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<DATE>2014-05-28</DATE>
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<NAME>Lauren Proux</NAME>
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<EEBO>
<IDG S="marc" R="UM" ID="B18863">
<STC T="W">C1774</STC>
<BIBNO T="oclc">[ocm]12326115</BIBNO>
<VID>199736</VID>
</IDG>
<TEXT LANG="eng">
<FRONT>
<DIV1 TYPE="frontispiece">
<PB REF="1">
<P><FIGURE>
<FIGDESC>scene with Don Quixote</FIGDESC>
<P>Frontispiece</P>
<P>Dulcinea Del Tobo&s;o</P>
<P>Sancha Pancha</P>
<P>Don Quixot</P>
</FIGURE></P>
</DIV1>
<DIV1 TYPE="title page">
<PB REF="1" MS="y">
<P>THE HISTORY Of the mo&s;t Renowned Don Quixote OF MANCHA: And his Tru&s;ty Squire <HI>Sancho Pancha.</HI></P>
<P>Now made ENGLISH according to the Humour of our Modern Language.</P>
<P>AND Adorned with &s;everal Copper Plates.</P>
<P>By <HI>J. P.</HI></P>
<P><HI>LONDON,</HI> Printed by <HI>Thomas Hodgkin,</HI> and Sold by <HI>William Whitwood</HI> at the <HI>Golden Dragon</HI> in <HI>We&s;t-Smithfield,</HI> next the <HI>Crown Tavern.</HI> MDCLXXXVII.</P>
</DIV1>
<DIV1 TYPE="preface">
<PB REF="2" MS="y">
<PB REF="2">
<HEAD>SOMETHING in&s;tead of an Epi&s;tle to the Reader, By way of DIALOGUE.</HEAD>
<P>_YOU are come out into the World, Sir, very unmannerly, methinks. Your mean|ing, Sir.</P>
<P>What! nere a Curteous, nor a Gen|tle Reader under your Girdle?</P>
<P>Oh, Sir, that were a Romance indeed, to call Rea|ders Courteous and Gentle in this Age. Coffee has &s;o in&s;pir'd Men with Contradiction and ill Nature, that Readers are as hard to be pleas'd as Ladys in a Mercer's Shop. Here's nothing but Carping and Momu&s;&s;ing now adays; this is not well, and that is ami&s;s; this might ha' been better, and that's &s;tark nought: All find fault, but none will mend. Ask your Acquaintance what he thinks of &s;uch a Book?&mdash;Idle, cryes one&mdash; In&s;ipid, cries another&mdash;The thing's quite &s;poil'd, cries a third&mdash; And &s;o the Book's pre&s;ently condemn'd with a P&s;uh&mdash; and a To&s;s o' the No&s;e.</P>
<P>Why then, in my Opinion you venture very hard the running &s;uch a Terrible Tongue-Gauntlet.</P>
<PB REF="3">
<P>Not &s;o neither&mdash;This Book has an Advantage above all others; 'tis a <HI>Book-Errant,</HI> it has <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Lance and Buckler, his old Armour and the Barbers Ba&s;on, to boot, to defend it &s;elf. And therefore as it expects no other, then what befel all the <HI>Knights-Errant</HI> i' the world, Rubs and Snubs, and Buffets and Challenges. So where it cannot get the upper hand and kill the Dra|gon, there it is bound by the Con&s;titutions of its Or|der to &s;uffer all Misfortunes; which tho they may be terrible to others, to a <HI>Book-Errant</HI> can be no more then Unluckie Adventures&mdash; Come, come, Sir, the World's wide, and tho your <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> were many times rudely thwackt and thumpt by the ignorant Gyants, yet they were many times more kindly entertain'd by Kings and Princes.</P>
<P>But why <HI>Don Quixote?</HI> Had you nothing el&s;e to trouble your Brain with?</P>
<P>Di&s;tingui&s;h, Sir, you take it for a bare Romance; and I look upon it as a plea&s;ant Story, to &s;hew how vainly Youth mi&s;pend their hours in heightning their Amorous Fancies, by reading tho&s;e bewitching Legends of <HI>Tom Thumb</HI> and <HI>Amadis de Gual;</HI> and Thou&s;ands more of that Nature, not worth the naming. Now In&s;tructions are like Pills, for they meet with many humours that keck at their bitterne&s;s, unle&s;s guilded over with Fable and Fancy. People are &s;ooner ridicul'd, then rated out of an ill Habit; and the be&s;t way to repre&s;ent the De|formity of any thing, is to expo&s;e it in a plea&s;ing Mir|rour. But 'tis none of my Bu&s;ine&s;s to preach over <HI>Don Quixote</HI>&mdash; Have yee any more to &s;ay, Sir?</P>
<P>Not that I can think of at pre&s;ent.</P>
