse in more paine then did our hunger. This counsell was allowed by Don-Quixote, and therefore leading Rozinante by the bridle, and Sancho his Asse by the halter, after laying vp the reuersion of their supper, they set on through the plaine, onely guided by their ghesse, for the night was so darke as they could not see a iot. And scarce had they trauailed two hundred paces, when they heard a great noise of water, as if it fell headlong from some great and steepe rocke. The noise did cheare them very much, and standing to heare from whence it sounded, they heard vn∣awares another noise, which watered all the continent; they conceiued before, specially in Sancho, who as I haue noted was naturally very fearefull and of little spirit. They heard I say certaine blowes strucken with proportion, with a kinde of ratling of yrons and chaines, which ac∣companied by the furious sound of the water, might strike terrour into any other heart but Don-Quixotes.

The night as we said was darke, and they hapned to enter in among certaine tall and loftie trees, whose leaues moued by a soft gale of wind, made a fearefull and still noyse. So that the solitude, situation, darknesse and the noyse of the water and trembling of the leaues, concur∣ring

did breede horrour and affright. But specially see∣ing that the blowes neuer ceased, the wind slept not, nor the morning approached; whereunto may be added that they know not the place where they were. But Don-Quixote accompanied with his valiant heart, leaped on Rozinante, and embracing his Buckler, brandished his Launce and said.

Friend Sancho, I would haue thee know that I was borne by the disposition of heauen in this our age of iron, to refuscitate in it that of golde, or the golden world as it is called. I am hee for whom are reserued all dangerous, great, and valorous feats. I say againe that I am he which shall set vp againe those of the Round Table, the twelue peeres of Fraunce, and the nine worthies. I am he who shall cause the actes to be forgotten of those Platires, Tablantes, Oliuantes, & Ti∣rantes. The Phebusses, Beliamses, with all the crew of the famous Knights errant of times past, doing in this wherin I liue such great and wonderfull feats of armes, as shall obscure the brauest that euer they atchieued. Thou notest well faithfull and loyall Squire, the darke∣nes of this night, the strange silence, the deafe and con∣fused trembling of these trees, the dreadfull noyse of that water in whose search we come, which seemes to throw it selfe headlong downe from the steepe moun∣taines of the Moone, the inceassable blowes which doth still wound our eares, all which together, and e∣uery one apart, are able to strike terrour, feare, and a∣mazement into the very minde of Mars, how much more in his that is not accustomed to the like chances and aduentures. Yet all this which I haue depainted to thee are inciters and rowsers of my minde, which now causeth my heart almost to burst in my breast, with the desire it hath to trie this aduenture, how diffi∣cult soeuer it shewes it selfe. Wherefore tie my horse gyrts a little straighter, and farewell: here in this place thou mayest expect mee three dayes and no more. And

if I shal not returne in that space, thou mayest go backe to our village, and from thence (for my sake) to Toboso, where thou shalt say to my incomparable Lady Dulci∣nea, that her captiue Knight died, by attempting things that might make him worthy to be called hers.

When Sancho heard his Lord speake these wordes, he began to weepe with the greatest compassion of the world, and say vnto him, Sir, I see no reason why you should vndertake this fearefull aduenture: it is now night, and no body can perceiue vs, wee may very well crosse the way, & apart our selues from danger, although we should therefore want drinke these three dayes. And seeing none behold vs, there will be much lesse any one to take notice of our cowardize; the rather because I heard oft-times the Curate of our Village whom you know ve∣ry well, preach That he which seekes the danger perisheth therein; so that, it is not good to tempt God, vnderstaking such a huge affaire, out of which you cannot escape, but by miracle: and let those which heauen hath already wrought for you suffice, in deliuering you from being tost in a Couerlet, as I was, and bringing you away a Vi∣ctor, free, and safe, from among so many enemies, as ac∣companied the dead man. And when all this shall not moue or soften your hard heart, let this moue it, to thinke and certainly beleeue, that scarce shall you depart from this place, when through very feare I shall giue vp my soule to him that pleaseth to take it. I left my countrey, wife, and children to come and serue you, hoping thereby to be worth more and not lesse: but as couetousnesse breakes the sacke, so hath it also torne my hopes, seeing when they were most pregnant and liuely to obtain that vnlucky and accursed Island, which you promised mee so often: I see that in exchange and pay thereof you meane to forsake mee here in a desart, out of all frequentation. For Gods sake doe not mee such a wrong my Lord; and if you will not wholy desist from your purpose, yet deferre

it at least till the morning, for as my little skill that I lear∣ned when I was a sheep-heard, telleth me, the dawning is not three houres off, for the mouth of the fish is ouer the head and maketh mid-night in the line of the left arme. How canst thou Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote, see where is the line, or that mouth, or that taile, of which thou speakest, seeing the night is so darke that one starre alone appeareth not? that is true, quoth Sancho, but feare hath eyes, which can see things vnder the ground, and much more in the skies. And besides, we may gather by good discourse, that the day is not farre off. Let it be as little off as it lists, quoth Don-Quixote, it shall neuer bee recorded of mee that either teares or prayers could euer disswade me from performing the duty of a Knight, and therefore good Sancho hold thy peace, for God who hath inspired me to attempt this vnseene and fearefull aduenture, will haue an eye to my weale, and also to comfort thy sorrow. And that thou hast therefore to doe, is to make straight my gyrts, and remaine here, for I will returne shortly ei∣ther aliue or dead.

Sancho perceiuing his Lords last resolution, and how little his teares, counsailes, or prayers, could auaile, resol∣ued to profit himselfe a little of his wit, and make him if hee could to expect vntill day, and so when hee did fasten the gyrts, hee softly without being felt tied his Asses hal∣ter to both Rozinantes legges so sast that when Don-Quixote thought to depart he could not, for that his horse could not goe a steppe, but leaping. Sancho seeing the good successe of his guile; said, behold Sir, how heauen moued by my teares and prayers, hath ordained that Ro∣zinante ••••uld not goe a stoppe, and if you will bee still contending, ••••d spurring, and striking him, you will doe nothing but inrage fortune, and as the prouerbe faies, But spurne against the pricke. Don-Quixote grew woode at this, and yet the more he spurted him, he was the lesse able to goe, wherefore without perceiuing the cause of

his horses stay, he resolued at last to be quiet, and expect either till the morning, or else till Rozinante would please to depart, beleeuing verily that the impediment came of some other cause, and not from Sancho, and therefore said vnto him. Since it is so Sancho, that Rozinante can∣not stirre him, I am content to tarry till the dawning, al∣though her tardinesse cost me some teares. You shall haue no cause to weepe replyed Sancho, for I will entertaine you telling of Histories vntill it be day, if you will not a∣light and take a nap vpon these greene hearbs, as Knights errant are wont; that you may be the fresher and better able to morrow to attempt that monstrous aduenture which you expect. What doest thou call alighting, or sleeping, quoth Don-Quixote? am I peraduenture one of those Knights that repose in time of danger? sleepe thou who wast borne to sleepe, or doe what thou please, for I will doe that which I shall see fittest for my pretense. Good Sir be not angry, quoth Sancho, for I did not speake with that intention: and so drawing neare vnto him hee set one of his hands on the pomell of the saddle, and the other hinder in such sort that hee rested imbracing his Lords left thigh, not daring to depart from thence the breadth of a finger, such was the feare he had of those blowes, which all the while did sound without ceasing.

Then Don-Quixote commanded him to tell some tale to passe away the time, as he had promised, and Sancho said he would, if the feare of that which he heard would suffer him. Yet, quoth he for all this I will encourage my selfe to tell you one, whereon if I can hit aright, and that I bee not interrupted, is the best history that euer you heard, and be you attentiue for now I begi••ne. It was that it was, the good that shall befall be for vs all, and the harme for him that searches it. And you must be aduerti∣sed good Sir, that the beginning that Ancient men gaue to their tales, was not of ordinary things, and it was a sen∣tence of Cato the Romaine Conrozin: Which saies and the

harme be for him that searches it. Which is as fit for this place, as a ring for a finger, to the end that you may bee quiet, and not to goe seeke your owne harme to any place, but that wee turne vs another way, for no body ••ompelleth vs to follow this, where so many feares doe surprise vs. Prosecute this tale Sancho, said Don-Quixote, and leaue the charge of the way we must goe to me. I say then, quoth Sancho, that in a village of Estremadura, there was a Sheepe-heard, I would say a Goate-heard. And as I say of my tale, this Goate-heard was called Lope Ruyz: and this Lope Ruyz was enamoured of a Pastora, who was called Torralua; the which Pastera called Tor∣ralua was Daughter to a rich heard-man, and this rich heard-man. If thou tellest thy tale Sancho after that man∣ner, quoth Don-Quixote, repeating euery thing twise that thou sayest, thou wilt not end it this two dayes. Tell it succinctly and like one of iudgement, or else say no∣thing. Of the very same fashion that I tell, are all tales told in my Countrey, and I know not how to tell it any other, nor is it reason that you should aske of me to make new customes. Tell it as thou pleasest, quoth Don-Qui∣xote, for since fortune will not otherwise, but that I must heare thee, goe forward. So that my deare Sir of my soule quoth Sancho, that as I haue said already, this Sheepe-heard was in loue with Torralua the Pastora, who was a round Wench, scornefull, and drew somewhat neare to a man, for shee had Mochachoes, for me thinkes I see her now before my face. Belike then, quoth Don-Quixote, thou knowest her? I did not know her, quoth Sancho, but hee that told mee the tale, said it was so certaine and true, that I might when I told it to any other, very well sweare and affirme that I had seene it all my selfe. So that dayes passing and dayes comming, the Diuell who sleepes not, and that troubles all, wrought in such sort, as the loue that the Sheep-heard bore to the Pastora, turned in∣to man-slaughter and ill will, and the cause was accor∣ding

to badde tongues, a certaine quantity of little iea∣lousies that shee gaue him, such as they past the line, and came to the forbidden . And the Sheep-heard did hate her so much afterward, that hee was content to leaue all that Countrey, because hee would not see her, and goe where his eyes should neuer looke vpon her. Torralua that saw her selfe disdained by Lope, did presently loue him, better then euer shee did before: That is a naturall condition of women, quoth Don-Quixote, to disdaine those that loue them, and to affect those which hate them. Passe forward Sancho. It hapned, quoth Sancho, that the Sheep-heard set his purpose in execution, and gathering vp his Goates, he trauailed through the fields of Estrema∣dura, to passe into the Kingdome of Portugall. Torralua which knew it well followed him a foote and bare legged a farre off, with a pilgrims staffe in her hand, and a wallet hanging at her necke, where they say that shee carried a peece of a looking glasse, and another of a combe, and I know not what little bottle of changes for her face. But let her carry what shee carries, for I will not put my selfe now to verifie that. Only Ile say that they say, that the Sheep-heard arriued with his Goates to passe ouer the Riuer Guadiana, which in that season was swollen very much, and ouerflowed the banks, and at the side where hee came there was neither boate nor barke, nor any to passe himselfe or his Goates ouer the Riuer, for which he was very much grieued, because hee saw that Torralua came very neare, and shee would trouble him very much with her prayers and teares. But he went so long looking vp and downe that hee espyed a fisher who had so little a boate, as it could only hold one man and a Goate at once, and for all that hee spoke and agreed with him to passe himselfe and three hundred Goates that hee had ouer the Riuer. The fisherman entred into the boate, and carried ouer one Goate, he returned and past ouer another, and turned backe againe and past-ouer another. Keepe you

Sir good account of the Goates, that the fisherman fer∣ries ouer; for if one onely be forgotten, the tale will end, and it will not be possible to tell one word more of it. I follow on then, and I say, that the landing place on the other side was very dirty and slippery, which made the fisherman spend much time comming too and fro. Yet for all that he turned for another Goate, and another, and another.

Make account, quoth Don-Quixote, that thou hast past them all ouer, for otherwise thou wilt not make an end of passing them in a whole yeares space. How many, said Sancho, are already past ouer? What a Diuell know I, said Don-Quixote? See there that which I said, quoth Sancho, that you should keepe good account. By Ioue the tale is ended therefore, for there is no pas∣sing forward. How can that be, said Don-Quixote, is it so greatly of the essence of this History to know the Goates that are past so exactly and distinctly, that if one of the number be missed, thou canst not follow on with thy tale? no Sir, in no sort, said Sancho, for as soone as I demaunded of you to tell mee how many Goates past ouer, and that you answered mee you knew not, in that very instant it went from mee out of my memo∣ry all that was to bee told, and yfaith it vvas of great vertue and content. So then, quoth Don-Quixote, the tale is ended? it is as certainely ended as is my Mo∣ther, quoth Sancho. Surely, replyed Don-Quixote, thou hast recounted one of the rarest tales or Histories that any one of the world could thinke vpon, and that such a manner of telling or finishing a tale, was neuer yet seene or shall bee seene againe, although I neuer expected any other thing from thy good discourse. But I doe not greatly maruaile, for perhaps those senselesse strokes, haue troubled thine vnderstanding. All that may bee said Sancho, but I know in the discourse of my tale there is no more to bee said, but that there it ends,

where the errour of counting the Goates that were waf∣ted ouer the riuer begins, let it end in a good houre where it lists, answered Don-Quixote, and let vs trie whether Rozinante can yet stirre himselfe, then did he turne againe to giue him the spurres, and hee to leape as he did at the first and rest anew, being vnable to doe other, hee was so well shackled.

It hapned about this time, that eyther through the colde of the morning, or that Sancho had eaten at supper some lenatiue meates, or that it was a thing naturall (and that is most credible) he had a desire to doe that which o∣thers could not doe for him; but such was the feare that entred into his heart, as hee dared not depart from his Lord the breadth of a straw: and to thinke to leaue that which he had desired vndone was also impossible, there∣fore his resolution in that perplexed exigent, be it spoken with pardon, was this; he losed his right hand, where∣withall he held fast the hinderpart of the saddle, and ther∣withall very softly and without any noyse hee vntled the Codpi••••e-point, wherewithall his breeches were onely supported, which, that being let slippe, did presently fall downe about his legges like a paire of bolts: after this, lifting vp his shirt the best he could, hee exposed his but∣tockes to the ayre, which were not the least: this being done, which as he thought was the chiefest thing requi∣site to issue out of that terrible anguish and plunge; hee was suddenly troubled with a greater, to wit, that hee knew not how to disburden himselfe without making a noyse: which to auoyde first he shut his teeth close, lifted vp his shoulders, and gathered vp his breath as much he might, yet notwithstanding all these diligences, he was so vnfortunate, that he made a litle noise at the end, much different from that which made him so fearefull. Don-Quixote heard it, and said, What noyse is that Sancho? I know it not Sir, quoth he, I thinke it be some new thing for aduentures, or rather disuentures neuer begin with a

little. Then turned he once againe to trie his happe, and it succeeded so well that without making any rumour or noyse, but that which he did at the first, he found himselfe free of this loading that troubled him so much.

But Don-Quixote hauing the sense of smelling as per∣fect as that of his hearing; and Sancho stood so neere, or rather ioyned to him, as the vapours did ascend vpward, almost by a direct line, he could not excuse himselfe but that some of them must needs touch his nose. And scarce had they arriued but that he occurd to the vsuall remedy, and stopped it very well betweene his fingers, and then said with a snaffling voyce; Me thinkes Sancho that thou art much affraid. I am indeed, replied Sancho, but wher∣in I pray you, doe you perceiue it now more then euer? In that thou smelst now more then euer, quoth Don-Quixote, and that not of Ambar. It may be so, quoth Sancho, yet the fault is not mine but yours, which brings me at such vnseasonable houres, through so desolate and fearefull places. I pray thee friend retire thy selfe two or three steps back, quoth Don-Quixote, holding his fingers still vpon his nose, and from henceforth haue more care of thy person, & of the respect thou owest to mine; for I see the ouermuch familiarity that I vse with thee, hath ingen∣dred this contempt. I dare wager, quoth Sancho, that you thinke I haue done somewhat with my person that I ought not. Friend Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote, it is the worse to stirre it thus. And thus in these and such like conuersation the Master and the man passed ouer the night. And Sancho seeing that the morning approached, he loosed Rozinante very warily, and tied vp his hose. Rozinante feeling himselfe (although he was not natural∣ly very couragious) hee seemed to reioyce, and began to beate the ground with his hooffes; for by his leaue hee could neuer yet curuet. Don-Quixote seeing that Rozi∣nante could now stirre, accounted it to be a good signe, and an incouragement of him to attempt that timorous aduenture.

By this Aurora did display her purple mantell ouer the face of Heauen, and euery thing appeared distinctly, which made Don-Quixote perceiue that he was among a number of tall Chesnut-trees, which commonly make a great shadow. He heard likewise those incessable strokes, but could not espy the cause of thē; wherfore giuing Ro∣zinante presently the spurre, and turning backe again to Sancho to bid him farewell, he commaunded him to stay for him there three dayes at the longest, and that if he re∣turned not after that space, he should make full account, that Ioue was pleased he should end his daies in that dan∣gerous aduenture. He repeated to him againe the em∣bassage and errant hee should carrie in his behalfe to his Ladie Dulcinea, & that touching the reward of his serui∣ces, he should not feare any thing, for he had left his Testa∣ment made before he departed from his village, where he should finde himselfe gratified, touching all that which pertained to his hire, according to the rate of the time he had serued. But if God would bring him off, from that aduenture safe and sound, and without danger, he might full account to receiue the promised Island. Here Sancho began anew to weepe, hearing againe the pittifull dis∣courses of his good Lord, and determined not to abandon him vntill the last traunce and end of that affaire, and out of these teares and honourable resolution of Sancho, the authour of this History collects, that it is like he was well borne, or at the very least an olde Christian, whose griefe did moue his Master a little, but not so much as he should shew the least argument of weakenes, but rather dissemb∣ling it the best that he could, he followed on his way to∣wards the way of the water, and that where the stroakes were heard. Sancho followed him a foote, leading as he was wont, his Asse by the halter, who was the insepara∣ble fellow of his prosperous or aduerse fortunes.

And hauing trauelled a good space among those Ches∣nut and shady trees, they came out into a little plaine that

stood at the foot of certaine steepe rockes, from whose tops did precipitate it selfe a great fall of water. There were at the foot of those rockes certaine houses, so ill made, as they rather seemed ruines of buildings then houses; from whence as they perceiued, did issue the fear∣full rumour and noyse of the stroakes, which yet continu∣ed. Rozinante at this dreadfull noyse did start, and being made quiet by his Lord Don-Quixote, did by little and little draw neere to the houses, recommending himselfe on the way most deuoutly to his Ladie Dulcinea, and also to Ioue, desiring him that he would not forget him. San∣cho neuer departed from his Lords side, and stretched out his necke and eyes as farre as he might through Rozinan∣te his legges, to see if he could perceiue that which helde him so fearefull and suspended. And after they had tra∣uelled about a hundred paces, more at the dubling of a point of a mountaine they saw the very cause, patent and open (for rhere could be none other) of that so hideous and fearefull a noyse that had kept them all the night so doubtfull and affrighted, and was (O Reader if thou wilt not take it in bad part) sixe yron Maces that fulled cloath, which with their interchangeable blowes, did forme that maruellous noyse.

When Don-Quixote saw what it was, he waxed mute and all ashamed. Sancho beheld him, and saw that hee hanged his head on his breast with tokens that hee was somewhat ashamed. Don-Quixote looked also on his Squire, and saw that his cheekes were swolne with laugh∣ter, giuing withall euident signes that he was in danger to burst, if he did not permit that violent passion to make a sally, whereat all Don-Quixotes melancholy little pre∣uailing, he could not beholding Sancho, but laugh also himselfe. And when Sancho saw that his Master had be∣gun the play, he let slip the prisoner in such violent man∣ner to presse his sides hardly with both his hands to saue himselfe from bursting. Foure times he ended, and other

foure he renued his laughter with as great impulse and force as at the first, whereat Don-Quixote was wonder∣fully inraged, but chiefly hearing him say in gibing man∣ner: I would haue thee know friend Sancho, that I was born by the disposition of heauen in this our age of yron, to renue in it that of gold or the golden world. I am hee for whom are reserued all dangerous, great, and valorous feats. And in this sort he went repeating all or the grea∣test part of the words, Don-Quixote had said the first time that they heard the timorous blowes, Don-Quixote per∣ceiuing that Sancho mockt him, grew so ashamed and an∣gry withall, that lifting vp the end of his launce, he gaue him two such blowes on the backe, as if he had receiued them on his pate, would haue freed his Master from pay∣ing him any wages, if it were not to his hayres. Sancho seeing that he gained so ill earnest by his iests, fearing that his Master should goe onward with it, he said vnto him with very great submission; Pacifie your selfe good Sir, for by Ioue I did but iest. But why dost thou iest? I tell thee, I doe not iest, quoth Don-Quixote. Come here Ma∣ster Merriman, thinkest thou that as those are yron Maces to full cloth, they were some other dangerous aduenture, that I haue not shown resolution enough to vndertake & finish it? Am I by chance obliged being as I am a Knight to know & distinguish noyses, and perceiue which are of a fulling Mill or no? And more it might (as it is true) that I neuer saw any before as thou hast done, base villain that thou art, borne and brought vp among the like: if not, make thou that these sixe Maces be conuerted into sixe Giants, and cast them in my beard one by one, or all to∣gether: and when I doe not turne all their heeles vp, then mocke me as much as thou pleasest.

No more good Sir, quoth Sancho, for I confesse I haue beene somewhat too laughsome. But tell me I pray you, now that we are in peace, as God shall deliuer you out of all aduentures that may befall you as whole and sound, as

he hath done out of this, hath not the great feare we were in, beene a good subiect of laughter, and a thing worthy the telling? At least I, for of you I am certaine that you doe not yet know what feare or terror is. I doe not de∣nie, quoth Don-Quixote, but that which befell vs is wor∣thy of laughter: yet ought it not to be recounted, for as much as all persons are not so discreete, as to know how to discerne one thing from another, and set euery thing in his right point. You know at least wise, quoth Sancho, how to set your Iaueline in his point, when pointing at my pate, you hit me on the shoulders, thanks be to God, and to the diligence I put in going aside. But farewell it, for all will away in the bucking; and I haue heard olde folke say, That man loues thee well, who makes thee to weepe: and besides great Lords are wont after a badde word which they say to one of their Seruingmen, to be∣stow on him presently a paire of hose. But I know not yet what they are wont to giue them after blowes, if it be not that Knights errant giue after the bastanado Islands, or Kingdomes on the continent. The Die might runne so fauourably, quoth Don-Quixote, as all thou hast said, might come to passe: and therefore pardon what is done since thou art discreete, and knowest that a mans first mo∣tions are not in his hand. And be aduertised of one thing from hence forward (to the end to abstaine, and carry thy selfe more respectiuely in thy ouer-much liberty of speech with mee) that in as many bookes of Chiualry as I haue read, which are infinite, I neuer found that any Squire spoke so much with his Lord, as thou dost with thine; which in good sooth I do attribute to thy great indiscre∣tion and mine, thine in respecting me so little, mine in not making my selfe to be more regarded. Was not Gandalin Amadis du Gaules Squire Earle of the firme Island? and yet it is read of him that hee spoke to his Lord with his Cap in his hand, his head bowed, and his body bended (more Turcesco). What then shall we say of Gasabel Don

Gataors Squire, who was so silent, as to declare vs the ex∣cellencie thereof, his name is but once repeated in all that so great and authenticall a History? Of all which my wordes, Sancho, thou must inferre, that thou must make difference betweene the Master and the man, the Lord and his Seruingman, the Knight and his Squire. So that from this day forward we must proceede with more re∣spect, not letting the clew runne so much, for after what way soeuer I grow angry with thee, it will be badde for the Pitcher. The rewards and benefites that I haue pro∣mised thee, will come in their time, and if they doe not, thy wages cannot be lost (as I haue already said to thee).

