The history of the most renowned Don Quixote of Mancha and his trusty squire Sancho Pancha now made English according to the humour of our modern language and adorned with copper plates by J.P.

CHAP. III.

What happen'd to Don Quixote among the Goat-herds.

DON Quixote was most courteously receiv'd by the Goat-herds; and as for Sancho, after he had accommodated Rosinante and his Mule, in the best manner that the place could afford, he found his Nostrils full of a most attractive Scent, which drew him to follow his Nose where the Shepherds were roasting certain pieces of Kids flesh for Supper. The Squire was as hungry as a Kite, and would fain have been reating the meat from the Spit; but good Manners enforc'd him to stay till the Shepherds had spread three or four Sheep and Goat-skins upon the Grass instead of a Ta∣ble-cloth. Which done, and the Guests invited to take part, the Shepherds whelm'd an old half Tub with the bottom upward for the Knight to sit in more State, while they themselves sate round about upon their Heels, like Turks or Tailors. Sancho stood behind to attend his Master, and give him Drink in a plain Cuckolds-point Horn. At what time Don Quixote taking

Compassion of his Squire; That thou mayst understand the true worth of Knight-Errantry, said he, and how the meanest Retainers to it, are in the ready Road to Honour and Esteem; 'tis my pleasure that thou sit thee down here by me in the Company of these persons of Quality, that thou be'st hail-fellow well met with thy Lord and Master; that thou eat upon the same Trencher, and drink in the same Cup. For, in short, we may say of Knight-Errantry, as they say of Love, That it renders all things equal. I humbly thank your Worship, reply'd Don Sancho, with an ugly Scrape; but if I had any Victuals to eat, I should rather like to feed by my self, and standing upright, then sitting by an Emperor; and should be better con∣tented with a piece of Rye-bread and an Onion, without Fiddle faddle and Ceremony, then to diet with your great Folks upon Partridges and Tur∣kies, where a man must sit chawing his meat, as if he were champing of Thistles, drink Thimble-fulls, be always wiping his Fingers, and not dare to sneeze or cough, tho his Lungs were ready to burst; and therefore, my dear Lord and Master, I beseech ye, change me these Favours for some others of less value, that may be more for Stomach-satisfaction; for as for these airy Grandeurs, I renounce 'em both now and for evermore. Talk no more, reply'd Don Quixote, but sit thee down, Sancho; for the humble must be exalted; and so pulling him by the Arm, he forc'd him to take his place, and to be Sides-man with his Master.

All this while the Shepherds, who understood not a Tittle of all this Pedler's French, of Knight-Errants and Squires, fed like West-countrey Barge-men, without speaking a word; and yet they could not but cast an Eye now and then upon their Guests, who shovell'd whole Luncheons down their Throats as big as their Fists. At length the Bones being tak'n away, they brought in the second Course, consisting of Acorns, Nuts, and Cheese, as hard as any Mortar made of Cement. Nor was the Horn idle all this while, for they tippl'd like Gossips at a Christning, filling and em∣ptying, till one of two great Wine-bags was quite exhausted. And now Don Quixote having satisfy'd the loud Cries of his Stomach, and perhaps elevated withal to the pitch of a modern Hero, he took a handful of Nuts and Acorns, and looking wistly upon 'em, with a grave and exalted Voice;

O happy Age! cry'd he, which our first Parents call'd the Age of Gold; not for that Gold, so highly ador'd in this Iron Age, was then more common, or that they ransackt then the Bowels of the Earth with less Labour; but because at that time they were ignorant of those two destructive Words Mine and Thine, which have put all the World into Confusion. For all things in that holy Age were common; the Trees for Food afforded frank and free their pleasing Fruits; and the delicious Brooks and Fountains quench'd their moderate Thirst; the painful Bees enriching the Clefts of Rocks and hollow Trees with their flow'ry Spoils, fearless erected their vigilant Common wealths, that men might reap the pleasant Harvest of their fertile Industry. Instead of lofty Palaces, they liv'd in mean and lowly Huts, which the Barks of Trees shelter'd from the Injuries of Weather; and nothing but Union, Peace, and Plenty among all Mankind. Beauty was then no Advantage, nor dangerous to young Damsels, who never needed to conceal the Perfections which Nature had bestow'd upon 'em, more then what the Modesty of all Ages requir'd. Gar∣lands and Flowers were all their Ornaments, and more becoming than all the Pomp of Gold or Tyrian Purple, or a Tire-woman's Shop, which Luxury has taught succeeding Pride. Love explain'd it self in plain and cordial Lan∣guage, speaking without Guile or Flattery; and a native Sincerity, free