<P>Then God buy to yee.</P>
</DIV1>
<DIV1 TYPE="encomium">
<PB REF="3">
<HEAD>Amadis de Gaul <HI>to</HI> Don Quixote de la Mancha.</HEAD>
<LG>
<L>BE&s;hrew thy Heart, Sir Knight, what ha&s;t thou done?</L>
<L>Thou ha&s;t alarum'd all Ely&s;ium.</L>
<L>What &V;p&s;tart Champion's this? quo they, who&s;e worth</L>
<L>Gives a new Lu&s;tre to the Fading Earth?</L>
<L>Like &s;oaring Rockets, or Mayor's day Wild-fire,</L>
<L>That &s;pit and crackle, and with a Bounce expire;</L>
<L>So have I &s;een in Vintners Chimney layd</L>
<L>A &s;ingle Bru&s;h, that &s;uch a Blaze has made</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>More then five Faggots, Bands and all could do:</L>
<L>Hold, Valiant Knight, and leave an Ell or two</L>
<L>Of the wide World for others to &s;ubdue.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>By Styx, it co&s;t me many a broken Crown,</L>
<L>Many years Toil, ere I could get renown:</L>
<L>But thou, great <HI>Quixote,</HI> ju&s;t as Hor&s;es run,</L>
<L>Ha&s;t all our Wonders in a Heat out-done.</L>
<L>To Witty <HI>Benengeli</HI> thanks, who wrote</L>
<L>With the &s;ame Spirit, that his Champion fought;</L>
<L>While our damm'd <HI>Hum-drum</HI> Dottrels, dull <HI>John Dory</HI>'s,</L>
<L>But rather digg'd our Graves, then wrought our Story's;</L>
<L>Fuel for Satan&mdash; may they burn as long,</L>
<L>They and their Legends, as th' have done us wrong.</L>
</LG>
</DIV1>
<DIV1 TYPE="encomium">
<HEAD>Don Belianis <HI>of</HI> Greece <HI>to</HI> Don Quixote de la mancha.</HEAD>
<LG>
<L>B&V;t for great Hector, <HI>Troy</HI> had nere been known;</L>
<L>And when her Glory was decay'd and gone,</L>
<L>'Twas I to <HI>Greece</HI> re&s;tor'd her fir&s;t Renown.</L>
</LG>
<L>And <HI>Mancha</HI> had been little <HI>Mancha</HI> &s;till,</L>
<L>But for thy Fame, that all the World does fill.</L>
<L>And now I'me &s;orry, by my Troth I'me &s;orry,</L>
<L>That I &s;hou'd Gyants, Knights and Draggons worry,</L>
<L>With &s;o much deadly feud, to leave not one</L>
<L>For thee, old Bully Rock, to pi&s;s upon.</L>
<L>But pardon th' Errours of a Hair-braind Sword,</L>
<L>That nere fore-&s;aw thy Birth upon my Word:</L>
<L>El&s;e I had &s;urely left a &s;mall Recruit</L>
<L>For thee to reap thy Valours noble Fruit.</L>
<L>Howere I Lyons left, and Pa&s;t-board Kings,</L>
<L>And over them thy Tryumph loudly rings:</L>
<L>The Pa&s;tboard King had not a word to &s;ay;</L>
<L>For Why?&mdash; his Head was off, and there he lay.</L>
<L>The Lyon crouch'd and quak'd like any Wether;</L>
<L>And &s;tunk too, for by <HI>Jove</HI> I &s;melt him hither.</L>
<L>Thus thou ha&s;t done enough, in doing well,</L>
<L>While thy great Fame has reach'd the depths of Hell:</L>
<L>Now then give o're, and ere thou Feeble prove,</L>
<L>Let <HI>Dulcinea</HI> ta&s;t the &s;weets of Love.</L>
</DIV1>
<DIV1 TYPE="encomium">
<HEAD>Orlando Furio&s;o <HI>to</HI> Don Quixote de la Mancha.</HEAD>
<L>KNight of the <HI>Lyons,</HI> from the Place call'd Hell,</L>
<L><HI>Orlando Furio&s;o</HI> greets thee well.</L>
<L>After &s;uch Feats perform'd by Sons of Thunder,</L>
<L>What do&s;t thou muddling in the World, I wonder?</L>
<PB REF="4">
<L>Thou &s;ay&s;t, Example &s;et thee' at work&mdash;&s;uppo&s;e &s;o;</L>
<L>But not to match <HI>Orlando Furio&s;o:</HI></L>
<L>Does thy Name &s;ound like his, <HI>Nickapoopo&s;o?</HI></L>
<L>Does <HI>Quixote</HI> rumble like <HI>Orlando Furio&s;o?</HI></L>
<L>Had&s;t thou intended that the World &s;hou'd note thee,</L>
<L>Thy Mi&s;tre&s;s &s;hou'd ha' been the Fair Quihotee;</L>
<L>And Thou <HI>Don</HI> Flu&s;tro Blu&s;tro <HI>del Tobo&s;o,</HI></L>
<L>Then thou had&s;t nick'd <HI>Orlando Furio&s;o.</HI></L>
<L>But as thou nere did&s;t chine at one &s;mart blow,</L>
<L>A Gyant cas'd in Steel, from Top to Toe;</L>
<L>Nor carve an Armed Knight, as Carver &s;lices</L>
<L>A roa&s;ted Wild-duck till it drops in pieces;</L>
<L>Thou art no Peer of mine, and I defie</L>