You say very well quoth Sancho, but faine would I learne (in case that the time of rewards came not, and that I must of necessity trust to my wages) how much a Knight errants Squire did gain in times past? Or if they did agree for moneths or by dayes as Masons men. I doe not thinke quoth Don-Quixote, that they went by the hire, but onely trusted to their Lords curtesie. And if I haue assigned wages to thee in my sealed Testament which I left at home, it was to preuent the worst, because I know not yet what successe Chinalrie may haue in these our so miserable times, and I would not haue my soule suffer in the other world for such a minuity as is thy wages. For thou must vnderstand that in this world there is no state so dangerous as that of Knights errant. That is most true replied Sancho, seeing the onely sound of the Maces of a fulling Mill, could trouble and disquiet the heart of so va∣liant a Knight as you are. But you may be sure that I will not hereafter once vnfolde my lips to iest at your doings, but onely to honour you as my Master and naturall Lord. By doing so, replied Don-Quixote, thou shalt liue on the face of the earth, for next to our parents we are bound to respect our Masters, as if they were our fathers.

CHAP. VII.

Of the high aduenture and rich winning of the helmet of Mambrino, with other successes befalne the in∣uincible Knight.

IT began about this time to raine, and San∣cho would faine haue entred into the ful∣ling Mils, but Don-Quixote had conceiued such hate against them for the iest recoun∣ted, as he would in no wise come neere them, but turning his way on the right hand, he fell into a high way, as much beaten as that wherein they rode the day before; within a while after Don-Quixote espied one a horsebacke, that bore on his head somewhat that glistred like gold; and scarce had he seene him, when hee turned to Sancho, and said, Me thinks Sancho that there's no prouerbe that is not true, for they are all sentences ta∣ken out of experience it selfe, which is the vniuersall mo∣ther of sciences; and specially that prouerbe that sayes, Where one doore is shut another is opened. I say this, because if fortune did shut yesternight the doore that we searched deceiuing vs in the aduenture of the yron Maces, it layes vs now wide open the doore that may addresse vs to a better and more certaine aduenture, whereon if I cannot make a good entry, the fall shall be mine, without being able to attribute it to the little knowledge of the fulling Maces, or the darkenesse of the night: which I affirme be∣cause if I be not deceiued, there comes one towards vs, that weares on his head the helmet of Mambrino, for which I made the oath. See well what you say Sir, and better what you doe, quoth Sancho, for I would not wish that this were new Maces to batter vs and our vnderstan∣ding. The Diuell take thee for a man, replied Don-Qui∣xote, what difference is there betwixt a helmet and fulling

Maces? I know not, quoth Sancho, but if I could speake as much now as I was wont, perhaps I would giue you such reasons as you your selfe should see how much you are deceiued in that you speake. How may I be deceiued in that I say scrupulous traytor, quoth Don-Quixote? Tell mee, seest thou not that Knight which comes riding to∣wards vs on a dapple gray horse, with a helmet of golde on his head? That which I see and finde out to be so an∣swered Sancho, is none other then a man on a gray Asse like mine owne, and brings on his head somewhat that shines. Why that is Mambrinos helmet, quoth Don-Quixote, stand aside and leaue me alone with him, thou shalt see how without speech to cut of delayes, I will con∣clude this aduenture and remain with the helmet as mine owne which I haue desired so much, I will haue care to stand off, but I turne againe to say, that I pray God, that it be a purchase of gold and not fulling Mils. I haue alrea∣dy said to thee, that thou doe not make any more menti∣on, no not in thought of those Maces; for if thou dost said Don-Quixote I vow, I say no more, that I will batter thy soule. Hereat Sancho fearing lest his Master would ac∣complish the vow which he had throwne out as round as a bowle, held his peace.

This therefore is the truth of the History of the hel∣met, horse and Knight which Don-Quixote saw: There was in that Commarke two villages, the one so little as it had neyther shop nor Barber, but the greater that was neere vnto it was furnished of one, and he therefore did serue the little village when they had any occasion, as now it befell that therein lay one sicke and must bee let bloud, and another that desired to trimme his beard; for which purpose the Barber came, bringing with him a bra∣zen Bason: and as hee trauelled, it by chance began to raine, and therefore clapt his Bason on his head to saue his hatte from stayning, because it belike was a new one. And the Bason being cleane skowred, glistred halfe a

league off. He rode on a gray Asse as Sancho said; and that was the reason why Don-Quixote tooke them to be a dapple gray Steede, a Knight and a helmet of gold; for he did with all facility apply euery thing which he saw to his rauing Chiualry and ill-errant thoughts. And when he saw that the poore Knight drew neere, without setling himselfe to commune with him, he inrested his Iaueline low on the thigh, and ranne with all the force Rozinante might, thinking to strike him thorow and thorow. And drawing neere vnto him, without stopping his horse, hee cryed, defend thy selfe Caytise, or else render vnto mee willingly, that which is my due by all reason. The Barber who so without fearing or surmising any such thing, saw that Fantasiue and spirit come vpon him, had no other re∣medy to auoyde the blow of the Launce but to fall off of his Asse to the ground: and scarce had hee touched the earth, when rising vp againe as light as a Deere, he runne away so swistly through the plaine, as the winde could scarce ouertake him; leauing behinde him on the ground his Bason, wherewithall Don-Quixote rested content, and said, that Pagan which lost it was discreete, and did imitate the Castor, who seeing himselfe hotly pursued by the hunters, which teares and cuts away that with his teeth, for which he knows by naturall instinct he follow∣ed. Then he commaunded Sancho to take vp the helmet, who lifting it, said the Bason is a good one By God, and is as well worth a Riall of eight as a marnedie; and giuing it to his Lord, he presently set it on his head, turning a∣bout euery way, to see whether he could get the Beauer, and seeing he could not finde it, hee said, The Pagan for whom this famous helmet was first forged, had doubt∣lesly a very great head; and that which grieues me prin∣cipally is, that this helmet wants the one halfe.

When Sancho heard him call the Bason a helmet, hee could not containe his laughter, but presently remem∣bring on his Masters choler, he checkt it in the midst. Why

dost thou laugh Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote? I laugh, said he, to thinke on the great head the Pagan owner of this helmet had. For it is for all the world like a Barbers Ba∣son. Know Sancho that I imagine, quoth Don-Quixote, that this famous piece of this inchanted helmet did fall by some strange accident into some ones handes that knew not the worth thereof, and seeing it was of pure gold, without knowing what lie did, I thinke hee hath moulten the halfe, to profite himselfe therewithall, and made of the other halfe this which seemes a Barbers Ba∣son, as thou sayest. But be what it list, to me who knowes well what it is his transmutation makes no matter, for I will dresse it so in the first towne, where I shall finde a Smith, as that which the God of forges made for the God of warre, shall not surpasse, no nor come neere it; and in the meane while I will weare it as I may: for something is better then nothing; and more, seeing it may very well defend me from the blow of a stone. That's true, quoth Sancho, if it be not throwne out of a sling, such as that of the battell of the two armies, when they blissed your Worships checke teeth, and broke the bottle wherin you carried the most blissed drench which made me vomit vp my guts. I doe not much care for the losse of it Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote, for as thou knowest, I haue the re∣ceit in memory; so haue I likewise, quoth Sancho, but if euer I make it or taste it again in my life, I pray God that here may be mine end. How much more I neuer meane to thrust my selfe into any occasion wherin I should haue neede of it; for I meane with all my fiue senses to keepe my selfe from hurting any, or being hurt. Of being once againe tost in a Couerlet I say nothing, for such disgraces can hardly be preuented, and if they befall, there is no o∣ther remedy but patience, and to lift vp the shoulders, keepe in the breath, shut the eyes, and suffer our selues to bee borne where Fortune and the Couerlet plea∣seth.

Thou art a badde Christian Sancho, quoth Don-Qui∣xote, hearing him say so; for thou neuer forgettest the in∣iuries that are once done to thee: know that it is the du∣ty of noble and generous minds not to make any account of toyes. What legge hast thou brought away lame, what ribbe broken, or what head hurte, that thou canst not yet forget that jest? for the thing being well examined, it was none other then a jest or pastime; for if I did not take it to be such, I had returned by this to that place, & done more harme in thy reuenge, then that which the Greekes did for the rape of Helen: who if she were in these times, or my Dulcinea in hers, she might be sure she should ne∣uer haue gained so much fame for beauty as she did: and saying so, he pierced the skie with a sigh. Then said San∣cho, let it passe for a jest, since the reuenge cannot passe in earnest. But I know well the quality both of the jests and earnest, and also that they shall neuer fall out of my memory, as they will neuer out of my shoulders. But lea∣uing this apart, what shall we doe with this dapple gray Steed that lookes so like a gray Asse, which that Martin left behinde, whom you ouerthrew, who according as he laide feete on the dust and made hast, hee mindes not to backe for him againe, and by my beard the gray beast is a good one. I am not accustomed, quoth Don-Quixote, to ransacke and spoyle those whom I ouercome, nor is it the practise of Chiualry to take their horses, and let them goe a foote: if that it befall the Victor to lose in the conflict his owne; for in such a case it is lawfull to take that of the vanquished, as wonne in faire warre. So that Sancho leaue that horse, or Asse, or what else thou plea∣sest to call it, for when his owner sees vs departed, he will returne againe for it. God knowes, quoth Sancho, whe∣ther it will be good or no for me to take him, or at least change for mine owne, which me thinkes is not so good. Truely the lawes of Knighthood are straight, since they extend not themselues to licence the exchang of one Asse

for another: and I would know whether they permit at least to change the one harnesse for another. In that I am not very sure, quoth Don-Quixote, and as a case of doubt (vntill I be better informed) I say that thou exchange them, if by chance thy neede bee extreme: so extreme, quoth Sancho, that if they were for mine owne very per∣son, I could not neede them more. And presently enabled by the licence, he made mutatio Caparum, and set forth his beast like a hundred holy-dayes.

This being done, they broke their fast with the relickes of the spoyles they had made in the Campe of Sumpture horse, and drunke of the Milles streames, without once turning to looke on them (so much they abhord them for the maruellous terror they had strucken them in) and ha∣uing by their repast cut away all cholericke and melan∣cholicke humours, they followed on the way which Ro∣zinante pleased to leade them (who was the depository of his Masters will, and also of the Asses, who followed him alwayes wheresoeuer hee went in good amitie and company. For all this they returned to the high way, wherein they trauelled at randome, without any certaine deliberation which way to goe. And as they thus trauel∣led, Sancho said to his Lord, Sir, will you giue me leaue to commune a little with you; for since you haue imposed vpon me that sharpe commaundement of silence more then foure things haue rotted in my stomacke, and one thing that I haue now vpon the tippe of my tongue, I would not wish for any thing that it should miscarry? Say it, quoth Don-Quixote, and be briefe in thy reasons, For none is delightfull if it be prolix. I say then, quoth Sancho, that I haue beene these later dayes, considering how lit∣tle is gained by following these aduentures, that you doe thorow these desarts and crosse waies, where though you ouercome and finish the most dangerous, yet no man sees nor knowes them, and so they shall remaine in perpetu all silence, both to your preiudice, and that of the fame

which they deserue. And therefore me thinkes it were better (still excepting your better iudgement herein) that we went to serue some Emperour, or other great Prince that maketh warre, in whose seruice you might show the valour of your person, your maruellous force, and won∣derfull iudgement: which being perceiued by the Lord whom we shall serue, he must perforce reward vs, euery one according to his deserts; and in such a place will not want one to record your noble acts for a perpetuall me∣mory: of mine I say nothing, seeing they must not trans∣gresse the Squire-like limits: although I dare auouch that if any notice be taken in Chiualry of the feats of Squires, mine shall not fall away betwixt the lines.

Sancho thou sayest not ill, quoth Don-Quixote, but before such a thing come to passe, it is requisite to spend some time vp and downe the world, as in probation, seeking of aduentures, to the end that by atchieuing some, a man may acquire such fame and renoune, as when he goes to the Court of any great Monark, he be there already knowne by his workes, and that he shall scarcely be perceiued to enter at the gates by the boyes of that Citie, when they all will follow & inuiron him, crying out aloude; This is the Knight of the Sunne, or the Serpent, or of some other deuice vnder which hee hath atchieued strange aduentures. This is he (will they say) who ouercame in single fight the huge Giant Bro∣cabruno of the inuincible strength. He that disinchan∣ted the great Sophie of Persia, of the large inchantment wherein he had lien, almost nine hundred yeares. So that they will thus goe proclayming his actes from hand to hand; and presently the King of that King∣dome, moued by the great bruit of the boyes and other people, will stand at the windowes of his Palace to see what it is; and as soone as hee shall eye the Knight, knowing him by his armes, or by the Impresa of his shield, he must necessarily say, vp, goe all of you my

Knights, as many of you as are in my Court forth, to re∣ceiue the flower of Chiualry, which comes there: at whose commandement they all wil sally, & he himselfe will come downe to the midst of the staires, and will embrace him most straightly, and will giue him the peace, kissing him on the cheeke: and presently will carrie him by the hand to the Queenes chamber, where the Knight shall finde her accompanied by the Princesse her daughter, which must be one of the fairest and debonaire damzels that can be found throughout the vast compasse of the earth; after this will presently and in a trice succeed that she will cast her eye on the Knight, and he on her, and each of them shall seeme to the other no humane creature but an Angell, and then without knowing how, or how not, they shall re∣maine captiue and intangled in the intricable amorous nette, and with great care in their mindes, because they know not how they shall speake to discouer their an∣guish and feeling. From thence the King will carrie him without doubt to some quarter of his Palace richly hanged; where hauing taken off his armes, they will bring him a rich mantell of Scarlet, furred with ermines to weare: and if hee seemed well before being armed, he shall now looke as well or better out of them. The night being come, he shal sup with the King, Queene & Princesse, where he shal neuer take off his eye off her, beholding vnawares of those that stand present: & she will do the like with as much discretion; for as I haue said she is a very discreete damzell. The Tables shall be taken vp, there shall enter vnexpectly in at the hal an••l fauored little dwarffe, with a faire Ladie that comes behinde the dwarffe betweene two Giants, with a certaine aduenture wrought by a most auncient wiseman, & that he who shal end it, shal be held for the best Knights of the world. Presently the King wil com¦mand al those that are present to proue it, w^ch they do

none of them can finish it, but onely the new come Knight to the great proofe of his fame. Whereat the Princesse will remaine very glad, and will be very ioy∣full and well appaide, because fhee hath setled her thoughts in so high a place. And the best of it is that this King, or Prince, or what else he is, hath a very great warre with another as mighty as hee; and the Knight his guest doth aske him (after he hath bin in the Court a few dayes) licence to go and serue him in that warre. The King will giue it with a very good will, and the Knight will kisse his handes courteously for the fauour he doth him therein: and that night he will take leaue of his Ladie the Princesse by some window of a garden that lookes into her bed-chamber; by the which hee hath spoken to her oft-times before, being a great meanes and helpe therto, a certaine damzell which the Princesse trusts very much. He sighes, and shee will fall in a sound, and the damzell will bring water, to bring her to her selfe againe. She will be also full of care be∣cause the morning drawes neere, and she would not haue them discouered for any her Ladies honour. Fi∣nally the Princesse will returne to her selfe, and will giue out her beautifull handes at the window to the Knight, who will kisse them a thousand and a thousand times, and will bathe them all in teares. There it will remaine agreed betweene them two, the meanes that they will vse to acquaint one another with their good or badde successes; and the Princes will pray him to stay a way as little time as he may, which he shall pro∣mise vnto her, with many oathes and protestations. Then will he turne againe to kisse her handes, and take his leaue of her with such feeling, that there will want but litle to end his life in the place he goes from thence to his chamber, and casts himselfe vpon his bedde, but he shall not be able to sleepe a nappe for sorrow of his departure: he will after get vp very early, and will goe

to take leaue of the King, the Queene and Princesse. They tell him (hauing taken leaue of the first two) that the Princesse is ill at ease, and that she cannot be visi∣ted: the Knight thinkes that it is for griefe of his de∣parture, and the which tidings launceth him anew to the bottom of his heart, wherby he will be almost con∣strained to giue manifest tokens of his griefe: the dam∣zel that is priuy to their loues will be present, and must note all that passeth, and goe after to tell it to her Mi∣stresse, who receiues her with teares, and sayes vnto her that one of the greatest afflictions she hath is, that she does not know who is her Knight, or whether hee be of blood royall or no: Her damzell will assure her againe that so great bountie, beauty and valor as is in her Knight, could not find place but in a great & royall subiect. The carefull Princesse will comfort her selfe with this hope; and labour to bee cheerefull lest shee should giue occasion to her parents to suspect any sini∣ster thing of her: and within two dayes againe she will come out in publique. By this the Knight is departed, he fights in the warre, and ouercomes the Kings ene∣my, he winnes many Cities, and triumphes for many battels, he returnes to the Court, he visits his Lady, and speakes to her at the accustomed place, he agreeth with her to demaund her of the King for his wife, in reward of his seruices, whereunto the King will not consent, because he knowes not what he is: but for all this, ey∣ther by carrying her away, or by some other maner the Princesse becomes his wife, and he accounts himselfe therefore very fortunate, because it was after knowne that the same Knight is sonne to a very valorous King of I know not what Countrey; for I beleeue it is not in all the Mappe. The father dies, and the Princesse doth inherite the Kingdome, and thus in two wordes our Knight is become a King. Heere in this place enters presently the commoditie to reward his Squire, and all

those that holpe him to ascend to so high an estate. He marries his Squire with one of the Princesses damzels, which shall doubtlesly bee the very same that was ac∣quainted with his loue, who is some principall Dukes daughter.

That's it I seeke for, quoth Sancho, and all will goe right; therefore I will leane to that, for euery whit of it which you said will happen to your selfe, without missing a iot, calling your selfe The Knight of the ill fauoured face. Neuer doubt it Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote, for euen in the very same maner, and by the same steppes that I haue recounted here Knights errant doe ascend and haue as∣sended to be Kings and Emperours. This only is expedi∣ent, that we enquire what King among the Christians or Heathens makes warre and hath a faire daughter: but we shall haue time enough to bethinke that, since as I haue said we must first acquire fame in other places, before we goe to the Court. Also I want another thing, that put case that we find a Christian or Pagan King, that hath warres and a faire daughter, and that I haue gained incre∣dible fame throughout the wide-world, yet cannot I tell how I might finde that I am descended from Kings, or at the least cousen Germaine remoued of an Emperour? For the King will not giue me his daughter, vntill this be first very well proued, though my workes deserue it neuer so much; so that I feare to lose through this defect, that which mine owne hath merited so well. True it is, that I am a Gentleman of a knowne house of propriety and possession; and perhaps the wise man that shall write my History will so beautifie my kindred and discent, that hee will find me to be the fift or sixt descent from a King; for thou must vnderstand Sancho, that there are two maners of lineages in the world. Some that deriue their pede∣gree from Princes and Monarkes, whom time hath by lit∣tle and little diminished and confumed, and ended in a point like Pyramydes. Others that tooke their beginning

from base people, and ascend from degree vnto degree, vntill they become at last great Lords. So that all the dif∣ference is, that some were that which they are not now, and others are that which they were not. And it might be that I am of those, and after good examination my be∣ginning might be found to haue beene famous and glori∣ous; wherewithall the King my father in law ought to be content, whosoeuer he were: and when he were not, yet shall the Princesse loue me in such sort, that she shall in despite of her fathers teeth, admit me for her Lord and Spouse, although she knew me to be the sonne of a Wa∣ter-bearer. And if not, here in this place may quader well, the carrying of her away perforce, and carrying of her where best I liked; for eyther time or death must needes end her fathers displeasure.

Here comes well to passe that Sancho, which some damned fellowes are wont to say; Seeke not to get that with a good will, which thou mayest take perforce; although it were better said, The leape of a shrubbe is more worth then good mens intreaties. I say it to this purpose, that if the King your father in law will not condiscend to giue vnto you the Princesse my Mistresse, then there's no more to be done, but as you say to her, steale away & carie her to another place: but all the harme is, that in the meane while that composition is vnmade, and you possesse not quietly your Kingdome, the poore Squire may whistle for any benefite or pleasure you are able to doe him, if it be not that the damzell of whom you spoke euen now, runne away with her Ladie, and that he passe away his misfortunes now and then with her, vntil heauen ordaine some other thing: for I doe thinke that his Lord may giue her vnto him presently, if he please to be his lawfull Spouse. There's none that can depriue thee of that, quoth Don-Quixote. Why, so that this may befall, quoth San∣cho, there's no more but to commend our selues to God, and let fortune runne where it may best addresse vs. God

bring it so to passe, quoth Don-Quixote, as I desire, and thou hast neede of Sancho? and let him be a wretch that accounts himselfe one. Let him be so, quoth Sancho, for I am an olde Christian; and to be an Earle there is no more requisite. I, and tis more then enough, quoth Don-Quixote for that purpose: and though thou werest not, it made not much matter; for I being a King I may giue thee nobility, without eyther buying of it, or seruing me with nothing. For in creating thee an Earle, loe thereby thou art a Gentleman: and let men say what they please, they must in good faith call thee right honourable, al∣though it grieue them neuer so much. And thinke you, quoth Sancho, that I would not authorize my Litado. Thou must say Dictado or dignity, quoth Don-Quixote, and not Litado, for that's a barbarous word. Let it be so, quoth Sancho Panca, I say that I would accommodate all very well, for I was once by my life: the warner of a Confratriety, and the warners gowne became me so well, that euery one said I had a presence fit for the prouost of the same. Then how much more when I shall set on my shoulders the Reall of a Duke, or be apparrelled with golde and pearles after the custome of strange Earles; I doe verily beleeue that men will come a hundred leagues to see me. Thou wilt seeme very well, quoth Don-Qui∣xote, but thou must shaue that beard very often, for as thou hast it now so bushie, knit, and vnhandsome, if thou shauest it not with a razor at the least euery other day, men will know that thou art as farre from Gentilitie as a Musket can carie. What more is there to be done, quoth Sancho, then to take a Barber, and keepe him hired in my house; yea, and if it be necessary, he shall ride after me, as if he were a Master of horse to some Nobleman: how knowest thou, quoth Don-Quixote, that Noblemen haue their Masters of horses riding after them? Some few years agoe I was a moneth in the Court, and there I saw that as a young little Lord rode by for his pleasure, they said

he was a great Grande: there followed him still a horse∣backe a certaine man turning euery way that he went, so as he verily seemed to be his horse taile. I then demaun∣ded the cause why that man did not ride by the others side, but still did follow him so? They answered me that he was Master of his horses, and that the Grandes were accustomed to carrie such men after them. Thou sayest true, quoth Don-Quixote, and thou mayest carry thy Bar∣ber in that manner after thee; for customes came not alto∣gether, nor were not inuented at once. And thou mayest be the first Earle that carried his Barber after him. And I doe assure thee that it is an office of more trust to trim a mans beard then to saddle a horse. Let that of the Bar∣ber rest to my charge, quoth Sancho, and that of procu∣ring to be a King, and of creating me an Earle to yours. It shall be so, quoth Don-Quixote; and thus lifting vp his eyes, he saw that which shall be recounted in the chapter following.

CHAP. VIII.

Of the liberty Don-Quixote gaue to many wretches, who were a carrying perforce to a place they desired not.

CIde Hamete Benengeli, an Arabicall and Machegan Author recounts in this most graue, lofty, diuine, sweet, conceited Hi∣story, that after these discourses past be∣tween Don-Quixote and his Squire San∣cho Panca, which we haue laid downe in the last Chapter. Don-Quixote lifting vp his eyes, saw that there came in the very same way wherein they rode, about some twelue men in a company on foote, inserted like Bead-stones in a great chaine of yron that was tyed

about their neckes, and euery one of them had manacles besides on their handes. There came to conduct them two on horsebacke, and two others a foot; the horsemen had firelocke pieces, those that came a foote darts and swords. And as soone as Sancho saw them, he said; This is a chaine of Gally-slaues, people forced by the King to go to the Gallies. How? people forced, demanded Don-Quixote, is it possible that the King will force any body? I say not so, answered Sancho, but that it is people which are condemned for their offences to serue the King in the Gallies perforce. In resolution, replyed Don-Quixote, (howsoeuer it be) this folke, although they be conducted goe perforce, and not willingly. That's so, quoth Sancho. Then if that be so, here fals in iustly the execution of my function, to wit, the dissoluing of violences and outrages, and the succouring of the afflicted and needefull. I pray you Sir, quoth Sancho, to consider that the Iustice, who represents the King himselfe, doth wrong or violence to no body, but onely doth chastice them for their commit∣ted crimes.