from Deceit or Dissimulation, govern all the Actions of Men. Justice always hood-wink'd, was unacquainted then with Favour or Interest. Long after that those Monsters came into the World; at what time a secret Venome diffusing it self into the Hearts of Men, extinguish'd all that natural Equity that regulated the World: Then there were no longer Sanctuaries for Maiden-chastity, but foul Concupiscence rang'd every where, corrupting the strictest Watches, and detecting the most secret Labyrinths of Art. So that now that primitive Innocency being lost, and Oppression every Day increasing, there was a necessity to with∣stand the Torrent of Violence: For which Reason the Order of Knight-Errantry was instituted, to defend the Honour of Virgins, protect Wi∣dows, succour Orphans, and relieve all the Distressed in general. Now, my most noble Friends, I my self am one of this Order, and it is to a Knight-Errant and his Squire that you have given this Liberal Entertain∣ment. And tho all Persons whatever are oblig'd to be kind to Persons of our Profession, yet as you have done me this Kindness barely out of Civility, without understanding in the least who I was, it is but just, that I should acknowledge your Kindness; of which you may there∣fore assure your selves, that I shall never lose the Remembrance.

And thus you see the great Vertue of Acorns, and how much our Story is beholding to 'em, for recalling to our Knight's Remembrance the Age of Gold, and causing him to make this learned Oration, to which the Shep∣herds listen'd like so many Sows i' the Beans, tho they understood not a Word he said. Sancho, indeed, said as little as they, but he was more prudent to stop his Belly, then to fill his Ears with aiery Notions; so that he labour'd at the Nuts and the Cheese, like a Slave at the Oar, not suffering his Grinders to work in vain, and withal, giving frequent Visits to the second Bottle.

Supper thus ended, one of the Shepherds addressing himself to Don Quixote, That you may be assur'd, said he, of our real Intentions to omit nothing for your Satisfaction and Divertisement, we will shew your Wor∣ship, Sir Knight, one of our Companions, who will be here presently, and who is a Person, whose Humour and Society will afford ye great Delight. He can read and write as well as the best Schoolmaster; and more then that, he will ravish your Ears with his Voice and his Bandore. No sooner were the words out of the Shepherd's Mouth, but he heard the sound of the Instrument he spoke of; and immediately appear'd a good comely young Lad of about two and twenty years of Age. The Shepherds ask'd him whether he had supp'd? to which, when answer'd, he had; Why then, dear Anthony, saies the first Speaker, prethee do us the Kindness to sing a Song for the Entertainment of our Guest; and so let him see that Foresters and Mountaineers are not altogether ignorant of Musick. We have made the Knight acquainted with thy Abilities, and therefore to confirm what we have said, good now sing, the Madrigal which thy Uncle the Curate made upon thy Amours, so delightful to all the Neighbour∣hood. Most willingly, reply'd Anthony; and so sitting down at the foot of an Oak, after he had tun'd his Instrument, he sang the following Song.

The SONG.

THY Love, Olalia, does surprize, Though not discerned from thine Eyes; The truest Mirrors can dispence Such hidden Myst'ries to my Sense:

For they the Language do impart, Not of the Tongue, but of the Heart. Though I know thee a crafty Jilt, Mak'st me believe what e're thou wilt;

Yet still I'm happy in this Spell, To think my Labours taken well. To trace thee in thy Holbourn Tricks, Requires an Art beyond Old-Nicks.

Since true I find it to my Woe, Thy Bosome's Flint, though it seems Snow. How am I banter'd by thy shifts? Intreaties move thee not, nor Gifts.