<L>Both thee and all thy Genealogie.</L>
<L>Be&s;ides, I hear th' art one of <HI>Hamet</HI>'s Fools,</L>
<L>Set up to make <HI>Knights-Errant</HI> Knaves and Fools:</L>
<L>If &s;o, By <HI>Jove,</HI> and all this gloomy &s;pace,</L>
<L>Go creep to Heaven, and come not neer this Place;</L>
<L>For if thou do&s;t, by <HI>Pro&s;erpines</HI> fair Thighs,</L>
<L>Death and the Cobler meet thy Villanies.</L>
<L>A Thou&s;and Torments are thy endle&s;s doom,</L>
<L>And I'le my &s;elf &s;upply the Devils Room.</L>
</DIV1>
<DIV1 TYPE="encomium">
<HEAD><HI>The</HI> Knight of the Lyons <HI>to</HI> Don Quixote de la Mancha.</HEAD>
<L>KNight of the <HI>Lyons,</HI> as but fitting,</L>
<L>To thee, the Knight o' th' Sun &s;ends greeting.</L>
<L>Great is the Noi&s;e which in the World</L>
<L>Thy Fame has made, while to&s;s'd and hurl'd</L>
<L>From Po&s;t to Pillar, thou ha&s;t done</L>
<L>Such Deeds that Story &s;carce dares own.</L>
<L>Then to my &s;elf I thus did cry,</L>
<L>Nowns&mdash; what a Sheepshead Knight was I</L>
<L>To this &s;ame &s;park of Chivalry?</L>
<L>But growing cool, I caught thee tripping;</L>
<L>Poor <HI>Sancho</HI> from his Wife kidnapping,</L>
<L>And &s;hamele&s;ly thy &s;elf belying,</L>
<L>How Queens and Empre&s;s lay dying,</L>
<L>Neglecting People, Kingdoms, Laws,</L>
<L>And all for love of thy lean Jaws;</L>
<L>A Tale to tell unfore-skind Jew,</L>
<L>For I'le be hang'd if it were true.</L>
<L>Then, wherefore &s;uch a hideous Racket</L>
<L>'Bout Madam <HI>Dulcinea</HI>'s Placket?</L>
<L>For after all, 'mong Poor and Rich,</L>
<L>I nere could hear of any &s;uch.</L>
<L>And therefore by this burning Hole,</L>
<L>I take thee for &s;ome arrant Fool;</L>
<L>For &s;urely no true Errant Knight</L>
<L>Would &s;hadows Love, and &s;hadows fight.</L>
<L>Only as Thou did&s;t Lyon dare,</L>
<L>That Style I give thee leave to wear;</L>
<L>So Knight o' th' <HI>Lyons.</HI> fare thee well,</L>
<L>Wi&s;hing thee like my &s;elf in Hell.</L>
</DIV1>
<DIV1 TYPE="encomium">
<PB REF="4">
<HEAD><HI>The</HI> Unknown Knight <HI>to</HI> Don Quixote de la Mancha.</HEAD>
<L>REnowned Knight, thou mak'&s;t me March-hare-mad,</L>
<L>To hear thy Feats, and I among the dead;</L>
<L>They call thee Fool&mdash;but by my death, they lye&mdash;</L>
<L>Fools Fortune favour, thee &s;he nere came nigh;</L>
<L>But &s;uffer'd Carrier-&s;laves to thra&s;h thy Bones,</L>
<L>While Hunting after her, 'mong Rocks and Stones.</L>
<L>Little they think, that lye on Beds of Down,</L>
<L>The pains <HI>Knights-Errant</HI> take to win Renown;</L>
<L>To Fortune, Slaves, and Va&s;&s;als to their Mi&s;&s;es;</L>
<L>Three Gyants Heads for half a dozen Ki&s;&s;es.</L>
<L>Only thy <HI>Dulcinea</HI> &s;he's a Pattern,</L>
<L>Cha&s;t as the Moon, and mode&s;t as St. <HI>Kattern;</HI></L>
<L>She claim'd no Arms of Knight, nor Gyants Face,</L>
<L>Le&s;t broad blew Spot &s;hould Baby's Cheek di&s;grace;</L>
<L>Yet thou did&s;t both pre&s;ent, to roa&s;t and boyl,</L>
<L>The welcom Fruits of thy Laborious Toil.</L>
<L>Then, after all, if Fool thou art, farewel;</L>
<L>I'me glad on't, Fools fare be&s;t in Hell.</L>
</DIV1>
<DIV1 TYPE="encomium">
<HEAD><HI>The Prince&s;s</HI> Oriano <HI>to</HI> Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o.</HEAD>
<L>MAdam, the Rea&s;on why I write you this,</L>
<L>Is to enquire your health, and hand to ki&s;s;</L>
<L>I hear y' are one of us, <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Lady,</L>
<L>But &s;candulous Tongues approbriou&s;ly upbraid yee.</L>
<L>They &s;ay, your Mother bak't Ox Cheeks, your Father</L>
<L>Cry'd out at Nine at Night, or &s;ometimes rather:</L>
<L>If this be true, as fleering Rumours &s;peak all,</L>
<L>I would not make a Kitchin-Wench my equal;</L>
<L>For I'me a Prince&s;s born, I do a&s;&s;ure yee,</L>
<L>And &s;hould&s;t thou be home-&s;pun, &s;hould nere endure thee.</L>
<L>Pray &s;end me word how you your time do &s;pend,</L>