By this the chaine of slaues arriued, and Don-Quixote with very courteous termes requested those that went in their guard, that they would please to informe him of the cause wherefore they carried that people away in that manner? One of the guardians a horse-backe answered, that they were slaues condemned by his Maiestie to the Gallies, and there was no more to be said, neither ought he to desire any farther knowledge. For all that, replied Don-Quixote, I would faine learne of euery one of them in particular the cause of his disgrace: and to this did adde other such and so courteous wordes, to moue them to tell him what he desired, as the other guardian a horse∣backe said. Although we carie here the Register and te∣stimony of the condemnations of euery one of these wretches, yet this is no time to hold them here long, or take out the processes to reade, draw you neerer and de∣mand

it of themselues, for they may tel it and they please, and I know they will; for they are men that take delight both in acting and relating knaueries.

With this licence, which Don-Quixote himselfe would haue taken, although they had not giuen it him, he came to the chaine, and demanded of the first for what offence he went in so ill a guise? Hee answered that his offence was no other then for being in loue; for which cause on∣ly he went in that manner. For that and no more, replied Don-Quixote? Well, if enamoured folke be cast into the Gallies, I might haue beene rowing there a good many dayes agoe. My loue was not such as you coniecture, quoth the slaue, for mine was that I loued so much a bas∣ket well heaped with fine linnen, as I did embrace it so straightly, that if the Iustice had not taken it away from me by force, I would not haue forsaken it to this houre by my good will. All was done in Flagrante, there was no leisure to giue me torment, the cause was concluded, my shoulders accommodated with a hundred, and for a sup∣plement three prices of Garrupes, and the worke was en∣ded. What are Garrupes, quoth Don-Quixote? Garrupes are Gallies, replied the slaue, who was a young man of some foure and twenty yeares old, and said he was borne in Piedrahita.

Don-Quixote demaunded of the second his cause of offence, who would answere nothing he went so sad and melancholy. But the first answered for him, and said, Sir this man goes for a Canarie bird, I meane for a Musitian and Singer. Is it possible, quoth Don-Quixote, that Mu∣sitians and Singers are likewise sent to the Gallies? Yes Sir, quoth the slaue, for there's nothing worse then to sing in anguish. Rather, quoth Don-Quixote, I haue heard say that he which sings doth affright and chase away his harms. Here it is quite contrary, quoth the slaue, for He that sings once, weepes all his life after. I doe not vnderstand it, said Don-Quixote; but one of the guardians said to him, Sir

Knight, to sing in anguish, is said among this people non Sancta, to confesse vpon the racke. They gaue this poore wretch the torture, and he confessed his delight that hee was a Quartrezo, that is a stealer of beastes. And because he hath confessed, he is likewise condemned to the Gal∣lies for sixe years, with an Amen of two hundred blowes, which he beares already with him on his shoulders; and he goes alwayes thus sad and pensatiue, because the other theeues that remaine behinde, and also those which goe heere doe abuse, despise, and scorne him for confessing, and not hauing a courage to say Non. For they say a No, hath as many letters as an Ye, & that a delinquent is very fortunate, when his life or his death onely depends of his owne tongue, and not of witnesses or proofes: and in mine opinion they haue very great reason. I likewise thinke the same, quoth Don-Quixote.

And passing to the third, he demaunded that which he had done of the rest, who answered him out of hand, and that pleasantly. I goe to the Lady Garrupes for fiue yeares because I wanted tenne Duccats. I will giue twenty with all my heart to free thee from that misfortune, quoth Don-Quixote. That, quoth the slaue, would be like to one that hath money in the midst of the Gulfe, and yet dies for hunger, because he can get no meat to buy for it. I say this, because if I had those twenty Duckets which your Worships liberality offers me in due season, I would haue so annoynted with them the Notaries penne, and whetted my Lawyers wit so well, that I might to day see my selfe in the midst of the Market of Cocodouer of Tole∣do, and not in this way trayled thus like a Grey-hound: but God is great. Patience; and this is enough.

Don-Quixote went after to the fourth, who was a man of a venerable presence, with a long white beard which reached to his bosome. Who hearing himselfe deman∣ded the cause why he came there, began to weepe, and answered not a word. But the fift flaue lent him a tongue,

and said, This honest man goes to the Gallies for foure yeares, after he had walked the Ordinary apparrelled in pompe, and a horsebacke. That is, quoth Sancho Panca, as I take, after he was caried about to the shame and pub∣like view of the people. You are in the right, quoth the slaue, and the crime for which hee is condemned to this paine, was, for being a Broker of the eare, I and of all the body too; for in effect I meane that this Gentleman go∣eth for a Baude, and likewise for hauing a little smacke and entrance in witch-craft. If that smacke and insight in witchcraft were not added, quoth Don-Quixote, hee merited not to goe and row in the Gallies for being a pure Baude, but rather deserued to gouerne and be their Generall. For the office of a Baude is not like euery other ordinary office, but rather of great discretion and most necessary in any Common-wealth well gouerned, and should not be practised but by people well borne; and ought besides to haue a Veedor, and examinator of them, as are of al other trades, & a certain appointed number of men known, as are of the other brokers of the exchange. And in this manner many harmes that are done might be excused, because this trade and office is practised by in∣discreete people of little vnderstanding; such as are wo∣men of little more or lesse, young Pages and Iesters of few yeares standing, and of lesse experience, which in the most vrgent occasions, and when they should contriue a∣ny thing artificially, the crummes freeze in their mouthes and fists, and they know not which is their right hand. Faine would I passe forward, and giue reasons why it is conuenient to make choise of those which ought in the Common-wealth to practise this so necessary an office: but the place and season is not fit for it. One day I will say it to those which may prouide and remedy it: onely I say now, that the assumpt or addition of a Witch, hath de∣priued me of the compassion I should otherwise haue, to see those gray haires and venerable face in such distresse

for being a Baude. Although I know very well that no sorcery in the world can moue or force the will, as some ignorant persons thinke (for our will is a free power, and ther's no hearb nor charme can constrain it.) That which certain simple women, or cousening companions make, are some mixtures and poysons, wherewithall they cause men runne madde, and in the meane while perswade vs that they haue force to make one loue well, being (as I haue said) a thing most impossible to constraine the Will. That is true, quoth the olde man, and I protest Sir, that I am wholly innocent of the imputation of Witchcraft: as for being a Baude, I could not denie it: but yet I neuer thought that I did ill therein; for all mine intention was that all the world should disport them, and liue together in concord and quietnesse without griefes or quarrels: but this my good desire auailed me but little to hinder my going there; from whence I haue no hope euer to re∣turne, my yeares doe so burden me, and also the stone, which lets me not rest an instant. And saying this, he tur∣ned againe to his lamentation as at the first, and Sancho tooke such compassion on him, as setting his hand into his bosome, he drew out a couple of shillings, and gaue it him as an almes.

From him Don-Quixote past to another, and demaun∣ded his fault; who answered with no lesse but with much more pleasantnesse then the former: I goe heere because I haue jested somewhat too much with two cousen Ger∣maines of mine owne, and with two other sisters, which were none of mine: finally, I jested so much with them all, that thence resulted the increase of my kindred so in∣tricately, as there is no Casuist that can well resolue it. All was proued by me, I wanted fauour, I had no money, and was in danger to lose my head: finally, I was condemned for sixe yeares to the Gallies. I consented, it is a punish∣ment of my fault; I am young, and let my life but holde out a while longer, and all will goe well. And if you Sir

Knight carry any thing to succour vs poore folke, God will reward you it in heauen, and we will haue care here on earth to desire God in our daily prayers for your life and health, that it be as long and as good as your good countenance deserues. He that said this, went in the ha∣bite of a student, and one of the guard tolde him that hee was a great talker, and a very good Latinist.

After all these came a man of some thirty yeares olde, of very comely personage, saue onely that when he loo∣ked, he seemed to thrust the one eye into the other. Hee was differently tied from the rest; for he carried about his legge so long a chain, that it tired all the rest of his body: and he had besides two yron rings about his necke, the one of the chaine, and the other of that kinde which are called A keepe friend, or the foote of a friend. From whence descended two yrons vnto his middle, out of which did sticke two manacles, wherein his hands were lookt vp with a great hanging looke; so as he could ney∣ther set his hands to his mouth, nor bend down his head towards his hands. Don-Quixote demanded why he was so loaden with yron more then the rest? The guard an∣swered, because he alonehad committed more faults then all together, and was a more desperate knaue, and that although they carried him tied in that sort, yet went they not sure of him, but feared hee would make an escape. What faults can he haue so grieuous, quoth Don-Quixote, since he hath onely deserued to be sent to the Gallies? he goeth, replied the guard to them for tenne yeares, which is equiualent to a ciuill death: neuer striue to know more but that this man is the notorious Gines of Passamonte, who is otherwise called Ginesilio of Parapilla. Master Commissarie, quoth the slaue, hearing him say so, go faire and softly, and runne not thus dilating of names and sur∣names, I am called Gines and not Ginesilio, and Passamonte is my surname, and not Parapilla, as you say, and let euery one turne about him, and he shall not doe little. Speake

with lesse swelling, quoth the Commissarie, Sir thiefe of more then the Marke. If you will not haue me to make you hold your peace, maugre your teeth. It seemes well (quoth the slaue) that a man is carried as pleaseth God; but one day some body shall know whether I be called Ginesilio of Parapilla. Why doe not they call thee so cou∣sener, quoth the guard? They doe, said Gines, but I will make that they shall not call me so, or I will fleece them; there where I mutter vnder my teeth. Sir Knight if you haue any thing to bestow on vs, giue it vs now, and bee gone in the name of God; for you doe tire vs with your too curious search of knowing other mens liues: and if you would know mine, you shall vnderstand that I am Gines of Passamonte, whose life is written (shewing his hand) by these two fingers. Hee sayes true, quoth the Commissary, for he himselfe hath penned his owne histo∣rie so well as there is nothing more to bee desired: and leaues the booke pawned in the prison for two hundred Rials: and likewise meane to redeeme it, quoth Gines, though it were in for as many duckets. Is it so good a worke said Don-Quixote? It is so good, re∣plied Gines, that it quite puttes downe Lazarillo de Tormes, and as many others as are written or shall write of that kinde: for that which I dare affirme to you is, that it treates of true accidents, and those so delightfull that no like inuention can be compared to them. And how is the booke intituled, quoth Don-Quixote? it is called, said he, The life of Gines of Passamonte. And is it yet ended, said the Knight? How can it be finished, replied he, my life being not yet ended? since all that is written is from the hou••e of my birth vntill that instant that I was sent this last time to the Gallies. Why then belike you were there once before (quoth Don-Quixote?) to serue God and the King, I haue beene in there another time foure yeares, and I know already how the Bisket and Prouant agree with my stomacke (quoth Gines) nor doth it grieue mee

very much to returne vnto them; for there I shall haue leisure to finish my booke, and I haue many things yet to say: and in the Gallies of Spaine, there is more resting time then is requisite for that businesse, although I shall not neede much time to penne what is yet vnwritten; for I can if neede were, say it all by roate. Thou seemest to be ingenuous, quoth Don-Quixote: and vnfortunate withall, quoth Gines; for mishaps doe still persecute the best wits. They persecute knaues, quoth the Commissary. I haue already spoken to Mast. Commissary, quoth Passa∣monte, to go faire and softly; for the Lords did not giue you that rode, to the end you should abuse vs wretches that goe here, but rather to guide and carrie vs where his Maiesty hath commanded, if not by the life of, tis enough that perhaps one day may come to light, the spottes that were made in the Inne. And let all the world peace and liue well, and speake better, for this is now too great a di∣gression. The Commissary held vp his rodde to strike Passamonte in answere of his threates, but Don-Quixote put himselfe betweene them, and intreated him not to vse him hardly, seeing it was not much that one who car∣ried his handes so tyed, should haue his tongue somewhat free: and then turning himself towards the slaues he said:

I haue gathered out of all that which you haue said, deere brethren, that although they punish you for your faults, yet that the paines you goe to suffer, doe not very well please you, and that you march towards them with a very ill will, and wholly constrayned, and that perhaps the little courage this fellow had on the racke, the want of money that the other had, the small fauour that a third enioyed; and finally the wrested sentence of the Iudge, and the not executing that iustice that was on your sides haue beene cause of your miserie. All which doth present it selfe to my memory in such sort, as it perswadeth, yea and forceth me to effect that for you for which heauen sent me into the world, and made me professe that order

of Knighthood which I follow, & that vow which I made therein to fauour and assist the needfull, and those that are oppressed by others more potent. But for as much as I know that it is one of the partes of prudence, not to doe that by foule means, which may be accomplished by faire; I will intreate those Gentlemen your guardians and Commissary, they will please to loose and let you depart peaceably; for there will not want others to serue the King in better occasions; for it seemes to me a rigorous maner of proceeding, to make slaues of them whom God and nature created free. How much more good Sirs of the guard (added Don-Quixote) seeing these poore men haue neuer committed any offence against you; let them answere for their sinnes in the other world: there is a God in heauen, who is not negligent in punishing the euill, nor rewarding the good: and it is no wise decent, that honourable men should be the executioners of other men, seeing they cannot gaine or loose much thereby. I demaund this of you in this peaceable and quiet manner, to the end that if you accomplish my request I may haue occasion to yeeld you thankes; and if you will not doe it willingly, then shall this Launce and this Sword, guided by the inuincible valour of mine arme force you to it.

This is a pleasant doting, answered the Commissary, and an excellent jest, wherewithall you haue finished your large reasoning. Would you haue vs leaue vnto you those the King forceth? as if we had authority to let them goe, or you to commaund vs to doe it. Go on your way in a good houre gentle Sir, and settle the Bason you beare on your head somwhat righter, and search not thus whe∣ther the Catte hath three feete. Thou art a Catte, and a Rat, and a Knaue, quoth Don-Quixote, and so with word and deed at once, he assaulted him so suddenly, as without giuing him leisure to defend himselfe, he struck him down to the earth very sore wounded with a blow of his Lance, and as fortune would, this was he that had the fire-locke

piece, the rest of the guard remained astonished at the vn∣expected accident; but at last returning againe to them∣selues, the horsemen set hand to their swords, and the footmen to their dartes, and all of them set vpon Don-Quixote, who did expect them very quietly: and doubt∣lesly he would haue beene in danger, if the slaues percei∣uing the occasion offered to be so fit to recouer libertie, had not procured it by breaking the chaine wherein they were linked. The hurliburly was such, as the guards now began to runne to hinder the slaues from vntying them∣selues, now to offend Don-Quixote, who assaulted them; so that they could doe nothing auaileable to keepe their prisoners. Sancho for his part holpe to lose Gines of Pas∣samonte, who was the first that leaped free into the fielde without clogge, and setting vpon the ouerthrown Com∣missary, he disarmed him of his sword and piece, and now ayming at the one and then at the other with it, without discharging, made all the guards to abandon the fielde, as well for feare of Passamontes piece, as also to shunne the maruellous showre of stones that the slaues now deliue∣red, powred on them. Sancho grew maruellous sadde at this successe; for he suspected that those which fledde a∣way, would goe and giue notice of the violence commit∣ted to the Holy brotherhood: which would presently issue in troupes to search the delinquents: and said as much to his Lord, requesting him to depart presently from thence and imboske himselfe in the mountaine, which was very neere. All is well, quoth Don-Quixote; I know now what is fit to be done, and so calling together al the slaues that were in a tumult, and had stript the Commissary na∣ked, they came all about him to heare what he comman∣ded, to whom he said:

It is the part of people well borne to gratifie and ac∣knowledge the benefits they receiue, ingratitude being one of the sinnes that most offendeth the highest. I say it Sirs to this end, because you haue by manifest triall seene,

that which you haue receiued at my hand, in reward whereof I desire, and it is my will that all of you loaden with that chain from which I euen now freed your necks, goe presently to the city of Toboso, and there present your selues before the Lady Dulcinea of Toboso, and recount vnto her that her Knight of the Ilfauoured face sends you there to remember his seruice to her: and relate vnto her at large the manner of your freedome, all you that haue had such noble fortune, and this being done you may af∣ter goe where you please.

Gines de Passamonte answered for all the rest, saying; that which you demand good Sir (our releaser) is most impossible to be performed, by reason that we cannot go altogether through these wayes, but alone and deuided, procuring each of vs to hide himselfe in the bowels of the earth, to the end we may not be found by the Holy bro∣therhood, which will doubtlesly set out to search for vs: that therefore which you may and ought to doe in this exigent is, to change this seruice and homage of the La∣dy Dulcinea of Toboso, into a certaine number of Aue Maries and Creedes, which we will say for your intenti∣on, and this is a thing that may be accomplished by night or by day, running or resting, in peace or in warre; but to thinke that wee will returne againe to take vp our chaines, or set our selues in the way of Toboso, is as hard as to make vs beleeue, that it is now night, it being yet scarce ten of the clocke in the morning, and to demaund such a thing of vs, is as likely as to seeke for Peares of the Elme tree. I sweare by such a one (quoth Don-Quixote throughly inraged) Sir sonne of a whoore, Don Ginefilio of Paropillio, or howsoeuer you are called, that thou shalt goe thy selfe alone with thy taile betweene thy legges, and beare all the chaine in thy necke. Passamonte who was by nature very cholericke, knowing assuredly that Don-Quixote was not very wise (seeing he had attemp∣ted such a desperate act, as to seeke to giue them liberty)

seeing himselfe thus abused, winked on his companions, and going a little aside, they sent such a shower of stones on Don-Quixote, as he had no leasure to couer himselfe with his Buckler, and poore Rozinante made no more ac∣count of the spurre, then if his sides were made of Brasse. Sancho ranne behinde his Asse, and by his meanes shel∣tred himselfe from the clowde and showre of stones, that rained vpon both. And Don-Quixote could not couer himselfe so well, but that a number of stones strucke him in the body with so great force, as they ouerthrew him at last to the ground, and scarce was he fallen when the stu∣dent leapt vpon him and tooke the bason off his head, and gaue him three or foure blowes with it on the shoulders, and after strucke it so oft about the ground as hee almost broke it to peeces. They tooke from him likewise a cas∣socke which he wore vpon his armour, and thought also to take away his stockings, but that they were hindred by his grieues. From Sancho they tooke away his Cassocke, and left him in his haire, and diuiding all the spoiles of the battaile among themselues, they departed, euery one by the way he pleased troubled with greater care how to escape from the Holy brotherhood which they feared, then to lade themselues with the yron chaine, and goe and present themselues before the Lady Dulcinea of Toboso. The Asse, and Rozinante, Sancho, and Don-Quixote, re∣mained alone. The Asse stood pensatiue, with his head hanging downewards, shaking now and then his eares, thinking that the storme of stones was not yet past, but that they still buzzed by his head. Rozinante lay ouer∣throwne by his Master, who was likewise strucke downe by another blow of a stone; Sancho in feare of the bul∣lets of the Holy brotherhood, and Don-Quixote most dis∣content to see himselfe so misused by those very same, to whom he had done so much good.

CHAP. IX.

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

DOn-Quixote seeeing himselfe in so ill plight, said to his Squire Sancho, I haue heard say oft-times, that to doe good to men vnthankfull, is to cast water into the Sea. If I had beleeued what thou saidst to me, I might well haue preuented all this griefe: but now that is past, patience, and be wiser an other time: you wil take warning as much by this, quoth Sancho, as I am a Turke. But since you say, that if you had beleeued me you had auoyded this griefe, beleeue mee now and you shall eschue a greater: for you must wit, that no Knighthood nor Chiualry is of any authority with the Holy brotherhood; for it cares not two farthings for all the Knights errant in the world, and know, that mee thinkes I heare their arrows buzze about mine eares al∣ready. Sancho thou art a naturall coward, quoth Don-Quixote, but because thou mayest not say that I am obsti∣nate, and that I neuer follow thine aduice, I will take thy counsell this time, and conucy my selfe from that furie which now thou fearest so much: but it shal be on a con∣dition, that thou neuer tell aliue nor dying to any mor∣tall creature, that I retired or withdrew my selfe out of this danger for feare, but onely to satisfie thy requests. For if thou sayest any other thing, thou shalt belie mee most falsly: and euen from this very time till that, and from thence vntil now I giue thee the lie herein, and I say thou liest, and shalt lie as oft-times as thou sayest or doest thinke the contrary: and doe not replie to me. For in

onely thinking that I withdraw my selfe out of any pe∣ril, but principally this, which seemes to cary with it some shadow of feare, I am about to remaine and expect heere alone, not onely for the Holy brotherhood, which thou na∣mest and fearest, but also for the brethren of the Twelue Tribes, for the Seuen Macchabees, for Castor and Pol∣lux, and for all the other brothers and brotherhoods in the world. Sir, answered Sancho, to retire is not to flie, nor to expect is wisedome, when the danger exceedeth all hope; and it is the part of a wiseman to keepe him∣selfe safe to day for to morrow; and not to aduenture himselfe wholly in one day. And know, that although I be but a rude Clowne, yet doe I for all that vnderstand somewhat of that which men call good gouernement: and therfore do not repent your selfe for following mine aduice, but mount on Rozinante if you be able; if not, I wil helpe you, and come after me, for my mind giues me that we shall now haue more vse of legges then of hands.

Don-Quixote leaped on his horse without replying a word, and Sancho guiding him on his Asse they both en∣tred into that part of Sierra Morena that was neare vnto them; Sancho had a secret designe to crosse ouer it all, and issue at Ʋiso or Amodouar of Campo, and in the meane time to hide themselues for some dayes among those craggie and intricate rockes, to the end they might not be found by the Holy brotherhood, if it did make after them. And he was the more encouraged to doe this, be∣cause he saw their prouision which he carried on his Asse had escapt safely out of the skirmish of the Gally-slaues: a thing which he accounted to be a miracle, considering the diligence that the slaues had vsed to search and carrie away all things with them. They arriued that night in to the very midst & bowels of the mountain, & there Sancho thought it fittest to spend that night, yea and some other few dayes also, at least as long as their victuals indured, and with this resolution they tooke vp their lodging a∣mong

a number of Corke trees that grew betweene two Rockes. But fatall chaunce, which according to the opi∣nion of those that haue not the light of faith, guideth, di∣recteth, and compoundeth all as it liketh, ordayned that that famous cousener and thiefe Gines de Passamonte, who was before deliuered out of chains by Don-Quixotes force and folly, perswaded through feare he conceiued of the Holy brotherhood (whom hee had iust cause to feare) resolued to hide himselfe likewise in that mountaine, and his fortune and feares ledde him iust to the place where it had first addrest Don-Quixote and his Squire, iust at such time as he might perceiue them, and they both at that in∣stant fallen asleepe. And as euill-men are euermore in∣gratefull, and that necessity forceth a man to attempt that which it vrgeth, and likewise that the present redresse preuents the expectation of a future, Gines who was nei∣ther gratefull nor gratious, resolued to steale away San∣cho his Asse, making no account of Rozinante, as a thing neyther saleable nor pawnable. Sancho slept soundly, and so he stole his beast, and was before morning so farre off from thence, as he feared not to be found.

Aurora sallied forth at last to refresh the earth, and af∣fright Sancho with a most sorrowfull accident, for he pre∣sently missed his Asse, and so seeing himselfe depriued of him, he began the most sadde and dolefull lamentation of the world: in such sort as he awaked Don-Quixote with his out-cries, who heard that hee said thus. O childe of my bowels, borne in mine owne house, the sport of my children, the comfort of my wife, and the enuie of my neighbours; the ease of my burdens, and finally the su∣stainer of halfe of my person; for with sixe and twentie Maruedijs that I gained daily by thee, I did defray halfe of mine expences. Don-Quixote who heard the plaint, and knew also the cause did comfort Sancho with the best words he could deuise, and desired him to haue patience, promising to giue a letter of exchange, to the end that

they of his house might deliuer him three Asses of fiue, which he had left at home.