My Summer's Hopes, I fear, betray'd; Thy Winter nips them in the Blade. Yet once my dearest sweetest Honey, (Whom I love more than Miser's Money)

Let not thy Faith be at a stand, And thus by Prejudice trapan'd. Observe my Services, and see, By Frowns they can't diminish'd be;

Or if they were ten thousand more, Thy Favours add not to their Score. Oft do I think, though oft in vain, In spite the Fancy will remain.

If Love in't self has such a Scope, Whereon to build a future Hope; Then mine, though now in such distress, Will be at last crown'd with Success.

What things I did for thee collect, And but some Thoughts on them reflect; I dare be hang'd up for a Sign, If thou consent'st not to be mine.

What Eyes but thine, that e're had seen My modish Garb, and graceful Meen, But would, transported at the Sight, Have cry'd, Come kiss me, my Delight.

Nor was I to set-days confin'd To wear my Clothes, like lab'ring Hind; But wast thou willing to appear, 'Twas Holy-day then all the year.

For Love and Bravery do combine, And both have still the same Design: How could I then to thee resort, And not be spruce, as if at Court.

Needless 'twill be for to repeat (Though some with less have done the feat) Those active Dances I have stept, And such true time to Musick kept;

No Monsieur A-la-mode Paree, Perform'd e're half so well as me. Nor need I tell each Serenade, Which I for thee at Midnight made.

An Irish Evidence might take His Oath (if thou wert then awake) And be believ'd, that in that Vein, Thou'rt ready for another Strain.

What of thy Beauty I have said, And many large Encomiums made, I shall not at this time renew, Thy Enviers hate 'em, cause they'r true.

Such were the Taunts of that Gill-flurt Teresa, Pox upon her for't: Quo she, my Ears are even tir'd To hear this Monky thus admir'd;

Thanks to her Patches, Paint and Shade, And other Arts of the close Trade. She learns her Face for to bespatter With Piss, and still'd Puppy-dog Water;

Did she not wear Perfumes in Flank, No lustful Goat would smell more rank: Yet, Bigott, thou these Cheats can't see, And still a Nickapoop wilt be.

Such Language needs no soft Reply, 'Twas Manners then to give the Lye. Her Cousin heard, with Rage he burn'd, The same I gave, the same return'd.

You know th' event well of our Swords, I madè that Rascal eat his Words. I'm not so hasty to obtain, But can my Passion so restrain,

Till nicest Honour thinks it just, And then I'le venture a bold Thrust. The sacred Hymeneal Bands, Shall tie our Hearts as well as Hands:

And when we're yoak'd in Gordian Noose, I'le be the Gander, thou the Goose. But if thou wilt not grant my Sute, And at Love's Bar dost still stand mute;

I'le seek me out some other Nurse, Be to thy self thy Plague and Curse. I'le beg no Favour, fear no Frown, Turn Capuchin and shave my Crown: Be free to range in every Ground, The Town-Bull n'ere is put i'th' Pound.

The Shepherd having thus concluded his Song, Don Quixote desir'd him to begin something else; but Sancho Pansa forbid the Banes, having more desire to sleep, then to hear Ballads; telling his Master withal, that it was high time for him to betake himself to his Rest; besides, that he did ill to keep up the Shepherds all Night, with his fidling, who labour'd hard all the day long. I understand thee, Sancho, cry'd Don Quixote, and indeed I thought thy frequent visiting the Bottle would make thee drowzy. Bless me, dear Sir! cry'd Sancho, I hope you did not grudge me a draught of good Wine. By my Honour, not I, reply'd Don Quixote; therefore go sleep where thou wilt, and leave me to my self; for it better becomes men of my Profession to wake, then to lie sleeping like a Dog in a Chimney-corner. But stay a little before thou go'st, dress my Ear; for now I think on't 'tis very sore. Thereupon, while Sancho was looking for his Ointment, one of the Shepherds beholding the Wound, desir'd Don Quixote not to trouble himself, for that he would cure him; and then fetching a few Rosemary-leaves, after he had bruis'd 'em with a little Salt, he laid the Medicine to his Ear, assuring him, that he needed no other Remedy; which in a little time prov'd very true.