<L>When you &s;it down to Cards, when make an end,</L>
<L>How coach'd abroad, how vi&s;ited at home,</L>
<L>How deep i' th' Mercers Books, what's Laceman's &s;umm;</L>
<L>Do but unfold the&s;e Anxious doubts of mine,</L>
<L>I'le then re&s;olve to be, or not be thine.</L>
</DIV1>
<DIV1 TYPE="encomium">
<HEAD>Gandalin, <HI>Squire to</HI> Amadis de Gaul <HI>to</HI> Sancho Pancha, <HI>Squire to</HI> Don Quixote.</HEAD>
<L>AH! Brother <HI>Sancho,</HI> what good luck had&s;t thou!</L>
<L>Thou and thy Ma&s;ter lov'd like Calf and Cow;</L>
<L>He like the Cat, that hears her Kittens cry,</L>
<L>Did&s;t thou but bawle, to thy Relief would fly;</L>
<L>Had&s;t thou a mind to talk, talk on cry'd he,</L>
<L>And &s;o both talk'd by Turns mo&s;t lovingly;</L>
<L>Thou had&s;t an A&s;s to ride on, at thy ea&s;e,</L>
<L>And eke a Wallet for thy Bread and Chee&s;e;</L>
<L>While we with Snap&s;acks trudg'd a foot, God knows,</L>
<L>With thou&s;and Bli&s;ters on our founderd Toes,</L>
<L>And &s;peak a word, tho' nere &s;o &s;mooth and racy,</L>
<L>'Twas, dam ye Dogbolt, who made you &s;o &s;awcy?</L>
<PB REF="5">
<L>Ah&mdash; <HI>Sancho&mdash; Sancho,</HI> had&s;t thou flouri&s;h'd then,</L>
<L>Or I liv'd now, we both had happy been;</L>
<L>With Proverbs then thou had&s;t in&s;pir'd my Bre&s;t;</L>
<L>For I was not &s;o wicked as the re&s;t:</L>
<L>I could not play at Cards and &s;wear i' th' Hall,</L>
<L>While Ma&s;ters drank above, the Devil and all:</L>
<L>No, I had been another Governour</L>
<L>With ample Rule and Legi&s;lative Power,</L>
<L>Fam'd like thy &s;elf, in every Bodies Mouth</L>
<L>Extoll'd, proclaim'd and prais'd from North to South.</L>
<L>But mi&s;&s;ing thee, ill fortune turn'd up Trump,</L>
<L>I dy'd, and in oblivion lye upon my Rump.</L>
</DIV1>
<DIV1 TYPE="dialogue">
<HEAD>A Dialogue between <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> and <HI>Sancho</HI>'s A&s;s.</HEAD>
<SP>
<SPEAKER>A&s;s.</SPEAKER>
<L>FRiend <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> thou look&s;t wondrous lean.</L>
</SP>
<SP>
<SPEAKER>Ro&s;.</SPEAKER>
<L>How can I choo&s;e, <GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="UOM" EXTENT="1 letter">hat ta&s;te nor Oat nor Bean.</L>
</SP>
<SP>
<SPEAKER>A&s;s.</SPEAKER>
<L>The Hor&s;e that eats no Oats, no Oats can &s;hite,</L>
<L>How could&s;t thou carry then both Arms and Knight?</L>
</SP>
<SP>
<SPEAKER>Ro&s;.</SPEAKER>
<L>My Heart was good altho' my Fle&s;h were low.</L>
</SP>
<SP>
<SPEAKER>A&s;s.</SPEAKER>
<L>'Tis not the Fa&s;hion though, as times now go</L>
<L>To &s;erve great Men without reward.</L>
</SP>
<SP>
<SPEAKER>Ro&s;.</SPEAKER>
<L>'Tis true,</L>
<L>But he would promi&s;e fair, tho' deeds were few.</L>
</SP>
<SP>
<SPEAKER>A&s;s.</SPEAKER>
<L>Words feed not Hor&s;es, A&s;&s;es oft they do.</L>
</SP>
<SP>
<SPEAKER>Ro&s;.</SPEAKER>
<L>El&s;e thou had&s;t &s;tarv'd ere now.</L>
</SP>
<SP>
<SPEAKER>A&s;s.</SPEAKER>
<L>Good <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> why?</L>
</SP>
<SP>
<SPEAKER>Ro&s;.</SPEAKER>
<L>Becau&s;e thy Ma&s;ter's poor.</L>
</SP>
<SP>
<SPEAKER>A&s;s.</SPEAKER>
<L>Then let me dye,</L>
<L>I'le rather &s;erve him then &s;ome Lords.</L>
</SP>
<SP>
<SPEAKER>Ro&s;.</SPEAKER>
<L>How &s;o?</L>
</SP>
<SP>
<SPEAKER>A&s;s.</SPEAKER>
<L>Becau&s;e the Poor them&s;elves are A&s;&s;es too,</L>
<L>And love the Bea&s;ts that carry as they do.</L>
</SP>
<SP>
<SPEAKER>Ro&s;.</SPEAKER>
<L>How might I change? it is too late I fear:</L>
</SP>
<SP>
<SPEAKER>A&s;s.</SPEAKER>
<L>Not &s;o, if thou an A&s;&s;es voice wilt hear.</L>
<L>To <HI>England</HI> go, where Fools are rich in Pur&s;e,</L>
<L>There give it out, thou art <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Hor&s;e:</L>
<L>Thou &s;halt be &s;ought and bought, and taught to vault;</L>
<L>Then &s;hewn at Fairs, for every one a Groat;</L>
<L>Thus &s;halt thou live at ea&s;e, lamented dye;</L>
<L>And <HI>Smithfield</HI> Bards at la&s;t &s;hall write thy Elegy.</L>