Sancho comforted himselfe againe with th•••• promise, and dried vp his teares, moderated his sighes, and gaue his Lord thankes for so great a fauour. And as they entred in farther among those mountains we cannot recount the ioy of our Knight, to whom those places seemed most ac∣commodate to atchieue the aduentures he searched for. They reduced to his memory the maruellous accidents that had befalne Knights errant in like solitudes and de∣sarts: and hee rode so ourwhelmed and transported by these thoughts, as he remembred nothing else. Nor San∣cho had any other care (after he was out of feare to be ta∣ken) but how to fill his belly with some of these relikes which yet remained of the Clericall spoyles; and so hee followed his Lord taking now and then out of a basket, (which Rozinante caried for want of the Asse) some meat and lining there with all his paunch; and whilst he went thus imployed, hee would not haue giuen a mite to en∣counter any other aduenture how honourable soeuer.

But whilst he was thus busied, he espyed his Master la∣boured to take vp with the point of his Iaueline, some bulke or other that lay on the ground, and went towards him to see whether he needed his helpe iust at the season that he lifted vp a saddle cushion and a Portmantew fast to it, which were halfe rotten, or rather wholly rotted by the weather; yet they weighed so much that Sanchoes as∣sistance was requisite to take them vp: and straight his Lord commaunded him to see what was in the Wallet. Sancho obeyed with expedition. And although it was shut with a chaine and hanging locke, yet by the parts which were torne he saw what was within, to wit foure fine holland shirts, and other linnens both curious and cleane: and moreouer a handkercher, wherein was a good quantity of gold: which he perceiuing said, Blessed be heauen which hath once presented to vs a beneficiall

aduenture: and searching for more, he found a Tablet ve∣ry costly bound. This Don-Quixote tooke of him, com∣maunding him to keepe the golde with himselfe; for which rich fauour Sancho did presently kisse his handes: and after taking all the linnen, he clapt it vp in the bagge of their victuals. Don-Quixote hauing noted all these things, said, Me thinkes Sancho (and it cannot be possible any other) that some traueller hauing left his way, past through this mountaine, & being encountred by thieues, they slew him, and buried him in this secret place? It can∣not be so, answered Sancho, for if they were theeues they would not haue left this money behinde them. Thou say∣est true, quoth Don-Quixote, and therefore I cannot con∣iecture what it might be: but stay a while, we will see whether there be any thing written in these Tablets, by which wee may vent and finde out that which I desire. Then he opened it, and the first thing that he found writ∣ten in it, as it were a first draught, but done with a very faire Character, was a Sonnet which he read aloude, that Sancho might also heare it, and was this which ensues.

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

Nothing can be learned by that verse, quoth Sancho,

if by that Hilo or threed which is said there, you gather not where lies the rest of the clue, what Hilo is heere, quoth Don-Quixote? Me thought, quoth Sancho, that you read Hilo there. I did not but Fili, said Don-Quixote, which is without doubt the name of the Lady, on whom the Authour of this Sonnet complaines, who in good truth seemes to be a reasonable good Poet, or els I know but little of that arte. Why then, quoth Sancho, belike you doe also vnderstand Poetry? That I doe, and more then thou thinkest, quoth Don-Quixote; as thou shalt see when thou shalt carry a letter from me to my Lady Dul∣cinea del Toboso, written in verse from the one end to the other: For I would thou shouldest know Sancho, that all or the greater number of Knights errant in times past were great Versifiers and Musitians, for these two quali∣ties, or graces as I may better terme them, are annext to amourous Knights aduentures. True it is that the verses of the auncient Knights are not so adorned with words, as they are rich in conceits. I pray you reade more, quoth Sancho, for perhaps you may finde somewhat that may satisfie. Then Don-Quixote turned the leafe, and said, This is prose, and it seemes to be a letter. What Sir, a missiue letter, quoth Sancho? No but rather of loue, according to the beginning, quoth Don-Quixote. I pray you there∣fore, quoth Sancho, reade it loude enough, for I take great delight in these things of loue. I am content, quoth Don-Quixote, and reading it loudly as Sancho had reque∣sted, it said as ensueth.

Thy false promise and my certaine misfortune, do car∣ry me to such a place, as from thence thou shalt sooner re∣ceiue newes of my death, then reasons of my iust com∣plaints. Thou hast disdained me (O ingrate) for one that hath more, but not for one that is worth more then I am: but if vertue were a treasure of estimation, I would not e∣mulate other mens fortunes, nor weep thus for mine own misfortunes. That which thy beauty erected, thy works

haue ouerthrowne: by it I deemed thee to be an Angell, and by these I certainely know thee to be but a woman. Rest in peace (O causer of my warre) and let heauen worke so that thy spouses deceipts remaine still concea∣led, to the end thou maist not repent what thou didst, and I bee constrained to take reuenge of that I desire not.

Hauing read the letter, Don-Quixote said, we can col¦lect lesse by this then by the letter. What the Authour is, other then that he is some disdayned louer, and so passing ouer all the booke, he found other Verses and Letters, of which hee could read some, others not at all. But the summe of them all were, accusations, plaints, and mis∣trusts, pleasures, griefes, fauours, and disdaines, some so∣lemnized, others deplored. And whilest Don-Quixote past ouer the booke, Sancho past ouer the mallet, without leauing a corner of it, or the cushion vnsearched, or a seame vnript, nor a locke of wooll vncarded, to the end nothing might remaine behinde for want of diligence, or carelessenesse, they found gold which past a hundred crowns, had stird in him such a greedinesse to haue more. And though he got no more then that which he found at the first, yet did he account his flights in the couerlet, his vomiting of the drench, the benedictions of the packe slaues, the blowes of the Carrier, the losse of his wallet, the robbing of his Cassocke, and all the hunger, thirst, and wearnesse that he had past in the seruice of his good Lord and Master, for well imployed; accounting him∣selfe to be more then well paied, by the gifts receiued of the money they found. The Knight of the Il fauoured face was the while possessed with a maruailous desire to know who was the owner of the mallet, coniecturing by the Sonnet, and letter, the gold, and linuen, that the en∣amoured was some man of worth, whom the disdaine and rigour of his Lady had conducted to some desperate termes. But by reason that no body appeared, through

that inhabitable and desart place, by whom he might be informed; he thought on it no more, but only roadē on, without choosing any other way, then that which pleased Rozinante to trauaile, who tooke the plainest and easiest to passe through: hauing still an imagination that there could not want some strange aduenture, amidst that For∣rest.

And as he roade on, with this conceipt he saw a man on the toppe of a little mountaine that stood iust before his face, leape from rocke to rocke, and tuffe to tuffe with wonderfull dexterity. And as he thought he was naked, had a blacke and thicke beard, the haires many and con∣fusedly mingled, his feete and legges bare, his thighes were couered with a paire of hose, which seemed to bee of Murry veluet, but were so torne that they discouered his flesh in many places: his head was likewise bare, and although he past by with the hast we haue recounted, yet did the Knight of the Il fauoured face, note all these parti∣cularities, and although he indeuoured, yet could not hee follow him, for it was not in Rozinantes power, in that weake state wherein he was to trauaile so swiftly among those rocks, chiefly being naturally very flow and fleg∣matike. Don-Quixote after espying him did instantly i∣magine him to be owner of the cushion and mallet; and therefore resolued to goe on in his search, although hee should spend a whole yeare therein among those moun∣taines: and commanded Sancho to goe about the one side of the mountaine, and he would goe the other, and quoth hee, it may befall that by vsing this diligence wee may incounter with that man, which vanished so sud∣dainely out of our sight. I cannot doe so, quoth San∣cho, for that in parting one step from you, feare present∣ly so assaults mee with a thousand visions and affright∣ments. And let this serue you hereafter for a warning, to the end you may not from henceforth part me the blacke of a naile from your presence. It shall bee so, answereth

the Knight of the ill-fauoured face. And I am very glad that thou dost thus build vpon my valour, the which shall neuer faile thee, although thou didst want thy very soule: and therefore follow me by little and little, or as thou maist, and make of thine eyes two Lant-hornes, for wee giue a turne to this little rocke, and perhaps wee may meete with this man whom we saw euen now, who doubtlesly can be none other then the owner of our boo∣tie. To which Sancho replyed, it were much better not to finde him: for if we should meet him, and were by chance the owner of this money, it is most euident that I must re∣store it to him, and therefore it is better without vsing this vnprofitable diligence to let me possesse it bona fide, vntill the true Lord shall appeare by some way lesse cu∣rious and diligent: which perhaps may fall at such a time as it shall be all spent; and in that case I am freed from all processes by priuiledge of the King. Thou deceiuest thy selfe Sancho therein, quoth Don-Quixote, for seeing wee are falne already into suspition of the owner, wee are bound to search and restore it to him: and when wee would not seeke him out, yet the vehement presumption that we haue of it hath made vs possessors mala fide, and renders vs as culpable, as if he whom we surmise, were ve∣rily the true Lord. So that friend Sancho, be not grieued to seeke him, in respect of the griefe whereof thou shalt free me if he be found. And saying so, spurd Rozinante, and Sancho followed after a foote, animated by the hope of the young Asses his Master had promised vnto him: & hauing compassed a part of the mountain, they found a little stream, wherin lay dead, and halfe deuoured by dogs and crows, a Mule sadled and bridled, al which confirmed more in them the suspition that hee which fledde away was owner of the Mule and cushion. And as they looked on it, they heard a whistle, much like vnto that which Sheepheards vse, as they keepe their flockes, and present∣ly appeared at their left hand a great number of Goates,

after whom the Goatheard that kept them, who was an aged man, followed on the toppe of the mountaine; and Don-Quixote cried to him, requesting him to come down to them, who answered them againe as loudly, demaun∣ding of them who had brought them to those desarts, rarely troden by any other then Goats, Wolues, or other sauage beastes which frequented those mountaines? San¦cho answered him; that if hee would descend where they were, they would giue him account thereof. With that the Sheepheard came downe, and arriuing to the place where Don-Quixote was, he said, I dare wager that you looke on the hyred Mule which lies dead there in that bottom; well, in good faith he lies in that very place these sixe moneths. Say, I pray you, haue not you met in the way with the master thereof? We haue encountred no body but a cushion and a little Mallet which wee found not very farre off from hence. I did likewise finde the same, replyed the Goatheard, but I would neuer take it vp nor approach to it, fearefull of some misdemeanor, or that I should be hereafter demaunded for it as for a stealth. For the Diuell is crafty, and now and then some∣thing riseth, euen from vnder a mans feete, whereat hee stumbles and falles, without knowing how, or how not. That is the very same I say, quoth Sancho, for I likewise found it, but would not approach it the cast of a stone. There I haue left it, and there it remaines as it was; for I would not haue a dogge with a bell. Tell me good fellow, quoth Don-Quixote, dost thou know who is the owner of all these things?

That which I can say, answered the Goatheard, is that about some sixe moneths past, little more or lesse; there arriued at a certaine sheepe-fold some three leagues off, a young Gentleman of comely personage, and presence, mounted on that very Mule which lies dead there, and with the same Cushion and Mallet which you say you met, but touched not. He demaunded of vs which was

the most hidden and inaccessable part of the mountaine, and we told him that this wherein we are now: and it is true; for if you did enter but halfe a league farther, per∣haps you would not finde the way out againe so readily: and I doe greatly maruell how you could finde the way hither it selfe; for there is neyther high way nor path that may addresse any to this place. I say then, that the young man as soone as he heard our answere, hee turned the bridle, and trauelled towards the place wee shewed to him, leauing vs all with very great liking of his comelines and maruell, at his demaund and speed wherewith he de∣parted and made towards the mountaine: and after that time we did not see him a good many of daies, vntill by chance one of our sheepheards came by with our proui∣sion of victuals, to whom he drew neere, without speak∣ing a word, and spurned and beate him welfauourdly, and after went to the Asse which carried our victuals, and ta∣king away all the bread and cheese that was there, hee sled into the mountaine with wonderfull speede. When we heard of this, some of vs Goatheards, wee went to search for him, and spent therein almost two dayes in the most solitary places of this mountaine, and in the end found him lurking in the hollow part of a very tall and great Corke tree; who as soone as he perceiued vs, came forth to meete vs, with great stayednes: his apparrell was all torne, his visage disfigured, and tosted with the Sunne in such manner, as we could scarce know him, if it were not that his attire, although rent, by the notice we had of it did giue vs to vnderstand, that hee was the man for whom we sought. He saluted vs courteously, and in briefe and very good reasons he said, that we ought not to mar∣uell, seeing him goe in that manner: for that it behoued to doe so, that hee might accomplish a certaine penance inioyned to him, for the many sinnes he had committed. We prayed him to tell vs what he was, but we could ne∣uer perswade him to it. We requested him likewise that

whensoeuer he had any neede of meat (without which he could not liue) he should tell vs where wee might finde him and we would bring it to him with great loue and diligence; and that if he also did not like of this motion, that he would at leastwise come and aske it, & not take it violently as he had done before from our Sheepheards. He thanked vs very much for our offer, and intreated par∣don of the assaults passed, and promised to aske it from thence forward for Gods sake, without giuing annoyance to any one. And touching his dwelling or place of a∣bode, he said that he had none other then that where the night ouertooke him, and ended his discourse with so feeling laments, that we might well be accounted stones which heard him, if therein we had not kept him compa∣ny, considering the state wherein we had seene him first; and that wherein now he was. For as I said he was a very comely and gracious young man, and shewed by his courteous and orderly speech, that he was well borne, and a courtlike person. For though wee were all Clownes, such as did heare him, his Gentility was such, as could make it selfe knowne, euen to rudenesse it selfe: and be∣ing in the best of his Discourse, he stopt and grew silent, fixing his eyes on the ground a good while, wherein wee likewise stood still suspended, expecting in what that di∣straction would end, with no little compassion to behold it; for we easily perceiued that some accident of madnes had surprised him, by his staring and beholding the earth so fixedly, without once mouing the eye-lidde, and other times by the shutting of them, the biting of his lips, and bending of his browes. But very speedily after he made vs certaine thereof himselfe: for rising from the ground (whereon he had throwne himselfe a little before) with great furie, he set vpon him that sate next vnto him, with such courage and rage, that if wee had not taken him a∣way, he would haue slaine him with blows and bites, and he did all this, saying, O treacherous Fernando here, heere

thou shalt pay me the iniurie that thou didst me: these handes shall rent out the heart, in which do harbour and are heaped all euils together, but principally fraude and deceit: and to these he added other wordes, all address to the dispraise of that Fernando, and to attach him of treason and vntruth. Wee tooke from him at last, not without difficulty our fellow, and hee without saying a word departed from vs, embushing himselfe presently a∣mong the bushes & brambles, leauing vs wholly disabled to follow him in those rough and vnhaunted places. By this we gathered that his madnes comes to him at times, and that some one called Fernando, some ill worke of such waight, as the terms shew, to which i•• hath brought him. All which hath after beene yet confirmed as often, (which were many times) as he came out to the fieldes, sometimes to demaund meat of the Sheepheards, and o∣ther times to take it of them perforce: for when hee is taken with this fit of madnesse, although the Sheepheards doe offer him meat willingly, yet will not he receiue, vn∣lesse he take it with buffets: and when hee is in his right sense he askes it for Gods sake, with courtesie and huma∣nity, and renders many thankes, and that not without teares. And in very truth Sirs, I say vnto you, quoth the Goatheard, that I and foure others, whereof two are my men, other two my friends, resolued Yesterday to search vntill we found him; and being found, eyther by force or faire meanes, we will carry him to the towne of Almo∣dauar, which is but eight leagues from hence; and there will we haue him cured, if his disease may be holpen, or at least we shall learne what he is, when he turnes to his wits, and whether he hath any friends to whom notice of his misfortune may be giuen. This is Sirs, all that I can say concerning that which you demaunded of me; and you shall vnderstand that the owner of those things which you saw in the way is the very same, whome you saw passe by you so naked & nimble. For Don-Quixote

had told him by this, that hee had seene that man goe by leaping among the Rockes.

Don-Quixote rested maruellously admired at the Goatheards tale, & with greater desire to know who that vn∣fortunate mad-man was, purposed with himselfe, as hee had already resolued to search him throughout the moun∣taines, without leauing a corner or Caue of it vnsought, vntill he had gotten him. But fortune disposed the mat∣ter better then he expected, for he appeared in that very instant in a clift of a Rocke, that answered to the place where they stood speaking, who came towards them murmuring somewhat to himselfe which they could not bee vnderstood neere at hand, and much lesse a farre off His apparell was such as we haue deliuered, onely differ∣ing in this as Don-Quixote perceiued when he drew nee∣rer, that he wore on him, although torne, a leather Ierkin of Ambar. By which he throughly collected, that the person which wore such attire, was not of the least quali∣tie. When the young man came to the place where they discoursed, he saluted them with a hoarse voyce, but with great courtesie: and Don-Quixote returned him his gree∣tings with no lesse complement; and allighting from Rozinante, he aduanced to embrace him with very good carriage and countenance, and held him a good while straightly betweene his armes, as if he had knowne him of long time; the other whom we may call the vnfortu∣nate Knight of the Rocke, as well as Don-Quixote the Knight of the ill fauoured face, after hee had permitted himselfe to be embraced a while, did stop a little off from our Knight; and laying his hand on his shoulders, began to behold him earnestly, as one desirous to call to minde whether he had euer seene him before: being perhaps no lesse admired to see Don-Quixotes figure, proportion and armes, then Don-Quixotes was to view him. In resoluti∣on the first that spoke after the embracing was the rag∣ged Knight, and said what we will presently recount.

CHAP. X.

Wherein is prosecuted the aduenture of Sierra Morena.

THe History affirmes that great was the a∣tention, wherewithall Don-Quixote listened to the vnfortunate Knight of the Rock, who began his speech in this man∣ner: Truely good Sir, whatsoeuer you be (for I know you not) I doe with all my heart gratifie the signes of affection and courtesie which you haue vsed towards me, & wish heartily that I were in termes to serue with more then my will, the good will you beare towards me as your courteous entertain∣ment denotes: but my fate is so niggardly, as it affoords me no other meanes to repay good workes done to me, then only to lend me a good desire sometime to satisfie them. So great is mine affection, replied Don-Quixote, to serue you, as I was fully resolued neuer to depart out of these mountaines vntill I had found you, and known of your selfe whether there might be any kind of remedie found for the griefe, that this your so vnusuall a kinde of life argues, doth possesse your soule. And if it were requi∣site to search it out with all possible diligence: and when your disaster were known of those which clap their doors in the face of comfort, I intended in that case to beare a part in your lamentations, & plaine it with the dolefullest note; for it is a consolation in afflictions to haue one that condoles in them. And if this my good intention may me∣rite any acceptance, or be gratified by any courtesie, let me intreat you Sir by the excesse therof, which I see accumu∣lated in your bosom, & iointly I coniure you by that thing which you haue, or do presently most affect that you will please to disclose vnto me who you are, & what the cause hath bin that perswaded you to come, to liue and die in∣to these desarts, like a bruit beast, seeing you liue among such, so alienated from your selfe, as both your attire and

countenance demonstrate. And I doe vow (quoth Don-Quixote) by the high order of Chiualry, which I (although vnworthy & a sinner) haue receiued, and by the profession of Knights errant, that if you do pleasure me herein, to as∣sist you with as good earnest as my profession doth binde me, either by remedying your disaster, if it can be holpen; or els by assisting you to lament it, if it be so desperate.

The Knight of the Rocke, who heard him of the ill fauou∣red face speake in that maner, did nothing else for a great while, but behold him again & again, and rebehold him from top to toe. And after viewing him wel he said, if you haue any thing to eate, I pray you giue it me for Gods sake, & after I haue eaten I will satisfie your demand tho∣rowly, to gratifie the many courtesies & vndeserued pros∣fers you haue made vnto me. Sancho and the Goatheard presents the one out of his Wallet, the other out of his Scrip, tooke some meat and gaue it to the Knight of the Rocke to allay his hunger, and he did eate so fast, like a di∣stracted man, as he left no intermission between bit & bit, but clapt them vp so swiftly, as he rather seemed to swal∣low then to chew them, & whilst he did eate, neither he or any of the rest spoke a word: & hauing ended his dinner, he made them signes to follow him, as at last they did, vn∣to a little meadow seated hard by that place, at the folde of a mountain; where being arriued, he stretched himselfe on the grasse, which the rest did likewise in his imitation, without speaking a word, vntill that he after setling him∣selfe in his place, began in this manner: if Sirs, you please to heare the immanity of my disasters briefly rehearsed, you must promise me, that you will not interrupt the file of my dolefull narration, with either demaund or other thing; for in the very instant that you shall do it, there al∣so must remain that which I say depending. These words of our ragged Knights, called to Don-Quixotes remem∣brance the tale which his Squire had told vnto him when he erred in the account of his Goats, which had passed the

riuer, for which that History remained suspended. But re∣turning to our ragged man; hee said, this preuention which now I giue, is to the end that I may compendi∣ously passe ouer the discourse of my mishaps, for the re∣uoking of them to remembrance only, serues me to none other steed, then to increase the olde by adding of new misfortunes; and by how much the fewer your questions are, by so much the more speedily shal I haue finished my pittifull Discourse; and yet I meane not to omit my es∣sential point of my woes vntoucht, that your desires may be herein sufficiently satisfied. Don-Quixote in his own, and his other companions name, promised to performe his request; whereupon hee began his relation in this manner:

My name is Cardenic, the place of my birth, one of the best Cities in Andaluzia, my linage noble, my parents rich, and my misfortunes so great, as I thinke my parents haue e're this deplored, & my kinsfolke condoled them; being very little able with their wealth to redresse them; for the goods of fortune are but of smal vertue to remedy the disasters of heauen. There dwelt in the same Citie a heauen, wherin loue had placed all the glory that I could desire; so great as the beauty of Luscinda, a damzell as noble and rich as I: but more fortunate and lesse con∣stant then my honourable desires expected. I loued, ho∣noured and adored this Luscinda, almost from my very infancy; and she affected me likewise, with all the inte∣grity and good will, which with her so young yeares did accord. Our parents knew our mutuall amity; for which they were nothing aggrieued, perceiuing very well, that although we continued it, yet could it haue none other end but that of Matrimony; a thing which the equality of our blood and substance did of it selfe almost inuite vs to. Our age and affection increased in such sort, as it seemed fit to Luscindas father, for certaine good respects to denie me the entrance of his house any longer; imita∣ting

in a manner therein Tisbi, so much solemnized by the Poets, her parents; which hinderance serued onely to adde flame to flame, and desire to desire: for although it set silence to our tongues, yet could they not impose it to our pens, which are wont to expresse to whom it plea∣sed, the most hidden secrecies of our soules with more li∣berty then the tong; for the presence of the beloued doth often distract, trouble, & strike dumbe the boldest tongue and firmest resolution. O heauens, how many letters haue I written vnto her? What cheerefull and honest answers haue I receiued? How many ditties and amorous verses haue I composed, wherein my foule declared and publi∣shed her passions, declined her enflamed desires, entertai∣ned her remembrance, and recreated her will? In effect perceiuing my selfe to be forced, and that my soule consu∣med with a perpetuall desire to behold her, I resolued to put my desires in execution, and finish in an instant that which I deemed most expedient for the better atchieuing of my desired and deserued reward; which was (as I did indeede) to demaund her of her father for my lawfull Spouse. To which he made answere, that he did gratifie the good will which I shewed by honouring him, and desire to honour my selfe with pawnes that were his: but yet seeing my father yet liued, the motion of that matter properly most concerned him. For if it were not done with his good liking and pleasure, Luscinda was not a woman to be taken or giuen by stealth. I rendred him thankes for his good will, his wordes seeming vnto mee very reasonable, at that my father would agree vnto them, as soone as I should explane the matter; and there∣fore departed presently to acquaint him with my desires; who at the time which I entred into a chamber, wherein he was, stood with a letter open in his hand; and espying me, e're I could breake my minde vnto him, gaue it me, saying: by that letter Cardenio, you may gather the de∣sire that Duke Ricardo beares, to doe you any pleasure or

fauour. This Duke Ricardo, as I thinke you know Sirs already, is a Grande of Spaine, whose Dukedome is seated in the best part of all Andalnzia. I tooke the letter and read it; which appeared so vrgent; as I my selfe accoun∣ted it would be ill done, if my father did not accomplish the contents thereof, which were indeed, that he should presently addresse me to his Court, to the end I might be companion (and not seruant) to his eldest sonne; and that he would incharge himselfe with the aduancing of me to such preferments as might be answerable vnto the value and estimation he made of my person. I past ouer the whole letter, & was strucken dumbe at the reading there∣of, but chiefly hearing my father to say Cardenio, thou must depart within two dayes, to accomplish the Dukes desire; and omit not to render Almighty God thankes, which doth thus open the way, by which thou mayest at∣taine in fine to that which I know thou doest merite; and to these words added certaine others of fatherly counsaile and direction. The terme of my departure arriued, and I spoke to my Luscinda on a certaine night, and recounted vnto her all that passed, and likewise to her father, intrea∣ting him to ouerslip a few daies, & deferre the bestowing of his daughter else-where, vntill I went to vnderstand Duke Ricardo his will: which he promised me, and shee confirmed it with a thousand oathes and promises. Final∣ly, I came to Duke Ricardoes Court, as was so friendly re∣ceiued and entertained by him, as euen very then enuie began to exercise her accustomed function, being forth∣with emulated by the auncient Seruiters; perswading themselues, that the tokens the Duke shewed to doe me fauours, could not but turne to their preiudice. But hee that reioyced most at mine arriuall, was a second sonne of the Dukes called Fernando, who was young, gallant, very comely, liberall, and amorous; who within a while after my comming held me so deerely, as euery one wondred thereat: and though the elder loued me well, and did me

fauour, yet was it in no respect comparable to that wher∣withall Don Fernando loued and treated me. It there∣fore befell, that as there is no secresie amongst friends so great, but they will communicate it the one to the other and the familiarity which I had with Don Fernando, was now past the limits of fauour, and turned into deerest a∣mity, he reuealed vnto me all his thoughts, but chiefly one of his loue, which did not a little molest him. For he was enamoured on a Farmers daughter that was his fa∣thers vassall, whose parents were maruellous rich, and she her selfe so beautifull, wary, discreete, and honest, as neuer a one that knew her could absolutely determine wherein in which of all her perfections she did most excell or was most accomplished. And those good parts of the beau∣tifull countrey-maide reduced Don Fernando his desires to such an exigent, as he resolued that he might the bet∣ter gaine her good will, and conquere her integrity, to passe her a promise of marriage, for otherwise he should labour to effect that which was impossible, and but striue against the streame. I, as one bound thereunto by our friendship, did thwart and dislwade him from his purpose with the best reasons, & most efficacious words I might: and seeing all could not preuaile, I determined to ac∣quaint the Duke Ricardo his father therewithall. But Don Fernando being very crafty and discreete, suspected and feared as much, because he considered that in the law of a faithfull seruant, I was bound not to conceale a thing that would turne so much to the preiudice of the Duke my Lord: and therefore both to diuert and deceiue me at once, that he could finde no meanes so good, to deface the remembrance of that beauty out of his minde, which held his hart in such subiection, then to absent himself for certaine moneths: and he would likewise haue that ab∣sence to be this, that both of vs should depart together, and come to my fathers house, vnder pretence (as hee would informe the Duke) that he went to see and chea∣pen

certaine great horses that were in the Citie wherein I was borne; a place of breeding the best horses in the world. Scarce had I heard him say this (when borne a∣way by the naturall propension each one hath to his countrey, and my loue ioynde) although his designment had not beene so good, yet would I haue ratified it, as one of the most expedient that could be imagined, be∣cause I saw occasion and oportunity so fairely offred, to returne and see againe my Luscinda. And thereof set on by this thought and desire, I approued his opinion, and did quicken his purpose, perswading him to prosecute it with all possible speede, for absence would in the end work her effect in despite of the most forcible and vrgent thoughts; and when he said this to me, hee had already vnder the title of a husband (as it was afterward knowne) reaped the fruits of his longing desires, from his beauti∣full countrey maide, and did onely await an oportunity to reueale it without his owne detriment; fearefull of the Duke his fathers indignation, when he should vnder∣stand his errour.

It afterward hapned that as loue in young men is not for the most part loue but lust, the which (as it euer pro∣poseth to it selfe as his last end and period is delight) so as soone as it obtaineth the same, it likewise decaieth and maketh forcibly to retire that which was termed loue; for it cannot transgresse the limits which Nature hath assigned it, which boundings or meares nature hath in no wise allotted to true and sincere affection. I would say that as soone as Don Ferdinando had inioyed his Country lasse, his desires weakned, and his importunities waxed colde; and if at the first he fained an excuse to ab∣sent himselfe, that he might with more facility compasse them, he did now in very good earnest procure to depart to the end he might not put them in execution. The Duke gaue him license to depart, and commaunded me to accompany him. We came to my Citie, where my fa∣ther

entertayned him according to his calling. I saw Lu∣scinda, and then againe were reuiu'd (although indeede they were neither dead nor mortified) my desires, and ac∣quainted Don Fernando (alas to my totall ruine) with them, because I thought it was not lawfull by the law of amity to keepe any thing concealed from him. There I dilated to him, on the beauty, wit, and discretion of Lu∣scinda in so ample manner, as my prayses stirred in him a desire to view a damzell so greatly adorned, and inriched with so rare endowments: and this his desire I through my misfortune satisfied, shewing her vnto him by the light of a candle, at a window where we two were wont to parle together; where he beheld her to be such, as was sufficient to blot out of his memory al the beauties which euer he had viewed before. He stood mute, beside him∣selfe and rauished: and moreouer rested so greatly ena∣moured, as you may perceiue in the Discourse of this my dolefull narration. And to inflame his desires the more, (a thing which I fearefully auoyded, and onely discoue∣red to heauen) fortune so disposed that he found after me one of her letters, wherein she requested that I would demand her of her father for wife; which was so discreet, honest and amorously penned, as he said after reading it, that in Luscinda alone were included all the graces of beauty and vnderstanding ioyntly, which were diuided and separate in all the other women of the world. Yet in good sooth I wil here confesse the truth, that although I saw cleerely how deseruedly Luscinda was thus extolde by Don Ferdinando, yet did not her praises please me so much pronounced by him; and therefore began to feare and suspect him, because he let no moment ouerslip vs without making some mention of Luscinda, and wo••••d still himselfe begin the discourse, were the occasion euer so far-fetched: a thing which rowsed in me I cannot tell what iealousie; nor that I did feare any trauerse in Lu∣scindas loyalty, but yet for all my fates made me the very

thing which they most assured me: and Don Ferdinan∣do procured to read all the papers I sent to Luscinda, or she to me, vnder pretext that he tooke extraordinary de∣light to note the witty conceits of vs both. It therefore fell out, that Luscinda hauing demaunded of me a booke of Chiualry to reade, wherein she tooke maruellous de∣light, and was that of Amadis du Gaule.

Scarce had Don-Quixote well heard him make menti∣on of bookes of Knighthood, when he replied to him; if you had good Sir but once tolde me at the beginning of your Historicall narration, that your Lady Luscinda was affected to the reading of Knightly aduentures, you nee∣ded not to haue vsed any amplification to indeere or make plaine vnto me the eminencie of her wit; which certainly could not in any wise be so excellent and per∣spicuous as you haue figured it, if she wanted the pro∣pension and feeling you haue rehearsed, to the perusing of so pleasing discourses: so that henceforth with me, you need not spend any more words to explane and manifest the height of her beauty, worthes and vnderstanding; for by this onely notice I haue receiued of her deuotion two books of Knighthood, I do confirm her for the most faire and accomplished woman for all perfections in the world: and I would to God good Sir, that you had also sent her together with Amadis the Histories of the good Don Rugel of Grecia; for I am certaine the Lady Luscin∣da would haue taken great delight in Darayda and Ga∣raya, and in the wittie conceits of the Sheepheard Dari∣nel, and in these admirable verses of his Bucolickes, sung and rehearsed by him with such grace, discretion and li∣berty. But a time may come, wherein this fault may be recompenced, if it shall please you to come with me to my village; for there I may giue you three hundred bookes, which are my soules greatest contentment, and the intertainment of my life; although I doe now verily beleeue that none of them are left, thankes be to the ma∣lice

of euill and enuious inchanters. And I beseech you to pardon me this transgression of our agreement at the first, promised not to interrupt your Discourses: for when I heare any motion made of Chiualry or Knights errant, it is no more in my power to omit to speake of them, then in the Sunne-beames to leaue off warming, or in the Moones to render things humid. And therefore I intreat pardon, and that you will prosecute your History, which is that which most imports vs.

Whilest Don-Quixote spoke those wordes Cardenio hanged his head on his brest, giuing manifest tokens that he was exceeding sad. And although Don-Quixote re∣quested him twice to follow on with his Discourse, yet neither did he lift vp his head, or answer a word, till at last after he had stood a good while musing, hee held vp his head and said; it cannot be taken out of my minde, nor is there any one in the world can depriue me of the con∣ceit, or make me beleeue the contrary: and hee were a bottle-head that would thinke or beleeue otherwise then that the great villaine, Master Elisabat the Barber kept Queene Madasima as his Lemman. That is not so I vow by such and such, quoth Don-Quixote in great cho∣ler (and as he was wont, rapt out three or foure round oathes) and it is great malice, or rather villany to say such a thing. For Queene Madasima was a very noble Lady, and it ought not to be presumed that so high a Princesse would fall in loue with a Quack-saluer: and whosoeuer thinkes the contrary, lies like an arrant villaine; as I will make him vnderstand a horsebacke or a foote, armed or disarmed, by night or by day, or as he best liketh. Carde∣nio stood beholding him very earnestly as he spoke these wordes, whom the accident of his madnesse had by this possessed, and was not in plight to prosecute his History: nor would Don-Quixote giue eare to it, he was so migh∣tily disgusted to heare Queene Madasima detracted. A maruellous accident, for he tooke her defence as earnest∣ly,

as if she were verily his true and naturall Princesse; his wicked bookes had so much distracted him. And Car∣denio being by this furiously madde, hearing himselfe an∣swered with the lie, and the denomination of a villaine, with other the like outrages, he tooke the rest in ill part, and lifting vp a stone that was neere vnto him, gaue Don-Quixote such a blow therewithall, as he ouerthrew him to the ground on his backe. Sancho Panca seeing his Master so roughly handled, set vpon the foole with his fist shut; and the ragged man receiued his assault in such manner, as he likewise ouerthrew him to his feete with one fist, and mounting afterward vpon him, did worke him with his feete like a piece of dough: and the Goat∣heard who thought to succour him, was like to incurre the same danger. And after hee had ouerthrowne and beaten them all very well, he departed from them and en∣tred into the wood very quietly. Sancho arose, and with rage to see himselfe so belaboured without desert, he ran vpon the Goatheard to be reuenged on him, saying that he was in the fault, who had not premonished them, how that mans rauing fits, did take him so at times; for had they beene aduertised thereof, they might haue stood all the while on their guard. The Goatheard answered, that he had already aduised them thereof; and if hee had not beene attentiue thereunto, yet he was therefore nothing the more culpable. Sancho Panca replied, and the Goatheard made a reioyndrie thereunto, but their dispu∣tation ended at last, in the catching hold of one anothers beards, and befisting themselues so vncompassionately, as if Don-Quixote had not pacified them, they would haue torne one another to pieces. Sancho holding still the Goatheard fast, said vnto his Lord, Let mee alone Sir Knight of the ill fauoured face, for on this man who is a Clowne as I am my selfe, and dubbed Knight, I may safely satisfie my selfe of the wrong he hath done me, by fight∣ing with him hand to hand like an honourable man. It is

true, quoth Don-Quixote, but I know well that he is no wise culpable of that which hath hapned. And saying so appeased them; and turned againe to demaund of the Goatheard, whether it were possible to meet again with Cardenio; for he remained possessed with an exceeding desire to know the end of his History. The Goatheard turned againe to repeat what he had said at the first, to wit, that he knew not any certaine place of his abode; but if he haunted that Commarke any while, he would some∣time meete with him; eyther in his madde or modest humour.

CHAP. XI.

Which treates of the strange aduentures that hapned to the Knight of the Mancha, in Sierra Morena: and of the penance he did there, in imitation of Belti∣nebros.

Don-Quixote took leaue of the Goatheard, & mounting once again on Rozinante, he commanded Sancho to follow him, who obayed, but with a very ill will; and thus they trauelled by little and little, entring into the thickest and roughest part of all the mountaine: and Sancho went almost burst with a de∣sire to reason with his Master, and therefore wished in minde that he would once begin, that he might not trans∣gresse his commaundement of silence imposed on him, but growing at last wholly impotent to containe himselfe speechlesse any longer: Good Sir Don-Quixote, I pray you giue me your blessing, and licefise; for I meane to de∣part from this place, and return to my house, my wife and children, with whom I shall be at least admitted to reason and speake my pleasure; for that you would desire to

haue me keepe you company through these desarts night and day, and that I may not speake when I please, is but to bury me aliue: Yet if fortune had so happily disposed our affaires, as that beastes could speake as they did in Guisopetes time, the harme had beene lesse, for then would I discourse a while with Rozinante (seeing my niggardly fortune hath not consented I might doe it with mine Asse) what I thought good, & in this sort would I weaue my mishaps; for it is a stubborne thing, and that cannot be borne with patience, to trauell all the dayes of our life, and not to encounter any other thing then tramplings vnder feete, tossings in Couerlets, blowes of stones, and buffets, and be besides all this forced to sow vp our mouthes, a man daring not to breake his minde, but to stand mute like a post. Sancho I vnderstand thee now, quoth Don-Quixote, thou diest with longing to speake that which I haue forbidden thee to speake: account therefore that commaundement reuoked, and say what thou pleasest, on condition that this reuocation be onely auaileable and of force whilest we dwell in these moun∣taines, and no longer.

So be it, quoth Sancho, let me speake now, for what may after befall, God onely knows; and then beginning to take the benefite of his license, he said, I pray you tell me what benefite could you reape by taking Queene Magimasa? Or what was it to the purpose that that Ab∣bat was her friend or no? For if you had let it slip, seeing you were not his Iudge, I verily beleeue that the foole had prosecuted his tale, and we should haue escaped the blow of the stone, the trampling vnder feete and spurnings, yea and more then fiue or sixe good buffets. Yfaith Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote, If thou knewest as well as I did how honourable and principall a La. was Queene Madasima, thou wouldest rather say, that I had great patience, seeing I did not strike thee on the mouth out of which such blas∣phemies issued: for it is a very great dishonour to auerre

or thinke that any Queene would fall in loue with a Bar∣ber. For the truth of the History is, that Master Elisabat, of whom the madde man spoke, was very prudent, and a man of a sound iudgement, and serued the Queene as her Tutor & Phisition; but to thinke that she was his I em∣mon is a madnesse worthy the seuerest punishment: and to the end thou mayest see that Cardenio knew not what he said, thou must vnderstand that when he spoke it, hee then was wholly beside himselfe.

That's it which I say, quoth Sancho, that you ought not to make account of wordes spoken by a foole; for it fortune had not assisted you, but dressed the stone to your head as it did to your brest, we should haue remained in good plight; for hauing turned so earnestly in that my Ladies defence, whom God confound: and thinke you that Cardenio would not escape the dangers of the law, by reason of his madnesse. Any Knight errant, answered Don-Quixote, is bound to turne for the honour of wo∣men, of what quality soeuer, against mad or vnmad men: How much more for Queenes of so high degree and worth, as was Queene Madesina, to whom I beare par∣ticular affections for her good partes: for besides her be∣ing maruellous beautifull, shee was moreouer very pru∣dent and patient in her calamities, which were very ma∣ny, and the company and counsels of Master Elisabat pro∣ued very beneficiall, and necessary to induce her to beare her mishaps with prudence and patience: and hence the ignorant and ill-meaning vulgar tooke occasion to su∣spect and affirme, that she was his friend, but I say againe they lie, and all those that doe either thinke or say it, doe lie a thousand times. Why quoth Sancho, I neyther say it nor thinke it; let those affirme any such thing, eate that lie and swallow it with their bread: and if they of whom you spoke, liued lightly, they haue giuen account to God thereof by this. I come from my Vineyard, I know no∣thing. I am not a friend to know other mens liues. For

he that byes and lyes shall feele it in his purse. How much more seeing I was borne naked, and am now naked, I can neither win nor lose. And if they were leuyed, what is that for me? And many thinke there is Bacon, and there is but slakes? But how can they set gates to the field, spe∣cially seeing they spake ill of God himselfe? Good God, quoth Don-Quixote, how many follies hast thou inserted here, and how wide from our purpose are those prouerbs which thou hast recited? Honest Sancho hold thy peace, and from henceforth endeauour to serue thy Master, and do not meddle in things which concern thee nothing; & vnderstand with al thy fiue senses, that whatsoeuer I haue done, do, or shall do is wholly guided by reason, & con∣formable to the rules of Knighthood, which I know bet∣ter then all the other Knights that euer profest them in the world. Sir, quoth Sancho, and is it a good rule of Chiualry, that we goe wandring and lost among these mountains in this sort, without path or way in the search of a mad-man, to whom peraduenture after he is found, will returne a desire to finish what he began, not of his tale, but of your head and my ribbes, by endeuouring to breake them soundly and throughly? Peace I say Sancho, once againe, quoth Don-Quixote, for thou must wit, that the desire of finding the mad-man alone, brings me not into these parts so much, as that which I haue in my mind to archieue a certaine aduenture, by which I shall acquire eternall renowne and fame, throughout the vniuersall face of the earth: and I shall therewithall seale all that which may render a Knight errant complete and famous. And is the aduenture very dangerous, quoth Sancho Panca? No, answered the Knight of the ill fauoured face, although the Die might runne in such sort, as we might cast a hazard in steed of an incounter; but all consists in thy diligence. In mine, quoth Sancho? Yes (quoth Don-Quixote) for if thou returnest speedily from the place whereunto I meane to send thee, my paine will also end

shortly, & my glory commence very soone after: and be∣cause I will not hold thee long suspended, awayting to heare the effect of my words, I would haue thee to know, that the famous Amadis du Gaule, was one of the most accomplished Knights errant. I do not say well, saying he was one; for he was the onely, the first, the vnike and the Lord of as many as liued in his age. An euill yeare, and a worse moneth for Don Belianis or any other that shall dare presume to compare with him; for I sweare that they all are questionlesse deceiued. I also say that when a Painter would become rare and excellent in his arte, he procures to imitate the patternes of the most sin∣gular Masters of his science. And this very rule runnes currant throughout all other trades and exercises of ac∣count, which serue to adorne a well disposed Common-wealth; and so ought and doth he that meanes to obtain the name of a prudent and patient man, by imitating V∣lysses, in whose person and dangers doth Homer delineate vnto vs the true portaiture of patience and sufferance; as likewise Virgil demonstrates vnder the person of Eneas, the duety and valour of a pious sonne, and the sagacity of a hardy and expert Captaine, not shewing them such as indeede they were, but as they should be, to remaine as an example of Vertue, to ensuing posterities. And in this very manner was Amadis the North-star, and the Sunne of valorous and amorous Knights, whom all we ought to imitate which march vnder the ensignes of loue and Chi∣ualry. And this being so manifest as it is, I finde friend Sancho, that the Knight errant who shall imitate him most, shall likewise be neerest to attaine the perfection of armes: and that wherein this Knight bewrayed most his prudence, valour, courage, patience, constancy and loue was when he retyred himselfe to doe penance, being dis∣dained by his Lady Oriana to the Poore Rocke, changing his name vnto that of Beltenebros, a name certainly most significatiue and proper for the life which hee had then

willingly chosen. And I may more easily imitate him herein, then in cleauing of Giants, beheading of Serpents, killing of Monsters, ouerthrowing of armies, putting Na∣uies to flight, and finishing of inchantments. And seeing that this Mountaine is so fit for that purpose, there is no reason why I should ouerslip the occasion, which doth so commodiously proffer me her lockes. In effect, quoth Sancho, what is it you mean to do inthese remote places? Haue not I tolde to thee already said Don-Quixote, that I meane to follow Amadis, by playing heere the dispai∣red, wood, and furious man. To imitate likewise the vali∣ant Orlando where he found the tokens by a fountaine that Angelica the faire had abused her selfe with Medo∣zo, for griefe whereof he ran mad, and pluckt vp trees by their rootes, troubled the water of cleere fountaines, slew Sheepheards, destroyed their flocks, fired the sheep-folds, ouerthrew houses, trayled Mares after him, and commit∣ted a hundred thousand other insolencies, worthy of e∣ternall fame and memory. And although I meane not to imitate Roldan, or Orlando, or Rowland (for hee had all these names) exactly in euery madde prancke which hee played. Yet will I doe it the best I can, in those things which shall seeme vnto me most essentiall. And perhaps I may rest contented with the only imitation of Amadis, who without indamaging any by his rauings, & only v∣sing these of feeling laments, arriuing to as great fame therby as any one whatsoeuer.

I beleeue, replied Sancho, that the Knights which per∣formed the like penances, were moued by some reasons to doe the like austerities and follies: but good Sir, what occasion hath beene offered vnto you to become madde? What Lady hath disdained you? Or what arguments haue you found that the Lady Dulcinea of Toboso hath e∣uer dallied with Moore or Christian? There is the point, answered our Knight, and therein consists the perfection of mine affaires; for that a Knight errant doe runne mad

vpon any iust occasion, deserues neyther prayse nor thankes: the wit is in waxing madde without cause, whereby my Masters may vnderstand, that if drie, I could doe this, what would I haue done being watered? How much more seeing I haue a iust motiue through the pro∣lixe absence that I haue made from my euer-supremest Lady Dulcinea of Toboso. For as thou mightest haue heard read in Marias Ambrosio his Sheepheard:

To him that absent is All things succeed amisse.

So that friend Sancho, I would not haue thee lauish time longer in aduising to let slip so rare, so happy, and singular an imitation. I am madde, and will be madde, vntill thou returne again with answere vpon a letter, which I meane to send with me to my Lady Dulcinea: and if it be such as my loyaltie deserues, my madnesse and penance shall end: but if the contrary, I shall runne wood in good ear∣nest, and be in that state that I shall apprehend nor feele any thing. So that howsoeuer I be answered, I shall issue out of the conflict and paine wherein thou leauest me, by ioying the good thou shalt bring me, as wise, or not fee∣ling the euill thou shalt denounce as wood. But tell me Sancho, keepest thou charily yet the helmet of Mambri∣no, which I saw thee take vp from the ground the other day, when that vngrateful fellow thought to haue broken it into pieces, but could not; by which may be collected the excellent temper thereof?