</SP>
</DIV1>
<DIV1 TYPE="table of contents">
<PB REF="5">
<HEAD>THE CONTENTS.</HEAD>
<DIV2 N="1" TYPE="part">
<HEAD>THE FIRST PART.</HEAD>
<DIV3 N="1" TYPE="book">
<HEAD>BOOK I.</HEAD>
<LIST>
<ITEM>CHap. <HI>1.</HI> The Condition and Quality of <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> with the Rea&s;ons and manner of his fir&s;t Engaging him&s;elf in Hazar|dous Enterprizes and Noble Atchievments. <HI>Page 1.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>2.</HI> Of <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s fir&s;t Frolick, or his &s;olemn Departure from his Native Habitation. <HI>p. 6.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>3.</HI> The plea&s;ant Relation of <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s being Dubb'd a <HI>Knight-Errant. p. 10.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>4.</HI> What befel the new Knight after he had left the Inn. <HI>p. 15.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>5.</HI> A farther Continuation of the Knights Misfortunes. <HI>p. 19.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>6.</HI> Of the delightful and diligent Survey which the Curate and the Barber took of the Squires Library. <HI>p. 22.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>7.</HI> Of <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s &s;econd departure from his Hou&s;e. <HI>p. 26.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>8.</HI> Of <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s good &s;ucce&s;s in his dreadful and unheard of Encounter with the Windmills. <HI>p. 29.</HI></ITEM>
</LIST>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="2" TYPE="book">
<HEAD>BOOK II.</HEAD>
<LIST>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>1.</HI> The Event of the dreadful Combat between the Couragious <HI>Bi&s;cayner,</HI> and the Valiant <HI>Don Quixote. Page 35.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>2.</HI> Containing the plea&s;ant Di&s;cour&s;e between <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho Pancha. p. 38.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>3.</HI> What happened to <HI>Don Quixote</HI> among the Goat-herds. <HI>p. 41.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>4.</HI> Being the Relation of a Story which one of the Goat-herds told to tho&s;e that were with <HI>Don Quixote. p. 46.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>5.</HI> A Continuation of the Story of <HI>Marcella. p. 50.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>6.</HI> The Ver&s;es of the di&s;pairing Shepherd repeated, with other un|expected Accidents. <HI>p. 57.</HI></ITEM>
</LIST>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="3" TYPE="book">
<PB REF="6">
<HEAD>BOOK III.</HEAD>
<LIST>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>1.</HI> Giving an Account of <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s unfortunate Rencounter with certain <HI>Yangue&s;ian</HI> Carriers. <HI>Page 61.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>2.</HI> What befel <HI>Don Quixote</HI> in the Inn, which he took for a Ca&s;tle. <HI>p. 66.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>3.</HI> A Continuation of the innumerable Hard&s;hips, that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and his Squire &s;u&s;tain'd in the Inn. <HI>p. 70.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>4.</HI> Of the Di&s;cour&s;e between <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho Pancha,</HI> with &s;everal other remarkable Pa&s;&s;ages. <HI>p. 75.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>5.</HI> Of the plea&s;ant Di&s;cour&s;e between <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and his Squire; and of the Adventure of the Dead Corps. <HI>p. 80.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>6.</HI> Of the mo&s;t wonderful Adventure that ever happen'd to <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> accompli&s;h'd without any danger. <HI>p. 84.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>7.</HI> Of the winning of <HI>Mambrino</HI>'s Helmet. <HI>p. 91.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>8.</HI> How <HI>Don Quixote</HI> relea&s;s'd a great number of mi&s;erable Wret|ches which their Ma&s;ters were driving to a place again&s;t their Wills. <HI>p. 97.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>9.</HI> What befel the famous <HI>Don Quixote</HI> in the Mountain of <HI>Si|erra Morena,</HI> which was one of the &s;trange&s;t Adventures in all this Real Hi&s;tory. <HI>p. 102.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>10.</HI> The Continuation of the Adventure in the <HI>Black-Mountain. 108.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>11.</HI> Of the &s;trange Accidents that befel the Valiant Knight of <HI>Man|cha</HI> in the <HI>Black Mountain;</HI> and of his imitating the Penance per|form'd by the <HI>Lovely-Ob&s;cure. p. 112.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>12.</HI> A Continuation of the Amorous Pranks which the Courtly Knight of <HI>Mancha</HI> plai'd in the <HI>Black Mountain. p. 121.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>13.</HI> How the Curate and the Barber accompli&s;h'd their De&s;ign; with many other Occurrences of great Importance. <HI>p. 125.</HI></ITEM>
</LIST>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="4" TYPE="book">
<HEAD>BOOK IV.</HEAD>
<LIST>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>1.</HI> Of the new and Plea&s;ant Adventure which befel the Curate and the Barber in the <HI>Black Mountain. Page 135.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>2.</HI> Where perhaps you may meet with &s;omething worth your reading. <HI>p. 144.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>3.</HI> The pur&s;uit of the Hi&s;tory of the Prince&s;s of <HI>Micomicon,</HI> containing the cunning Policies and Stratagems of the <HI>Curate</HI> and <HI>Barber,</HI> to free the Enamour'd Knight from the rigorous Penance which he had undertaken. <HI>p. 152.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>4.</HI> Containing the plea&s;ant Di&s;cour&s;e between <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and
<PB REF="6"> his Squire; with other Remarkable Pa&s;&s;ages. <HI>p. 159.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>5.</HI> Of what happen'd at the Inn. <HI>p. 166.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>6.</HI> The <HI>Novel</HI> of the <HI>Curious Impertinent. p. 171.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>7.</HI> The Sequel of the <HI>Novel</HI> of the <HI>Curious Impertinent p. 179.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>8.</HI> The conclu&s;ion of the <HI>Novel</HI> of the <HI>Curious Impertinent. p. 191.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>9.</HI> Recounting &s;everal rare Adventures that happen'd in the Inn. <HI>p. 197.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>10.</HI> Being a continuation of the Hi&s;tory of the famous Prince&s;s of <HI>Micomicona,</HI> with other delightful Adventures. <HI>p. 204.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>11.</HI> Containing the farther curious Di&s;cour&s;e of <HI>Don Quixote</HI> upon Arms and Arts <HI>p. 211.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>12.</HI> The Hi&s;tory of the Slave. <HI>p. 215.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>14.</HI> Wherein the Captive goes on with his Story. <HI>p. 222.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>15.</HI> Of what happen'd in the Inn; and of other remarkable Pa&s;&s;a|ges, worthy to be known. <HI>p. 233.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>16.</HI> Relating the &s;tory of the young Mule-driver, with other &s;trange Pa&s;&s;ages that happen'd in the Inn. <HI>p. 238.