Sancho answered to this demaund, saying, I cannot suf∣fer or beare longer Sir Knight of the ill fauoured face, nor take patiently many things which you say, and I begin to suspect by your words that all that which you haue said to me of Chiualry, and of gaining Kingdomes and Em∣pires, of bestowing Ilands and other gifts & great things, as Knights errant are wont, are all matters of ayre and lies, all cousenage or cousening, or how else you please to terme it: for he that shall heare you name a Barbers Ba∣son

Mambrinos helmet, and that you will not abandon that errour in more then foure dayes; what other can he thinke, but that he who affirmes such a thing doth want wit and discretion. I carry the Bason in my bagge all battered and bored, and will haue it mended, and dresse my beard in it at home, if God shall doe me the fauor that I may one day see my wife and barnes. Behold Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote, I doe likewise sweare that thou hast the shallowest pate that euer any Squire had or hath in the world: is it possible, that in all the time thou hast gone with me, thou couldest not perceiue, that all the aduentures of Knights errant doe appeare Chimeras, fol∣lies and desperate things, being quite contrary? Not that they are indeed such, but rather by reason that we are still haunted by a crew of inchanters, which chaunge and transforme our actes, making them seeme what they please, according as they like to fauour or annoy vs. And so this which seemes to thee a Barbers bason, is in my conceit Mambrino his Helmet; and to another will ap∣peare in some other shape. And it is doubtlesly done by the profound science of the wiseman my friend, to make that seeme a Bason, which really and truely is Mambri∣nos helmet: because that it being so precious a Iewell, all the world would pursue me to depriue me of it; but now seeing that it is so like a Barbers bason, they endeuour not to gaine it; as was cleerely shewed in him that thought to breake it the other day, and would not carry it with him, but left it lying behind him on the ground, for yfaith he had neuer left it, did he know the worthinesse thereof. Keepe it friend, for I neede it not at this present wherein I must rather disarme my selfe of the armes I weare, and remaine as naked as I was at the houre of my birth: if I shall take the humour rather to imitate Orlando in doing of my penance then Amadis.

Whilst thus he discoursed, he arriued to the foote of a losty mountaine, which stood like a hewen rocke, diuided

from all the rest; by the spirit whereof glided a smooth Riuer hemmed in on euery side by a greene and flourish∣ing meddow, whose verdance did maruellously delight the greedy-beholding eye. There were in it also many wilde trees, and some plants and flowers which rendred the place much more pleasing. The Knight of the ill-fa∣uoured face made choice of this place to accomplish ther∣in his penance: and therefore as soone as he had viewed it, he began to say with a loud voyce, like a distracted man these words ensuing: This is the place where the humor of mine eyes shall increase the liquid veynes of this Cry∣stall current: and my continuall and deepe sighes shall giue perpetuall motion to the leaues of these mountainy trees, in testimony of the paine which my oppressed heart doth suffer. O you, whosoeuer ye be rusticall Gods, which haue your Mansion in this inhabitable place, giue care to the plaints of this vnfortunate louer, whom a long ab∣sence, and a few imagined suspitions haue conducted to deplore his state among these desarts; and make him ex∣claime on the rough condition of that ingrate and faire, who is the toppe, the Sunne, the period, terme and end of all humane beauty. Oye Napeas and Driades, which do wontedly inhabite the Thickets and Groues, so may the nimble and lasciuious Satyres, by whom (although in vaine) you are beloued, neuer haue power to interrupt your sweete rest, as you shall assist me to lament my disa∣sters, or at least attend them whilest I dolefully breath them. O Dulcinea of Toboso, the day of my night, the glo∣ry of my paine, North of my trauels, and starre of my for∣tunes: so heauen inrich thee with the highest, whensoe∣uer thou shalt demaund it, as thou wilt consider the place and passe vnto which thine absence hath conducted me, and answere my faith and desires in compassionate and gracious manner. O solitary trees (which shall from hence forward keepe company with my solitude) giue to∣kens with the soft motion of your bowes, that my pre∣sence

doth not dislike you. O thou my Squire, and grate∣full companion in all prosperous and aduerse successes, beare well away, what thou shalt see me doe here, to the end that thou mayest after promptly recount it to the to∣tall cause of my ruine. And saying so, he allighted from Rozinante, and taking off in a trice his bridle and saddle, he strucke him on the buttocke, saying, He giues thee li∣berty, that wants it himselfe: O horse, as famous for thy workes as thou art vnfortunate by thy fates. Goe where thou pleasest, for thou bearest written in thy forchead, how that neyther the Hippogriphon of Astolpho, nor the renowned Frontino, which cost Bradamant so deerely could compare with thee for swiftnesse.

When Sancho had viewed and heard his Lord speake thus, he likewise said, Good betide him that freed vs from the paines of vnpannelling the gray Asse; for if hee were here yfaith he should also haue two or three claps on the buttockes, and a short Oration in his praise: yet if hee were here, I would not permit any other to vnpannell him, seeing there was no occasion why; for he good beast was nothing subiect to the passions of loue, or dispaire no more then I, who was his Master when it pleased God. And in good sooth Sir Knight of the ill-fauoured face, if my departure and your madnesse be in good earnest, it will be needfull to saddle Rozinante againe, that hee may supply the want of mine Asse; for it will shorten the time of my departure, and returne againe: and if I make my voyage a foote, I know not when I shall arriue there, or returne here backe vnto you; for in good earnest I am a very ill footman. Let it be as thou likest, quoth Don-Quixote, for thy designe displeaseth me nothing; and therefore I resolue that thou shalt depart from hence af∣ter three dayes, for in the meane space thou shalt beholde what I will doe and say for my Ladies sake, to the end thou maiest tell it to her. Why, quoth Sancho, what more can I view, then that which I haue seene already? Thou

art altogether wide of the matter, answered Don-Qui∣xote, for I must yet teare mine apparrel, throw away mine armour, and strike my head about these rockes, with ma∣ny other things of that kinde, that will strike thee into admiration. Let me beseech you, quoth Sancho, see well how you giue your selfe those knockes about the rockes; for you might happen vpon some one so vngracious a rocke, as at the first rappe would dissolue all the whole Machina of your aduentures and penance. And there∣fore I would be of opinion, seeing that you doe holde it necessary that some knockes be giuen, with the head, and that this enterprise cannot bee accomplished without them, that you content your selfe, seeing that all is but fained, counterfeited, and a iest, that you should, I say, con∣tent your self with striking it on the water, or on some o∣ther soft thing, as Cotton or Wooll, & leaue to my charge the exaggeration thereof, for I will tell to my Ladie that you strike your head against the point of a rocke, which was harder then a Diamond.

I thanke thee Sancho for thy good will, quoth Don-Quixote, but I can assure thee that all these things which I doe are no iests, but very serious earnests, for otherwise we should transgresse the Statutes of Chiualry, which commaund vs not to auouch any vntruth, on paine of re∣lapse, and to doe one thing for another is as much as to lie. So that my head-knockes must be true, firme, and sound ones, without any sophisticall or fantasticall shad∣dow: and it will be requisite that thou leaue me some linte to cure me, seeing that fortune hath depriued vs of the Balsamum which we lost. It was worse to haue lost the Asse, quoth Sancho, seeing that at once with him we haue lost our linte, and all our other prouision: and I in∣treat you most earnestly not to name againe that accur∣sed drinke, for in onely hearing it mentioned, you not on∣ly turne my guts in me, but also my soule. And I request you moreouer to make account that the terme of three dayes is already expired, wherein you would haue mee

take notice of your follies; for I declare them already for seene, and will tell wonders to my Ladie: wherefore go write your Letter, and dispatch me with all hast; for I long already to returne, and take you out of this Purga∣tory, wherein I leaue you. Dost thou call it a Purgatory Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote? Thou hadst done better hadst thou called it hell, or rather worse, if there be any thing worse then that. I call it so (quoth Sancho) quia in inform nulla est retentio, as I haue heard say. I vnderstand not, said Don-Quixote, what retentio meaneth. Retentio (quoth Sancho) is that, whosoeuer is in hell, neuer comes, nor can come out of it. Which shall fall out contrary in your person, or my feet shall goe ill if I may carry spurs to quicken Rozinante: and that I may safely arriue before my Lady Dulcinea in Toboso, for I will recount vnto her such strange things of your follies and madnesse (for they be all one) that you haue done, and doe daily, as I will make her as soft as a gloue, although I found her at the first harder then a Corke tree: with whose sweet and ho∣nie answere I will returne in the aire as speedily as a Witch, and take you out of this Purgatory, which is no hell although it seemes one, seeing there is hope to e∣scape from it; which as I haue said they want which are in hell: and I beleeue you will not contradict me herein. Thou hast reason, answered the Knight of the ill fauoured face, but how shall I write the Letter? and the warrant for the receit of the Colts also, added Sancho. All shall be inserted together, quoth Don-Quixote: and seeing wee haue no paper, we may doe well, imitating the auncient men of times past, to write our mind in the leaues of trees or waxe; yet waxe is as hard to be found here as paper. But now that I remember my selfe, I know where wee may write our minde well, and more then well, to wit in Cardenios Tablets, and thou shalt haue care to cause the letters to be written out againe fairely in the first village, wherein thou shalt finde a Schoole-master; or if such a

one be wanting, by the Clerke of the Church: and be∣ware in any sort, that thou giue it not to a Notary or Court-Clerke to bee copied; for they write such an in∣tangling-confounded processe letter, as Sathan himselfe would scarce be able to reade it. And how shall we doe for want of your name and subscription, quoth Sancho? Why, answered Don-Quixote, Amadis was neuer wont to subscribe to his Letters. I but the warrant to receiue the three Asses must forcibly be subsigned: and if it should afterward be copied, they would say the former is false, and so I shall rest without my Coltes. The war∣rant shall be written and firmed with my hand in the Ta∣blets, which as soone as my Niece shall see, she will make no difficulty to deliuer thee them. And as concerning the loue letter, thou shalt put this subscription to it; Yours vntill death, the Knight of the ill fauoured face. And it makes no matter though it be written by any stranger, for as much as I can remember Dulcinea can neyther write nor read: nor hath she seene any Letrer, no nor as much as a Character of my writing all the dayes of her life. For my loue and hers haue beene euer Platonicall, neuer ex∣tending themselues farther, then to an honest regard, and view the one of the other: and euen this same so rarely as I dare boldly sweare, that in these dozen yeares which I loue her more deerely then the light of these mine eyes, which the earth shall one day deuoure, I haue not seene her foure times, and perhaps of those same foure times she hath scarce perceiued once that I beheld her. Such is the care and closenesse wherewithall her parents Loren∣co Corcuelo and her mother Aldonca Nogales, haue brought her vp. Ta ta, quoth Sancho, that the Lady Dul∣cinea of Toboso is Lorenco Corchuelo his daughter, called by another name Aldonca Lorenco? The same is shee, quoth Don-Quixote, and it is she that merites to be Em∣presse of the vast Vniuerse. I know her very well, replied Sancho, and I dare say, that she can throw an Iron barre

as well as any the strongest ladde in our Parish. I vow by the giuer, that tis a wench of the marke tall and stout, and so sturdy withall, that she will bring her chinne out of the mire, in despite of any Knight errant, or that shall erre, that shall honour her as his Lady. Out vpon her, what a strength and voyce she hath? I saw her on a day stand on the toppe of the Church steeple to call certaine seruants of her fathers, that labored in a fallow field; and although they were halfe a league from thence, they heard her as well as if they were at the foote of the Steeple: and the best that is in her is, that she is nothing coy, for she hath a very great smacke of Courtship, and playes with euery one, and gibes and iests at them ••l••. And now I affirme Sir Knight of the ill fauoured face, that not only you may, and ought to commit rauing follies for her sake, but eke you may with iust title also dispaire and hang your selfe: for none shall heare thereof but will say you did very well, although the Diuell carried you away. And faine would I be gone, if it were for nothing else but to see her: for it is many a day since I saw her, and I am sure she is chan∣ged by this: for womens beauty is much impaired by go∣ing alwaies to the fielde, exposed to the Sunne and wea∣ther. And I will now Sir Don-Quixote, confesse a truth vnto you, that I haue liued vntill now in a maruellous er∣rour, thinking well and faithfully that the Lady Dulcinea was some great Princesse, on whom you were enamou∣red, or such a person as merited those rich presents which you bestowed on her, as well of the Biscaines, as of the Slaues, and many others that ought to be, as I suppose, correspondent to the many victories which you haue gai∣ned, both now and in the time that I was not your Squire. But pondering well the matter, I cannot conceiue why the Lady Aldonca Lorenco; I meane the Lady Dulcinea of Toboso, of these should care whether these vanquished men which you send or shall send, do goe and kneele be∣fore her? For it may befall that she at the very time of

their arriuall bee combing of flaxe, or threshing in the barne, whereat they would be ashamed, and she likewise laugh and be somewhat displeased at the present.

I haue else told thee Sancho many times that thou art too great a pratler, quoth Don-Quixote, and although thou hast but a grosse witte, yet now and then thy frumps nippe: but to the end thou mayest perceiue the faultinesse of thy braine and my discretion, I will tell thee a short history, which is this: There was once a widdow faire; young, free, rich, and withall very pleasant and io∣cund, that fell in loue with a certaine round and wel-set seruant of a Colledge: his regent came to vnderstand it, and therefore said on a day to the widdow by the way of fraternall correction. Mistresse I do greatly maruell, and not without occasion that a woman so principal, so beau∣tifull, and so rich, and specially so wittie, could make so ill a choice, as to waxe enamoured on so foule, so base, and foolish a man as such a one, we hauing in this house so many Masters Art••••, Graduates, and Diuines, amongst whom you might haue made choise as among Peares, say∣ing I will take this, and I will not haue that? But she an∣swered him thus, with a very pleasant and good grace; You are Sir greatly deceiued, if you deeme that I haue made an ill choise in such a one, let him seeme neuer so great a foole, for to the purpose that I meane to vse him, he knowes as much or rather more Philosophy then A∣ristotle. And so Sancho likewise is Dulcinea of Toboso as much worth as the highest Princesse of the world, for the effect I meane to vse her. For all the Poets which cele∣brate certaine Ladies at pleasure, thinkest thou that they all had Mistresse? No. Dost thou beleeue that the Ama∣rillis, the Files, Siluias, Dianas, Galateas, Alcidas, and o∣thers such like, wherewithall the bookes, ditties, Barbers shops, and Theaters are filled, were truely Ladies of flesh and bones, and their Mistresses which haue and doe cele∣brate them thus? No certainly, but were for the greater

part fained, to serue as a subiect of their verses, to the end the authours might be accounted amorous, and men of courage enough to be such. And thus it is also sufficient for me to beleeue and thinke that the good Aldonca Lorenco is faire and honest: as for her parentage it mat∣ters but little; for none will send to take information thereof, to giue to her an habite; and I make account of her as of the greatest Princesse in the world. For thou oughtest to know Sancho, if thou knowest it not already, that two things alone incite man to loue more then all things else, and those be surpassing beauty, and a good name. And both these things are found in Dulcinea in their prime: for none can equall her in fairenesse, and few come neere her for a good report. And for a finall con∣clusion, I imagine that all that which I say, is really so, without adding or taking ought away. And I doe ima∣gine her in my fantasie to be such, as I could wish her as well in beauty as principality: and neyther can Helen ap∣proch, nor Lucrece come neere her, no nor any of those other famous women, Greeke, Barbarous, or Latine, of forgoing ages. And let euery one say what he pleaseth; for though I should be reprehended for this by the igno∣rant, yet shall I not therfore be chastised by the more ob∣seruant and rigorous sort of men. I auouch, quoth San∣cho, that you haue great reason in all that you say, and that I am my selfe a very Asse. But alas why doe I name an Asse with my mouth, seeing one should not make menti∣on of a Rope in ones house that was hanged? But giue me the letter, and farewell, for I will change. With that Don-Quixote drew out his Tablets, and going a little a∣side he began to indite his Letter with a great grauity; and hauing ended it, called Sancho to him and said, that he would reade it to him, to the end he might beare it a∣way in memory, lest by chance he did lose the Tablets on the way, for such were his crosse fortunes, as made him feare euery euent. To which Sancho answered, saying,

write it there twise or thrise in the booke, and giue me it after; for I will carry it safely by Gods grace. For to thinke that I will be euer able to take by rote is a great folly; for my memory is so short, as I doe many times forget mine owne name. But yet for all that reade it to me good Sir, for I would be glad to heare it, as a thing which I suppose to be as excellent, as if it were cast in a mould. Heare it then, sayes Don-Quixote, for thus it sayes.

The Letter of Don-Quixote to DVLCINEA of Toboso

Soueraigne Ladie,

THE wounded by the point of absence, and the hurt by the Darts of thy heart, sweetest Dulcinea of Toboso, doth send thee that health which he wan∣teth himselfe. If thy beauty disdaine me, if thy valour turne not to my benefit, if thy disdaine conuert them∣selues to my harme, maugre all my patience, I shall be ill able to sustaine this care, which besides that it is violent, is also too durable. My good Squire Sancho will giue thee certaine re∣lation, O beautifull ingrate, and my deerest beloued enemy of the State wherein I remaine for thy sake: if thou please to fauour me, I am thine; and if not, doe what thou likest; for by ending of my life, I shall both satisfie thy cruelty and my desires.

Thine vntill death, The Knight of the ill fauoured face.

By my fathers life, quoth Sancho, when hee heard the Letter, it is the highest thing that euer I heard in my life.

Good God, and how well doe you say euery thing in it, and how excellently haue you applyed the subscription of the Knight of the ill fauoured face! I say againe in good earnest, that you are the Diuell himselfe, and there's no∣thing but you know it. All is necessary answered Don-Quixote, for the office that I professe. Put then (quoth Sancho) in the other side of that leafe, the warrant of the three Coults, and firme it with a leagible letter, that they may know it at the first sight. I am pleased, said Don-Quixote, and so writing it, he read it after to Sancho, and it said thus:

You shall please good Niece, for this first of Colts to deli∣uer vnto my Squire Sancho Panca, three of the fiue that I left at home, and are in your charge: the which three Colts I commaund to bee deliuered to him, for as many others counted and receiued here, for with this, and his acquitance they shall be iustly deliuered. Giuen in the bowels of Sierra Morena, the two and twentieth of August, of this present yeare.

It goes very well (quoth Sancho) subsigne it therefore I pray you. It needes no seale (quoth Don-Quixote) but onely my Rubricke, which is as valible as if it were sub∣scribed, not onely for three Asses, but also for three hun∣dred. My trust is in you, answered Sancho, permit mee, for I will goe saddle Rozinante, and prepare your selfe to giue me your blessing, for I purpose presently to depart before I see any madde pranke of yours; for I will say that I saw you play so many, as no more can be desired. I will haue thee stay Sancho (and that because it is requisite) at least to see me starke naked, playing a douzen or two of rauing trickes, for I will dispatch them in lesse then halfe an houre; because that thou hauing viewed them with thine owne eyes, mayest safely sweare al the rest that thou pleasest to adde; and I assure thee that thou canst not tell so many as I meane to performe. Let me intreate you good Sir, that I may not see you naked, for it wil turne my

stomacke, and I shall not be able to keepe my selfe from weeping: and my head is yet so sore since yesternight through my lamentations, for the losse of the gray beast, as I am not strong enough yet to endure new plaints: but if your pleasure be such, as I must necessarily see some follies: doe them in Ioues name in your clothes briefely, and such as are most necessarie. Chiefly seeing none of these things were requisite for me; and as I haue said, we might excuse time (that shall now be lauished in these trifles) to returne speedily with the newes you desire and deserue so much. And if not, let the Lady Dulcinea pro∣uide her selfe well; for if she answere not according to reason, I make a solemne vow to him that I may, that Ile make her disgorge out of her stomacke a good answere, with very kickes and fists. For how can it be suffered that so famous a Knight errant as your self should thus run out of his wits, without, nor for what, for one? Let not the Gentlewoman constraine me to say the rest, for I will out with it, & venter all vpon twelue, although it neuer were solde.

In good faith Sancho (quoth Don-Quixote) I thinke thou art growen as madde as my selfe. I am not so mad, replied Sancho, but I am more cholerick. But setting that aside, say what will you eate vntill my returne? Doe you meane to doe as Cardenio, and take by the high waies side perforce from the Sheepheards? Care thou not for that, replied Don-Quixote, for although I had it, yet would I not eate any other thing then the hearbes and fruits that this field and trees doe yeeld; for the perfection of mine affaire consists in fasting, and the exercise of other castiga∣tions. To this Sancho replied, Doe you know what I feare? That I shall not finde the way to you againe heere where I leaue you, it is so difficult and obscure. Take well the markes, and I will endeauour to keepe hereabouts, quoth Don-Quixote, vntill thou come backe againe: and will moreouer about the time of thy returne mount to

the tops of these high Rockes, to see whether thou appea∣rest: but thou shouldest doe best of all, to the end thou maiest not stay and misse me, to cut downe here and there certain boughes, and strow them on the way as thou go∣est, vntill thou beest out in the plaines, and those may af∣ter serue thee as bounds and marks, by which thou mayst againe finde me when thou returnest, in imitation of the clew of Theses Labyrinth. I wil doe so, quoth Sancho: and then cutting downe certaine boughes, he demanded his Lords blissing, and departed not without teares on both sides. And mounting vpon Rozinante, whō Don-Quixote commended very seriously to his care, that he should ten∣der him as he would his owne person, hee made on to∣wards the plaines, strowing here and there on the way his branches, as his Master had aduised him; and with that departed, although his Lord importuned him to beholde two or three follies ere he went away. But scarce had he gone a hundred paces, when he returned and said, I say Sir that you said wel, that to the end I might sweare with a safe conscience that I haue seene you play these madde trickes, it were necessary that at least I see you doe one, although that of your abode here is one great enough. Did not I tell thee so, quoth Don-Quixote, stay Sancho, for I will doe it in the space of a Creede; and taking off with all hast his hose, he remained the halfe of him naked, and did instantly giue two or three ierkes in the aire, and two tumbles ouer and ouer on the ground, with his head downeward and his legges aloft, where hee discouered such things as Sancho, because he would not see them a∣gaine, turned the bridle and rode away, resting contented and satisfied, that he might swear that his Lord was mad. And so we will leaue him trauelling on his way, vntil his returne, which was very soone after.

CHAP. XII.

Wherein are prosecuted the pranckes played by Don-Quixote in his amorous humors, in the mountains of Sierra Morena.

AND turning to recount what the Knight of the ill fauoured face did when he was all alone, the History sayes that after Don-Quixote had ended his friskles and leaps, naked from the gyrdle downward, and from that vpward apparrelled; seeing that his Squire Sancho was gone, and would behold no more of his madde pranckes; hee ascended to the toppe of a high rocke, and began there to thinke on that whereon he had thought oftentimes before, without euer making a full resolution therein, to wit, whether were it better to imitate Orlando in his vnmeasurable furies, then Amadis in his melancholy moods: & speaking to himselfe, would say; if Orlando was so valorous and good a Knight, as men say; what wonder, seeing in fine he was inchanted and could not be slaine, if it were not by a denier pinne, thrust in at the sole of his foote; and therefore did weare shooes still, that had seuen foulds of Iron in the soles: al∣though these his draughts stood him in no steede at Ron∣cesuales against Bernardo del Carpio, which vnderstan∣ding them, pressed him to death betweene his armes. But leauing his valour apart, let vs come to the losing of his wits; which it is certaine he lost through the signes hee found in the Forrest, and by the newes that the Sheepe∣heard gaue vnto him, that Angelica had slept more then two noonetydes with the little Moore Medoro of the curled lockes, him that was Page to King Agramante: and if he vnderstood this, and knew his Lady had played beside the cushion, what wonder was it that hee should

runne madde? But how can I imitate him in his furies, if I cannot imitate him in their occasion; for I dare fweare for my Dulcinea of Toboso, that all the dayes of her life she hath not seene one Moore, euen in his owne attire as he is, and she is now right as her mother bore her: and I should doe her a manifest wrong, if vpon any false suspiti∣on, I should turne madde, of that kinde of folly that did distract furious Orlando. On the other side I see that A∣madis du Gaule, without loosing his wits or vsing any o∣ther rauing tricke, gained as great fame of being amo∣rous as any one else whatsoeuer. For that which his Hi∣storie recites was none other, then that seeing himselfe disdained by his Lady Oriana, who had commaunded him to withdraw himselfe from her presence, and not ap∣peare againe in it, vntill she pleased: he retired himselfe in the company of a certaine Hermit to the poore rocke, and there crammed himselfe with weeping, vntill that heauen assisted him in the midst of his greatest cares and necessitie. And this being true, as it is, why should I take now the paines to strip my selfe all naked, and offend these trees, which neuer yet did me any harme? Nor haue I any reason to trouble the cleer waters of these brooks, which must giue me drinke when I am thirsty. Let the remembrance of Amadis liue, and be imitated in euery thing as much as may be by Don-Quixote of the Man∣cha: of whom may be said, what was said of the other, that though he atchieued not great things, yet did he die in their pursuit. And though I am not contemned or dis∣daired by my Dulcinea, yet it is sufficient as I haue said already, that I be absent from her: therefore handes to your taske, and ye famous actions of Amadis occurre to my remembrance, and instruct me where I may best be∣gin to imitate you. Yet I know already that the greatest thing he did vse was prayer, and so will I. And saying so, he made him a paire of Beades of great Gaules, and was very much vexed in minde for want of an Eremite, who

might heare his confession, and comfort him in his afflicti∣ons: and therefore did entertaine himselfe walking vp and downe the little greene fielde, writing and grauing in the rindes of trees, and on the smooth sandes many ver∣ses, all accommodated to his sadnesse, and some of them in the praise of Dulcinea. But those that were found throughly finished, and were ledgible after his owne fin∣ding againe in that place, were onely these ensuing.