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>17.</HI> Being a continuation of unheard of Adventures. <HI>p. 245.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>18.</HI> Wherein are decided the Controver&s;ies touching the Helmet and Pannel, with other Adventures as they really happen'd. <HI>p. 251.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>19.</HI> Containing the notable Adventure of the Bailiffs, and decla|ring withal the horrible Wrath of the mo&s;t Noble <HI>Don Quixote. p. 257.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>20.</HI> Containing &s;everal Occurrences. <HI>p. 263.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>21.</HI> Wherein the Prebend pur&s;ues his Di&s;cour&s;e upon Books of <HI>Knight-Errantry. p. 269.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap <HI>22.</HI> Containing the excellent Di&s;cour&s;e between <HI>Sancho Pancha</HI> and his Ma&s;ter <HI>Don Quixote. p. 272.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>23.</HI> Containing the plea&s;ant Di&s;pute between the Prebend and <HI>Don Quixote. p. 277.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>24.</HI> Containing the Goatherds Story. <HI>p. 282.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>25.</HI> Containing the Quarrel between <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and the Goat|herd, and the rare Adventure of the Penitents, which co&s;t him the &s;weat of his Brows to accompli&s;h. <HI>p. 286.</HI></ITEM>
</LIST>
</DIV3>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="2" TYPE="part">
<PB REF="7">
<HEAD>THE SECOND PART.</HEAD>
<DIV3 N="1" TYPE="book">
<HEAD>BOOK I.</HEAD>
<LIST>
<ITEM>CHap. <HI>1.</HI> Containing the manner of <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s third e&s;cape. <HI>Page 295.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>2.</HI> Of the plea&s;ant quarrel that happen'd hetween <HI>Sancho Pancha</HI> and <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Niece and Governante. <HI>p. 302.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>3.</HI> Containing the learned Di&s;cour&s;e between <HI>Don Quixote Sancho Pancha,</HI> and the young <HI>Carra&s;co. p. 305.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>4.</HI> Wherein <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;atisfies all the young Schollars queries, with other things profitable to know, and fit to be related. <HI>p. 310.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>5.</HI> Containing the plea&s;ant Di&s;cour&s;e between <HI>Sancho Pancha</HI> and his Wife, &amp;c. <HI>p. 313.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>6.</HI> Containing what pa&s;s'd between <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> his Niece, and his Maid; which is one of the mo&s;t important Chapters in the whole Hi|&s;tory. <HI>p. 317.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>7.</HI> Containing a &s;econd Colloquie between <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and his Squire, with other mo&s;t Famous Adventures. <HI>p. 320.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>8.</HI> What befel <HI>Don Quixote</HI> going to vi&s;it his Lady <HI>Dulcinea. p. 325.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>9.</HI> Which when you have read, you will &s;ee what is in it. <HI>p. 329.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>10.</HI> Containing a Relation how <HI>Sancho</HI> found out away to Enchant the Lady <HI>Dulcinea;</HI> with other Pa&s;&s;ages, no le&s;s certain than redicu|lous. <HI>p. 331.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>11.</HI> Containing the prodigious Adventure of the Chariot of the Of|ficers of Death. <HI>p. 337.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>12.</HI> Containing the &s;trange Adventure that befel the Valiant <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> with the Gallant <HI>Knight</HI> of the <HI>Wood. p. 341.