OYe plants, ye hearbes, and ye Trees, That flowrish in this pleasant site; In lofty and verdant degrees If my harmes doe you not delight, Heare my holy plaints, which are theese.

And let not my griefe you molest Though it euer so feelingly went, Since heere for to pay your rest Don-Quixote his teares hath addrest Dulcinea's want to lament Of Toboso.

In this very place was first spied The loyallest louer and true, Who himselfe from his Lady did hyde. But yet felt his sorrowes anew, Not knowing whence they might proceede.

Loue doth him cruelly wrest With a passion of euill discent; Which rob'd Don-Quixote of rest, Till a pipe with teares was full prest Dulcinea's want to lament Of Toboso.

He searching aduentures blinde, Among these dearne woods, and rockes, Still curseth on pittilesse mind: For a wretch amidst bushie lockes, And cragges, may misfortunes finde.

Loue with his whip wounded his brest, And not with soft bands him pent, And when he his noddle had prest, Don-Quixote his teares did forth wrest, Dulcinea's want to lament, Of Toboso.

The addition of Toboso to the name of Dulcinea, did not cause small laughter in those which found the verses reci∣ted, because they imagined that Don-Quixote conceiued, that if in the naming of Dulcinea he did not also adde that Of Toboso, the rime could not be vnderstood; and in truth it was so, as he himselfe did afterward confesse. He cōposed many others, but as we haue related none could be well copied, or found intire but these three stanza's. In this, and in sighing, and inuoking the Faunes and Siluanes of these woods, & the Nymphes of the adioyning streams, with the dolorous and hollow Eccho, that it would an∣swere, and they consort and listen vnto him; and in the search of some hearbes to sustaine his languishing forces; he intertained himselfe al the time of Sancho his absence: who had be staied three weekes away, as he did but three dayes, The Knight of the ill fauoured face should haue re∣mained so disfigured, as the very mother that bore him would not haue knowne him.

But now it is congruent that leauing him swallowed in the gulphes of sorrow and versifying, we turne & recount what hapned to Sancho Panca in his Embassage; which was that issuing out to the high way, he presently tooke that, which ledde towards Toboso, and arriued the next day following to the Inne, where the disgrace of the Co∣uerlet befell him: and scarce had he well espied it, but presently he imagined that he was once againe flying in the ayre, and therefore would not enter into it, although his arriuall was at such an houre, as he both might and ought to haue stayed, being dinner time, and he himselfe

likewise possest with a maruellous longing to taste some warme meate; for many dayes past he had fedde altoge∣ther on colde viands. This desire inforced him to approch to the In, remaining still doubtfull notwithstanding whe∣ther he should enter into it or no. And as he stood thus suspended, there issued out of the Inne twopersons, which presently knew him, and the one faid to the other, tell me Master Licenciat, is not that horseman that rides there Sancho Panca, him whom our aduenturers olde woman said to depart with her Master for his Squire? It is quoth the Licenciat, & that is our Don-Quixote his horse: and they knew him thus well, as those that were the Curate and Barber of his own village; and were those that made the search and formall processe against the bookes of Chiualry: and therefore as soone as they had taken full notice of Sancho Panca and Rozinante, desirous to learne newes of Don-Quixote, they drew neere vnto him, and the Curate called him by his name, saying, friend Sancho Panca, where is your Master? Sancho Panca knew them instantly, and desirous to conceale the place and manner wherein his Lord remained, did answere them that his Master was in a certaine place with-held by affaires for a few daies, that were of great consequence and concerned him very much, and that hee durst not for both his eyes discouer the place to them. No, no (quoth the Barber) Sancho Panca, if thou dost not tell vs where hee soiour∣neth, we must imagine as we doe already, that thou hast rob'd and slaine him, specially seeing thou commest thus on his horse; and therefore thou must in good faith get vs the horses owner, or else stand to thine answere. Your threats feare me nothing, quoth Sancho, for I am not a man that robs or murthers any one, euery man is slaine by his destinie, or by God that made him. My Lord remaines doing of penance in the midst of this mountaine, with ve∣ry great pleasure. And then he presently recounted vnto them, from the beginning to the end the fashion wherein

he had left him; the aduentures which had befalne, and how he carried a Letter to the Lady Dulcinea of Toboso, who was Lorenco Corchuelo his daughter, of whom his Lady was enamoured vp to the liuers.

Both of them stood greatly admired at Sanchoes rela∣tion, and although they knew Don-Quixotes madnesse already, and the kinde thereof, yet as often as they heard speake thereof they rested newly amazed. They reque∣sted Sancho to shew them the letter that he caried to the Lady Dulcinea of Toboso. He told them that it was writ∣ten in Tablets, and that he had expresse order from his Lord to haue it fairely copied out in paper, at the first vil∣lage whereunto he should arriue. To which the Curate answered, bidding shew it vnto him, and he would write out the copie very fairly. Then Sancho thrust his hand in∣to his bosome, and searched the little booke, but could not finde it, nor should not though hee had searched till Doomes day, for it was in Don-Quixotes power, who gaue it not to him, nor did he euer remember to demaund it. When Sancho perceiued that the booke was lost, his visage waxed as pale and wanne as a dead man, and tur∣ning againe very speedily to feele all the parts of his bo∣dy, he saw cleerely that it could not be found, and there∣fore without making any more adoe, he laid, holde on his owne beard with both his fiftes, and drew almost the one halfe of the haire away, and afterward bestowed on his face and nose in a memento halfe a douzen such cuffes, as he bathed them all in bloud; which the Curate and Barber beholding, they asked of him, what had befalne him, that he intreated himselfe so ill? what should befall me answered Sancho? But that I haue lost at one hand, and in an instant three Colts, whereof the least was like a Castle. How so, quoth the Barber? Marry said Sancho I haue lost the Tablets wherein were written Dulcineas Letter, and a schedule of my Lords, addrest to his Niece, wherein he commaunded her to deliuer vnto me three

Colts, of foure or fiue that remained in his house. And saying so, hee recounted the losse of his gray Asse: The Curate comforted him, and said, that as soone as his Lord were found, he would deale with him to renew his grant, and write it in paper, according to the common vse and practise; for as much as those which were written in Tablets were inualid, and would neuer be accepted, nor accomplished. With this Sancho tooke courage, and said, if that was so he cared not much for the losse of Dulci∣neas Letter; for he knew it almost all by rote. Say it then Sancho quoth the Barber, and we will after write it. Then Sancho stood still, and began to scratch his head, to call the letter to memory, and now would he stand vpon one legge, and now vpon another. Sometimes he looked on the earth, others vpon heauen, and after he had gnawen off almost the halfe of one of his nailes and held them all the while suspended, expecting his recitall thereof, he said after a long pause: On my soule, Master Licenciat, I giue to the Diuell any thing that I can remember of that Let∣ter, although the beginning was thus; High and vnsauo∣rie Ladie: I warrant you, quoth the Barber, he said not so, but Super humaine or Soueraigne Ladie. It is so, quoth Sancho; and presently followed, if I well remember, He that is wounded and wants sleepe, and the hurt man doth kisse your worships hands, ingrate and very scornefull faire. And thus he went rouing vntill he ended in. Yours vntill death, the Knight of the ill fauoured face. Both of them tooke great delight to see Sanchos good memory, and praysed it to him very much, and requested him to repeat the Letter once or twice more to them, that they might also beare it in memorie, to write it at the due season. Sancho turned to recite it againe and againe, and at euery repetition said other three thousand errours. And after this he tolde other things of his Lord, but spoke not a word of his owne tossing in a Couerlet, which had be∣falne him in that Inne, into which he refused to enter. He

added besides, how his Lord in bringing him a good dis∣patch from his Ladie Dulcinea of Toboso, would forth∣with set out to endeauour how he might become an Em∣perour, or at the least a Monarch; for they had so agreed betweene themselues both: and it was a very easie mat∣ter for him to become one, such was the valour of his per∣son and strength of his arme. And that when hee were one, he would procure him a good marriage; for by that time he should be a widdower at the least. And he would giue him one of the Emperours Ladies to wife, that were an Inheretrix of some great and rich state on the firme land, for now he would haue no more Islands. And all this was related so seriously by Sancho, and so in his per∣fect sense, he scratching his nose euer and anon as hee spoke; so as the two were strucken into a new amaze∣ment, pondering the vehemencie of Don-Quixotes fren∣sie, which caried quite away with it in that sort the iudge∣ment of that poore man, but would not labour to dispos∣sesse him of that errour, because it seemed to them that since it did not hurt his conscience, it was better to leaue him in it, that the recital of his follies might turne to their greater recreation: and therefore exhorted him to pray for the health of his Lord; for it was a very possible and contingent thing to arriue in the discourse of time to the dignity of an Emperour, as he said, or at least to that of an Archbishop, or other calling equiualent to it.

Then Sancho demanded of them, Sirs, if fortune should turne our affaires to another course, in such sort, as my Lord abandoning the purpose to purchase an Empire, would take in his head that of becomming a Cardinall, I would faine learne of you heere, what Cardinall errants are wont to giue to their Squires? They are wont to giue them (quoth the Curate) some simple Benefice, or some Parsonage, or to make them Clerkes or Sextons, or Ver∣gers of some Church, whose liuing amounts to a good penny rent, beside the profite of the Altar, which is oft∣times

as much more: for that it is requisite (quoth San∣cho) that the Squire be not married, and that he know how to helpe Masse at least: and if that be so vnfortunate, I, that both am married, and knowes not besides the first letter of the A. B. C. What will then become of me, if my Master take the humour to be an Archbishop, and not an Emperour, as is the custome and vse of Knights errant? Doe not afflict thy minde for that friend Sancho (quoth the Barber) for we will deale with thy Lord heere, and we will counsaile him, yea we wil vrge it to him as a mat∣ter of conscience, that he become an Emperour, and not an Archbishop; for it will be more easie for him to bee such a one, by reason that he is more valorous then lear∣ned. So me thinkes (quoth Sancho) although I know he hath ability enough for all. That which I meane to doe for my part is, I will pray vnto our Lord to conduct him to that place, wherein he may serue him best, and giue me greatest rewardes. Thou speakest like a discreet man (quoth the Curate) and thou shalt doe therein the duetie of a good Christian. But that which we must endeuour now, is to deuise how we may winne thy Lord from pro∣secuting that vnprofitable penance hee hath in hand, as thou sayest: And to the end we may thinke on the man∣ner how, and eate our dinner withall, seeing it is time, let vs all enter into the Inne. Sancho bad them goe in and he would stay for them at the doore, and that he would after tell them the reason why he had no minde to enter, neither was it in any sort conuenient that he should: but he intreated them to bring him somewhat forth to eate, that were warme, and some prouand for Rozinante. With that they departed into the lodging, and within a while after the Barber brought forth vnto him some meate: and the Curate and Barber, after hauing pondered well with themselues what course they were to take to attaine their designe. The Curate fel on a deuice very fit both for Don-Quixotes humour, and also to bring their purpose

to passe; and was as he tolde the Barber, that he had be∣thought him, to apparrell himselfe like a Lady aduentu∣rous, and that he therefore should doe the best that hee could to fit himselfe like a Squire, and that they would go in that habite to the place where Don-Quixote soiour∣ned, fayning that fhe was an afflicted and distressed Dam∣zell, and would demaund a boone of him, which hee as a valorous Knight errant would in no wise denie her; and that the gift which he meaned to desire, was to intreate him to follow her where she would carry him, to right a wrong which a naughtie Knight had done vnto her: and that she would besides pray him not to commaund her to vnmaske her selfe, or inquire any thing of her estate, vntill he had done her right, against that badde Knight. And by this meanes he certainely hoped, that Don-Quixote would graunt all that he requested in this manner. And in this sort they would fetch him from thence, and bring him to his village, where they would labour with al their power, to see whether his extrauagaut frensie could be recouered by any remedy.

CHAP. XIII.

How the Curate and the Barber put their designe in practise, with many other things, worthy to be re∣corded in this famous Historie.

THe Curates inuention disliked not the Barber, but rather pleased him so well, as they presently put it in execution. They borrowed therfore of the Inkeepers wife a Gowne and a Kerchife, leauing her in pawne therof a faire new Cassocke of the Curates. The Barber made him a great beard of a pyed Oxes tayle, wherein the Inkeeper was wont to hang his

Horse-combe. The Hostesse demaunded of them the oc∣casion why they would vse these things? The Curate re∣counted in briefe reasons of Don-Quixotes madnesse, and how that disguisement was requisite, to bring him away from the mountaine, wherein at that present he made his abode. Presently the Inkeeper and his wife remembred themselues how he had beene their guest, and of his Bal∣samum, and was the tossed Squires Lord; and then they rehearsed againe to the Curate all that had passed be∣twene him and them in that Inne, without omitting the accident that had befalne Sancho himselfe; and in con∣clusion the Hostesse tricked vp the Curate so handsomly, as there could be no more desired: for she attired him in a gowne of broad-cloth, laid ouer with guardes of blacke Veluet, euery one being of a span breadth, full of gashes and cuts: the bodies and sleeues of greene Veluet, wel∣ted with white Sattin: which gowne and doublet as I suspect were both made in the time of King Bamba. The Curate would not permit them to vaile and bekerchife him, but set on his head a white-quilted-linuen-night∣cap; which he carried for the night, and guirded his fore∣head with a blacke Taffata garter, and with the other he masked his face, wherewithall he couered his beard and visage very neatly. Then did he incaske his pate in his hat, which was so broad, as it might serue him excellently for a Quitafoli, and lapping himselfe vp handsomly in his long cloke, he went to horse, and rode as women vse. Then mounted the Barber likewise on his Mule, with his beard hanging downe to the gyrdle, halfe red and halfe white, as that which as wee haue said was made of the taile of a pyed coloured Oxe: then taking leaue of them all, and of the good Maritornes, who promised (although a sinner) to say a rosary to their intention, to the end that God might giue them good successe, in so Christian and difficult an aduenture, as that which they vndertooke. But scarce were they gone out of the Inne, when the Curate

began to dread a little that he had done ill, in apparrel∣ling himselfe in that wise, accounting it a very indecent thing that a Priest should dight himselfe so, although the matter concerned him neuer so much. And acquainting the Barber with his surmise, he intreated him that they might change attires, seeing it was much more iust that he, because a lay-man, should faine the oppressed Ladie, and himselfe would become his Squire, for so his dignity would be lesse prophaned: to which if he would not con∣discend, he resolued to passe on no farther, although the Diuell should carie therefore Don-Quixote away. San∣cho came ouer to them about this season; and seeing of them in that habite, he could not containe his laughter. The Barber to bee briefe did all that which the Curate pleased, and making thus an exchange of inuentions, the Curate instructed him how he should behaue himselfe; and what wordes he should vse to Don-Quixote, to presse and moue him to come away with him, and forsake the propension and loue to that place, which he had chosen to performe his vaine penance. The Barber answered that he would set euery thing in his due point and perfection, though he had neuer lessoned him; but would not set on the array, vntill they came neere to the place where Don-Quixote abode, and therfore folded vp his clothes, and Master Parson his beard, and forthwith went on their way, Sancho Panca playing the guide; who recounted at large to them all that had hapned with the mad-man, whom they found in the mountaine; concealing not∣withstanding the booty of the Malet, with the other things found therein: for although otherwise most sim∣ple, yet was our yong man an ordinary vice of fooles, and had a spice of couetousnesse.

They arriued the next day following to the place where Sancho had left the tokens of boughes, to finde that wherein his Master soiourned: and hauing taken notice thereof, he said vnto them that, that was the entry,

and therfore they might do well to apparrell themselues, if by change that might be a meane to procure his Lords libertie; for they had tolde him already, that on their go∣ing and apparrelling in that manner, consisted wholly the hope of freeing his Lord, out of that wretched life he had chosen; and therefore did charge him on his life not to reueale to his Lord in any case what they were, nor seeme in any sort to know them: and that if he demaun∣ded (as they were sure he would) whether he had deliue∣red his letter to Dulcinea, he should say that he did, and that by reason she could not reade, she answered him by word of mouth, saying, that she commanded vnder paine of her indignation, that presently abandoning so austere a life, he would come and see her; for this was most requi∣site, to the end that moued therwithall, and by what they meant likewise to say vnto him, they made certaine ac∣count to reduce him to a better life, and would besides perswade him to that course instantly, which might set him in the way how to become an Emperor or Monark; for as concerning the being an Archbishop, hee needed not to feare it at all. Sancho listened to all the talke and instructions, and bore them away well in memory and gaue them great thankes for the intention they had to counsell his Lord to become an Emperour, and not an Archbishop: for as he said, hee imagined in his simple iudgement that an Emperours were of more ability to reward their Squires then an Archbishops errant. Hee likewise added that he thought it were necessary he went somewhat before them to search him, and deliuer his Ladies answere: for perhaps it alone would be sufficient to fetch him out of that place, without putting them to any further paines. They liked of Sancho Pancas deuice, and therefore determined to expect him, vntil his returne with the newes of finding his Master. With that Sancho entred in by the clifts of the rockes (leauing them both behinde together) by which ran a little smooth streame,

to which other Rockes and some trees that grew neere vnto it, made a fresh and pleasing shaddow. The heates, and the day wherein they arriued there, was one of those of the moneth of August, when in those places the heate is intollerable: the houre, about three in the afternoone. All which did render the place more grateful, and inuited them to remaine therein vntill Sanchoes returne. Both therefore arresting there quietly vnder the shadow, there arriued to their hearing the sound of a voyce, which without being accompanied by any instrument, did re∣sound so sweet and melodiously, as they remained great∣ly admired, because they esteemed not that to be a place wherein any so good a Musitian might make his abode. For although it is vsually said that in the woods and fields are found Shepheards of excellent voyces, yet is this ra∣ther a Poetical indeerement, then an approued truth; and most of a I when they perceiued that the verses they heard him singing were not of rusticke composition, but rather of delicate and Courtly inuention. The truth whereof is confirmed by the verses, which were these:

WHo doth my weale diminish thus and staine? Disdaine. And say by whom, my woes augmented be? by Iealousie. And who my patience doth by triall wrong? an absence long. If that be so, then for my grieuous wrong No remedie at all, I may obtaine, Since my best hopes I cruelly finde slaine By Disdaine, Iealousie, and Absence long. Who in my minde, those dolors still doth moue? Dire Loue. And who my glories ebbe, doth most importune? Fortune. And to my plaints, by whom increase is giuen? By heauen.

If that be so, then my mistrust iumps euen, That of my wondrous euill, I needes must die: Since in my harme ioynd and vnited be. Loue, wauering Fortune, and a rig'rous Heauen. Who, better hap, can vnto me bequeath? Death. From whom his fauors doth not loue estrange? From change. And his too serious harmes, who cureth wholie? Follie. If that be so, it is no wisedome truely To thinke by humane meanes to cure that care, Where th'only Antidotes, and med'cines are: Desired death, light change, and endlesse folly.

The houre, the time, the solitarines of the place, voice, and arte of him that sung, strucke wonder and delight in the hearers mindes, which remained still quiet, listning whether they might heare any thing else: but perceiuing that the silence continued a pretie while, they agreed to issue and seeke out the Musitian, that sung so harmoni∣ously. And being ready to put their resolution in pra∣ctise, they were againe arrested by the same voyce; the which touched their cares anew with this Sonnet.

A SONNET.

HOly Amitie! which with nimble wings Thy semblance leauing heere on earth behinde, Among the blissed soules of heauen, vp-flings, To those Imporiall roomes to cheere thy minde.

And thence to vs, is when thou lik'st assignd Iust peace, whom shadie vaile so couer'd brings: As oft in steed of her, deceit we finde Clad in the weedes of good and vertuous things.

Leaue heau'n ô Amitie! doe not permit

Foule fraude thus openly thy robest' inuest; With which sincere intents, destroy does it. For if thy likenesse from't thou dost not wrest,

The world will turne, to the first conflict soone, Of discord Chaos and confusion.

The song was concluded with a profound sigh; and both the others lent attentiue eare to heare if hee would sing any more; but perceiuing that the musicke was conuerted into throbs and dolefull plaints, they resolued to goe and learne who was the wretch, as excellent for his voyce, as dolorous in his sighes: and after they had gone a little at the doubling of the point of a cragge, they perceiued one of the very same forme and fashion that Sancho had painted vnto them, when he tolde them the History of Cardenio: which man espying them likewise, shewed no semblance of feare, but stood stil with his head hanging on his brest like a malecontent, not once lifting vp his eyes to behold them from the first time, when they vnexpectedly arriued.

The Curate who was a man very well spoken (as one that had already intelligence of his misfortune, for hee knew him by his signes) drew neerer to him, and prayed and perswaded him with short, but very forcible reasons, to forsake that miserable life, lest he should there eternally lose it, which of all miseries would proue the most misera∣ble. Cardenio at this season was in his right sense, free from the furious accident, that distracted him so often; and therefore viewing them both attired in so strange and vnusuall a fashion from that which was vsed among those desarts, he rested somewhat admired; but chiefely hearing them speake in his affaire, as in a matter knowne (for so much he gathered out of the Curates speeches) and therefore answered in this manner: I perceiue well, good Sirs (whosoeuer you be) that heauen which hath alwayes care to succour good men, yea euen and the wic∣ked

many times, hath without any desert addrest vnto me by these desarts and places so remote from vulgar haunt, persons, which laying before mine eyes with quicke and pregnant reasons the little I haue to leade this kinde of life, doe labour to remoue me from this place to a better: and by reason they know not as much as I doe, and that after escaping this harme, I shall fall into a farre greater, they account me perhaps for a man of weake discourse, and what is worse for one wholly deuoide of iudgement. And were it so, yet is it no maruell; for it seemes to me that the force of the imagination of my disasters is so bent and powerfull in my destruction, that I without be∣ing able to make it any resistance, do become like a stone, voyde of all good feeling and knowledge: and I come to know the certainty of this truth, when some men doe re∣count and shew vnto me tokens of the things I haue done, whilest this terrible accident ouer rules me: and after I can doe no more, then be grieued though in vaine, and curse without benefite my too froward fortune; and render as an excuse of my madnesse, the relation of the cause thereof, to as many as please to heare it: for wise∣men perceiuing the cause, will not wonder at the effects. And though they hiue me no remedie, yet at least wil not condemne me, for it will conuert the anger they conceiue at my misrules, into compassion of my disgraces. And Sirs if by chance it be so, that you come with the same intenti∣on that others did, I request you ere you inlarge farther your discreet perswasions, that you will giue eare a while to the relation of my mishaps: for perhaps when you haue vnderstood it, you may saue the labour that you would take, conforting an euill wholly incapable of con∣solation.

Both of them which desired nothing so much then to vnderstand from his owne mouth, the occasion of his harmes, did intreate him to relate it, promising to do no∣thing else in his remedie or comfort, but what himselfe

pleased. And with this the sorrowfull Gentleman began his dolefull Historie, with the very same wordes almost that he had rehearsed it to Don-Quixote and the Goat∣heard a few dayes past, when by occasion of Master Elisa∣bat and Don-Quixotes curiositie in obseruing the Deco∣rum of Chiualry, the tale remained imperfect, as our Hi∣story left it aboue. But now good fortune so disposed things, that his foolish fit came not vpon him, but gaue him leisure to continue his storie to the end; and so arri∣uing to the passage that spoke of the Letter Don Ferdi∣nando found in the booke of Amadis du Gaule, Cardento said that he had it very well in memory; and the sense was this.

LVSCINDA to CARDENIO.

I Discouer daily in thee worthes, that oblige & inforce me to holde thee deere: and therefore if thou desirest to haue me discharge this debt, without seruing a writ on my honour, thou mayest easily doe it. I haue a father that knowes thee, and loues me likewise well; who without forcing my will, will accomplish that which iustly thou oughtest to haue: if it be so, that thou esteemest me as much as thou sayest, and I doe beleeue.

This Letter moued me to demand Luscinda of her fa∣ther for my wife, as I haue already recounted; and by it also Luscinda remained in Don Ferdinandos opinion crowned, for one of the most discreete women of her time. And this billet Letter was that which first put him in minde to destroy me, e're I could effect my desires. I tolde to Don Ferdinando wherein consisted all the diffi∣cultie of her fathers protracting of the marriage; to wit, in that my father should first demaund her; the which I dared not to mention vnto him, fearing lest hee would not willingly consent therunto; not for that the qualitie, bountie, vertue, and beautie of Luscinda, were to him

vnknowne, or that she had not partes in her able to en∣noblish and adorne any other linage of Spaine whatsoe∣uer: but because I vnderstood by him that he desired not to marrie me vntill hee had seene what Duke Ricardo would doe for me. Finally, I tolde him that I dared not reueale it to my father, as well for that inconnenience, as for many others that made me so affraid, without know∣ing what they were, as me thought my desires would ne∣uer take effect. To all this Don Ferdinando made me an∣swere that he would take vpon him to speake to my fa∣ther, and perswade him to treate of that affaire also with Luscindas. O ambitious Marius. O eruell Cataline. O facinorous Quila. O treacherous Galalon. O trayterous Ʋellido. O reuengefull Iulian. O conetous Iudas. Tray∣tor, cruell, reuengefull, and cousening, what indeserts did this wench commit, who with such plaines discouered to thee the secrets and delights of his heart? What offence committed I against thee? What words did I speake, or counsel did I giue, that were not all addrest to the increa∣sing of thine honour and profite? But on what doe I of all wretches the worst complaine, seeing that when the current of the starres do bring with it mishaps; by reason they come downe precipitarely from aboue, there is no earthly force can with-hold, or humane industry preuent or euacunt them? Who would haue imagined that Don Fernando a noble Gentleman, discreete, obliged by my deserts, and powerfull to obtaine whatsoeuer the amo∣rous desire would exact of him, where and whensoeuer it seazed on his heart (would as they say) become so cor∣rupt as to depriue me of one onely sheepe, which yet I did not possesse? But let these considerations be laide apart as vnprofitable, that we may knit vp againe the broken threede of my vnfortunate History. And therefore I say, that Don Ferdinando beleeuing that my presence was a hinderance to put his treacherous and wicked designe in execution, he resolued to send me to his eldest brother,

vnder pretext to get some money of him, for to buy sixe great horses, that he had of purpose, and onely to the end I might absent my selfe, bought the very same day that he offered to speake himselfe to my father, and would haue me goe for the money (because he might bring his trea∣cherous intent the better to passe) could I preuent this treason? Or could I perhaps but once imagin it? No tru∣ly; but rather glad for the good merchandize hee had made, did make proffer of my selfe to depart for the mo∣ney very willingly. I spoke that night to Luscinda, and acquainted her with the agreement past betweene mee and Don Ferdinando, bidding her to hope firmely that our good iust desires would sort a wished and happie end. She answered me againe (as little suspecting Don Ferdi∣nandos treason as my selfe) bidding me to returne with all speede, because she beleeued that the conclusion of our affections should be no longer deferred, then my father deferred to speake vnto hers. And what was the cause I know not, but as soone as she had said this vnto me, her eyes were filled with teares, and somewhat thwarting her throate, hindered her from saying many other things, which me thought she striued to speake.

I rested admired at this new accident vntill that time neuer seene in her: for alwaies as many times as my good fortune and diligence graunted it, we conuersed with all sport and delight, without euer intermedling in our dis∣courses, any teares, sighes, complaints, suspitions, or fears. All my speech was to aduance my fortune; for hauing re∣ceiued her from heauen as my Ladie and Mistresse, then would I amplifie her beautie, admire her worth, & praise her discretion. She on the other side would returne mee the exchange, extolling in me, what she as one enamou∣red accounted worthy of laude and commendation. Af∣ter this we would recount a hundred thousand toyes and chaunces befalne our neighbours and acquaintance, and that to which my presumption dared farthest to extend it

selfe, was sometimes to take her beautifull and Iuorie hands perforce, and kisse them as well as I might through the rigorous strictnesse of a niggardly Iron grate which deuided vs. But the precedent night to the day of my sad departure, she wept, sobd, and sighed, and departed, lea∣uing me full of confusion and inward assaults, amazed to beholde such new and dolefull tokens of sorrow and fee∣ling in Luscinda. But because I would not murder my hopes, I did attribute all these things to the force of her affection towards me, and to the griefe which absence is wont to stirre in those that loue one another deerely. To be briefe, I departed from thence sorrowfull and pensiue, my soule being ful of imaginations and suspitions, and yet know not what I suspected or imagined. Cleere tokens, foretelling the sadde successe and misfortune which at∣tended me. I arriued to the place where I was sent, and deliuered my letters to Don Ferdinandos brother, & was well intertained, but not wel dispatched; for he comman∣ded me to expect (a thing to me most displeasing) eight dayes, and that out of the Duke his fathers presence; be∣cause his brother had written vnto him to send him cer∣taine moneyes vnknowne to his father. And all this was but false Don Ferdinandos inuention, for his brother wan∣ted not money wherewithall to haue dispatched me pre∣sently, had not he written the contrary.

This was so displeasing a commandement & order, as almost it brought me to termes of disobeying it, because it seemed to me a thing most impossible to sustaine my life so many daies in the absence of my Luscinda. And spe∣cially hauing left her so sorrowfull as I haue recounted; yet notwithstanding I did obey like a good seruant, al∣though I knew it would be with the cost of my health. But on the fourth day after I had arriued, there came a man in my search with a letter, which he deliuered vnto me, and by the indorsement I knew it to be Luscindas; for the hand was like hers. I opened it not without feare

and assailement of my senses, knowing that it must haue beene some serious occasion, which could moue her to write vnto me, being absent, seeing she did it so rarely, e∣uen when I was present. I demaunded of the bearer be∣fore I read, who had deliuered it to him, and what time he had spent in the way. He answered me that passing by chaunce at mid-day through a streete of the Citie, a very beautifull Ladie did call him from a certaine window: Her eyes were all beblubbered with teares; and said vnto him very hastily: Brother, if thou beest a Christian, as thou appearest to be one, I pray thee for Gods sake, that thou doe forth with addresse this letter to the place and person that the superscription assigneth, (for they be well kno∣wen) and therein thou shalt doe our Lord great seruice. And because thou mayest not want meanes to doe it, take what thou shalt finde wrapped in that Handkerchife: and saying so, she threw out of the window a handker∣chife, wherein were lapped vp a hundred Rials, this ring of golde which I carie here, and that letter which I deli∣uered vnto you; and presently without expecting mine answere she departed, but first saw me take vp the hand∣kerchife and letter; and then I made her signes that I would accomplish herein her command: and after percei∣uing the paines I might take in bringing you it so well considered, and seeing by the indorsement, that you were the man to whom it was addrest. For Sir I know you ve∣rie well; and also obliged to doe it by the teares of that beautiful Ladie, I determined not to trust any other with it, but to come and bring it you my selfe in person: and in sixteene houres since it was giuen vnto me, I haue trauel∣led the iourney you know, which is at least eighteene leagues long. Whilest the thankefull new messenger spake thus vnto me, I remained in a manner hanging on his words, and my thighes did tremble in such manner, as I could very hardly sustaine my selfe on foote: yet taking courage, at last I opened the letter, whereof these were the Contents.

The word that Don Ferdinando hath past vnto you to speake to your father, that he might speake to mine, he hath accomplished more to his owne pleasure then to your profite. For Sir you shall vnderstand, that he hath demaunded mee for his wife; and my father borne away by the aduantage of worthes which he supposes to be in Don Ferdinando more then in you, hath agreed to his demaund in so good earnest, as the espousals shall bee celebrated within these two daies, and that so secretly and alone, as onely the heauens and some folke of the house shall be witnesses. How I remaine, ima∣gine, and whether it be conuenient you should returne you may consider: and the successe of this affaire shall let you to perceiue, whether I loue you well or no. I beseech Al∣mighty God that this may arriue vnto your hands, before mine shall see it selfe in danger to ioyne it selfe with his, which keepeth his promised faith so ill.

These were in some, the contents of the letter, and the motiues that perswaded me presently to depart, with∣out attending any other answere, or other monies: for then I conceiued clearly, that it was not the buyall of the horses, but that of his delights, which had moued Don Ferdinando to send me to his brother. The rage which I conceiued against him ioyned with the feare to lose the iewell which I had gained by so many yeares seruice, and desires, did set wings on mee, for I arriued as if I had flien the next day at mine owne Citie, in the houre and moment fit to goe speake to Luscinda. I entred secretly, and left my Mule whereon I rode in the honest mans house, that had brought mee the letter and my for∣tune proposing then to be fauourable to me, disposed so mine affaires that I found Luscinda sitting at that yron grate, which was the sole witnesse of our loues. Lu∣scinda knew me straight and I her, but not as we ought to know one another. But who is hee in the world which may truly vaunt, that he hath penetrated, and throughly exhausted the consused thoughts, and mutable nature of

women? truly none. I say then to proceede with my tale, that as soone as Luscinda perceiued me she said Cardenio I am attired with my wedding garments, and in the Hall doe waite for mee, the traitor Don Ferdinando, and my couetous father with other witnesses, which shall rather be such of my death, then of mine espousals; bee not troubled deare friend, but procure to be present at this sacrifice, the which if I cannot hinder by my perswasions and reasons, I carry hidden about me a poynard secretly which may hinder more resolute forces, by giuing end to my life, and a beginning to thee, to know certaine the af∣fection which I haue euer borne, and doe beare vnto thee. I answered her troubled and hastily, fearing I should not haue the leasure to reply vnto her, saying sweete La∣die, let thy works verifie thy words, for if thou carriest a poynard to defend thy credit, I doe heere likewise beare a sword wherewithall, I will defend thee, or kill my selfe if fortune proue aduerse and contrary. I beleaue that she could not heare all my words by reason she was called hastily away as I perceiued, for that the bridegroome ex∣pected her comming. By this the night of my sorrowes did throughly fall, and the Sunne of my gladnesse was set: and I remained without light in mine eyes, or discourse in my vnderstanding. I could not finde the way into her house, nor could I moue my selfe to any part: yet consi∣dering at last how important my presence was, for that which might befall in that aduenture, I animated my selfe the best I could, and entred into the house; and as one that knew very well all the entries and passages there∣of, and specially by reason of the trouble and bu∣sinesse that was then in hand, I went in vnperceiued of any. And thus without being seene, I had the oportuni∣tie to place my selfe in the hollow roome of a window of the same Hall, which was couered by the endes of two incountring peeces of tapestry, from whence I could see all that was done in the Hall, remaining my selfe

vnuiewed of any. VVho could now describe the assaults and surprisals of my heart whilst I there abode: The thoughts which incountred my mind, the considerations which I had, which were so many and such, as they can neither be said, nor is it reason they should. Let it suffice you to know, that the bridegroome entred into the Hall without any ornament, wearing the ordinary array hee was wont, and was accompanied by a cousen Germaine of Luscindas, and in all the Hall there was no stranger present, nor any other then the household seruants, with∣in a while after Luscinda came out of the Parlōur accom∣panied by her mother and two waiting maides of her owne, as richly attired and deckt, as her calling and beau∣tie deserued, and the perfection of courtly pompe and brauery could affoord my distraction and trouble of mind lent me no time to note particularly the apparrell shee wore, and therefore did onely marke the colours which were carnation and white; and the splendour which the precious stones and Iewels of her tires, and all the rest of her garments yeelded: yet did the singular beauty of her faire and golden tresses surpasse them so much, as being in competencie with the precious stones, and flame of foure linkes that lighted in the Hall, yet did the splendour thereof seeme farre more bright and glorious to mine eies. O memory the mortall enemie of mine ease, to what end serues it now to represent vnto me the vncom∣parable beautie of that my adored enemy. Were it not better cruel memory to remember & represent that which she did then, that being moued by so manifest a wrong, I may at least endeuour to lose my life, since I cannor procure a reuenge? Tire not good sirs to heare the di∣gressions I make, for my griefe is not of that kinde that may be rehearsed succinctly and speedily; seeing that in mine opinion euery passage of it is worthy of a large discourse.

To this the Curate answered, that not onely they were

not tyred or wearied, hearing of him, but rather the recea∣ued maruellous delight to heare him recount each minui∣tie and circumstance, because they were such, as deserued not to be past ouer in silence, but rather merited as much attention as the principall parts of the History: you shall then wit (quoth Cardenio) that as they thus stood in the Hall, the Curate of the Parish entred, and taking them both by the hand, to doe that which in such an act is re∣quired at the saying of, Will you Ladie Luscinda take the Lord Don Ferdinando who is heere present for your lawfull spouse, according as our holymother the Church commands? I thrust out all my head and neck out of the tapistry, and with most attentiue eares and a troubled mind, setled my selfe to heare what Luscinda answered; expecting by it the sentence of my death, or the confirmation of my life. O if one had dared to sally out at that time, and cried with a loud voice: O Luscinda, Luscinda, see well what thou doest, consider withall what thou owest me. Behold how thou art mine, and that thou canst not be any others, note that thy saying of yea, and the end of my life shall be both in one instant. O traytor Don Ferdinando robber of my glory, death of my life, what is this thou preten∣dest? what wilt thou doe? Consider that thou canst not Christian like atchieue thine intention, seeing Lu∣scinda is my spouse, and I am her husband. O foolish man now that I am absent, and farre from the danger, I say what I should haue done, and not what I did. Now after that I haue permitted my deere Iewel to be robbed, I exclaime on the theese, on whom I might haue reuen∣ged my selfe, had I had as much heart to doe it as I haue to complaine. In fine since I was then a coward and a foole, it is no matter though I now die ashamed, sory, and franticke. The Curate stood expecting Luscindaes an∣swere a good while erre she gaue it, and in the end, when I hoped that she would take out the Poynard to stab her selfe, or would vnloose her tongue to say some truth, or

vse some reason or perswasion that might redound to my benefit, I heard heere in stead thereof answere with a dismaied and languishing voice the word: I will: and then Don Fernando said the same, and giuing her the ring, they remained tyed with an indissoluble knot. Then the bridegroome comming to kisse his spouse, she set her hand vpon her heart, and fell in a trance betweene her mothers armes.

Now onely remaines vntold the case wherein I was, seeing in that, yea, which I had heard my hopes deluded, Luscindaes words and promises falsified; and my selfe wholy disabled to recouer in any time the good which I lost in that instant, I rested void of counsell, abandoned (in mine opinion) by heauen, proclaimed an enemy to the earth which vpheld me, the ayre denying breath e∣nough for my sighes, and the water, humour sufficient to mine eyes: only the fire increased in such maner, as I bur∣ned throughly with rage and iealousie. All the house was in a tumult for this sodaine amazement of Luscinda, and as her mother vnclasped her bosome to giue her the ayre, there appeared in it a paper foulded vp, which Don Fer∣nando presently seazed on, and went aside to reade it by the light of a torch, and after he had read it, he sate down in a chayre, laying his hands on his cheeke, with manifest signes of melancholy discontent, without bethinking himselfe of the remedies that were applied to his spouse, to bring her againe to her selfe. I seeing all the folke of the house thus in an vprore, did aduenture my selfe to issue, not waighing much whether I were seene or no; bearing withall a resolution (if I were perceiued) to play such a rash part as all the world should vnderstand the iust indignation of my breast, by the reuenge I would take on false Don Fernando, and the mutable and dis∣maied traytresse: But my destinie which hath reserued me for greater euils, if possibly there may be any greater then mine owne, ordained that instant my wit should

abound, whereof euer since I haue so great want: and therefore without will to take reuenge of my greatest e∣nemies (of whom I might haue taken it with all facilitie, by reason they suspected so little my being there) I de∣termined to take it on my selfe, and execute in my selfe the paine which they deserued; and that perhaps with more rigour then I would haue vsed towards them, if I had slaine them at that time, seeing that the sodaine death finisheth presently the pain, but that which doth lingringly torment, kils alwaies without ending the life. To be short, I went out of the house, and came to the other where I had left my Mule, which I caused to bee sadled, and without bidding mine hoast adieu, I mounted on her, and rode out of the Citie, without daring like ano∣ther Lot to turne back and behold it: and then seeing my selfe alone in the fields, and that the darkenesse of the night did couer me, and the silence thereof inuite me to complain, without respect or feare to be heard or known, I did let slip my voyce and vntied my tongue with so ma∣ny curses of Luscinda and Don Ferdinando, as if thereby I might satisfie the wrong they had done me. I gaue her the title, of cruell, vngratefull, false, and scornefull, but specially of couetous, seeing the riches of mine enemie, had shut vp the eyes of her affection, to depriue me ther∣of, and render it to him, with whom fortune had dealt more frankly and liberally: and in the midst of this tune of maledictions and scornes, I did excuse her saying: that it was no maruaile that a Mayden kept close in her pa∣rents house, made and accustomed alwaies to obey them, should at last condiscend to their will specially, seeing they bestowed vpon her for husband so noble, so rich and proper a Gentleman as to refuse him, would be reputed in her to proceed either from want of iudge∣ment, or from hauing bestowed her affections elsewhere, which things must of force greatly preiudice her good opinion and renowne. Presently would I turne againe to

say, that though she had told them that I was her spouse, they might easily perceiue that in chusing me she had not made so ill an election, that she might not be excused, see∣ing that before Don Fernando offred himselfe, they them∣selues could not happen to desire, if their wishes were guided by reason, so fit a match for their daughter as my selfe: and she might easily haue said, before shee put her selfe in that last and forcible passe, of giuing her hand, that I had already giuen her mine, which I would come out to confesse and confirme all that she could any way faine in this case: and concluded in the end, that little loue, lesse iudgement, much ambition and desire of great∣nesse caused her to forget the wordes, wherewithall she had deceiued, intertained, and sustained me in my firme hopes and honest desires.

Vsing these wordes, and feeling this vnquietnesse in my brest, I trauelled all the rest of the night, and strucke about dawning into one of the entries of these moun∣taines, through which I trauelled three dayes at random, without following or finding any path or way, vntill I arriued at last to certaine meddowes and fieldes, that lie I know not in which part of these mountaines: and finding there certaine heards, I demaunded of them which way lay the most craggy and inaccessible places of these rocks, and they directed me hither; and presently I trauelled to∣wards it, with purpose here to end my life: and entring in among those desarts, my Mule through wearinesse and hunger fell dead vnder me, or rather as I may better sup∣pose, to disburden himselfe of so vile and vnprofitable a burden as he carried in me. I remained a foote, ouercome by nature, and pierced thorow and thorow by hunger, without hauing any helpe, or knowing who might suc∣cour me; and remained after that manner I know not how long prostrate on the ground; and then I arose a gaine without any hunger, and I found neere vnto mee certaine Goatheards, who were those doubtlesly that

fedde me in my hunger. For they tolde me in what man∣ner they found me, and how I spake so many foolish and madde wordes, as gaue certaine argument that I was deuoide of iudgement. And I haue felt in my selfe since that time that I enioy not my wits perfectly, but rather perceiue them to be so weakened and impaired, as I com∣mit a hundred follies, tearing mine apparrell, crying loudly thorow these desarts, cursing my fates, and idely repeating the beloued name of mine enemie, without ha∣uing any other intent or discourse at that time, then to endeauour to finish my life ere long: and when I turne to my selfe, I am so broken and tyred, as I am scarce able to stirre me. My most ordinary Mansion place is in the hollownes of a Corke tree, sufficiently able to couer this wretched carkasse. The Cowheards and the Goatheards that feede their cattell here in these mountaines, moued by charity, gaue me sustenance, leauing meate for me by the wayes, and on the rockes which they suppose I fre∣quent, and where they thinke I may finde it: and so al∣though I doe then want the vse of reason, yet doth natu∣rall necessity induce me to know my meate, and stirreth my appetite to couet, and my will to take it. They tell me when they meete me in my wits, that I doe other times come out to the high wayes, and take it from them vio∣lently, euen when they themselues doe offer it vnto mee willingly. After this manner doe I passe my miserable life, vntill heauen shall be pleased to conduct it to the last period, or so change my memorie, as I may no more re∣member on the beauty and treacherie of Luscinda, or the iniurie done by Don Ferdinando; for if it doe me this fa∣uour without depriuing my life, then will I conuert my thoughts to better discourses: if not, there is no other re∣medie but to pray God to receiue my soule into his mer∣cie; for I neyther finde valour nor strength in my selfe to ridde my bodie out of the straites, wherein for my plea∣sure I did at first willingly intrude it.

This is Sirs the bitter relation of my disasters: where∣fore iudge if it be such as may be celebrated with lesse feeling and compassion then that, which you may by this time haue perceiued in my selfe? And doe not in vaine labour to perswade or counsel me that which reason shal affoord you may bee good for my remedie: for it will worke no other effect in me then a medicine prescribed by a skilfull Physitian, to a Patient that will in no sort re∣ceiue it. I will haue no health without Luscinda, and since she pleaseth to be alienate her selfe, being or seeing she ought to be mine: so doe I also take delight to be of the retinue of mishap, although I might be a retainer to good fortune. She hath ordained that her changing shall establish my perdition. And I will labour by procuring mine owne losse, to please and satisfie her wil: and it shal be an example to ensuing ages, that I alone wanted that, wherewithall all other wretches abounded, to whom the impossibility of receiuing comfort, proued sometimes a cure; but in me it is an occasion of greater feeling and harme, because I am perswaded that my harmes cannot end euen with very death it selfe. Here Cardenio finished his large discourse, and vnfortunate and amorous History; and iust about the time that the Curate was bethinking himselfe of some comfortable reasons to answer and per∣swade him: he was suspended by a voyce which arriued to his hearing, which with pittifull accents said what shall be recounted in the fourth part of this Narration. For in this very point the wise and most absolute Historio∣grapher Cid Hamete Benengeli finished the third Part of this HISTORY.

Notes

• Sinabasas.
• Cosecha.
• Here the Au∣thor taxeth some one cunningly to be descended of a Moorishrace.
• Desperates.
• a

  Bismas.
• b

  Harpiller.
• Endeble.
• The holy bro¦therhood or the Sācta Herm••n∣dad, are a cer¦taine number of m••n whose chiefe office is to f••ee the high way from robbers.
• Hosa de lata.
• Gauay.
• Catte.
• Alfana.
• Esparraguera.
• Or white crested.
• Hauing left it behinde him in the Jnne when he ranne away and paid nothing for his lodging.
• Canon. 72. Di∣stinct. 134.
• Porque la boca de la bozina esla lucina de la ca∣beca. p. 168.
• Yque todo lo annasca. Pag. 171.
• A Spanish Prouerbe touch∣ing their iealou∣sie.
• Sancon.
• Veedor is an office in Spaine of great trust, set by the King to examine and search the dea∣ling of other vn∣der-officers, an Ouersecr or Con∣trouler.
• Marke, a cer∣taine length ap∣pointed in Spaine for swords, which if any transgresse he is punished, & the sword forfei∣ted.
• Regedeo. p. 202
• A great and large mountaine of Spain.
• An allusion to the Spanish word Hilo, signifying a threed.
• One who for the rape of his daughter, com∣mitted by Ro∣dericke King of Spaine, brought in the Moores and destroyed all the Countrey.