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>13.</HI> Containing a continuation of the Adventure of the <HI>Knight</HI> of the <HI>Wood;</HI> and the plea&s;ant Di&s;cour&s;e that pa&s;s'd between the two Squires <HI>p. 346.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>14.</HI> Containing the Continuation of the Adventure of the <HI>Knight</HI> of the <HI>Wood. p. 350.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>15.</HI> Giving an Account who the Knight of the <HI>Looking-gla&s;&s;es,</HI> and his Squire with the Toting No&s;e, were. <HI>p. 356.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>16.</HI> What befel <HI>Don Quixote</HI> with a &s;ober Gentleman of <HI>Man|cha. p. 358.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>17.</HI> Wherein is &s;et forth the greate&s;t mark of Courage that ever <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;hew'd in his Life, and the happy conclu&s;ion of the Ad|venture of the Lyons. <HI>p. 363.</HI></ITEM>
</LIST>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="2" TYPE="book">
<PB REF="7">
<HEAD>BOOK II.</HEAD>
<LIST>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>18.</HI> What befel <HI>Don Quixote</HI> at the Knight of the Green Ca&s;&s;ock's Hou&s;e, with other extravagant Pa&s;&s;ages. <HI>p. 371.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>19.</HI> Of the Adventure of the Amorous Shepherd, and &s;everal other things. <HI>p. 379.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>20.</HI> Containing very &s;trange Accidents, as well in reference to <HI>Mar|tin</HI> the <HI>Brave,</HI> as <HI>Ba&s;ilius the Poor. p. 383.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>21.</HI> Containing a farther Relation of <HI>Don Martin's</HI> Nuptials, and &s;everal other &s;trange Accidents. <HI>p. 390.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>22.</HI> Of the un-heard-of Adventure of the Cavern of <HI>Monte&s;inos,</HI> which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> accompli&s;h'd with great &s;ucce&s;s. <HI>p. 394.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>23.</HI> Containing a Relation of the wonderful things which the Un|parallell'd <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;aw in the Cave of <HI>Monte&s;inos;</HI> the &s;trange|ne&s;s and impo&s;sibility of which makes this Chapter to be taken for Apo|crypha. <HI>p. 399.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>24.</HI> Where you will find a hunder'd Fiddle-faddles and Impertinen|ces, as ridiculous as nece&s;&s;ary for the under&s;tanding this true Hi&s;tory. <HI>p. 405.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>25.</HI> Containing the Braying Adventure; with the Adventure of the Puppit-Player, and the Fortune-telling Ape. <HI>p. 409.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>26.</HI> Continuing the Plea&s;ant Adventure of the Puppit-Player, with other plea&s;ant Pa&s;&s;ages. <HI>p. 415.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>27.</HI> Wherein is di&s;cover'd who Mr. <HI>Peter</HI> was, together with the ill &s;ucce&s;s which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> had in the Adventure of Braying, which did not fall out according to his wi&s;hes. <HI>p. 420.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>28.</HI> Containing &s;everal remarkable Pa&s;&s;ages written by <HI>Benengeli,</HI> which he that reads the next Chapter with attention may know. <HI>p. 424.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>29.</HI> Containing the Adventure of the Enchanted Bark. <HI>p. 427.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>30.</HI> Containing what happen'd to <HI>Don Quixote</HI> upon his meeting with the fair Huntre&s;s. <HI>p. 431.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>31.</HI> Containing &s;everal extraordinary Matters. <HI>p. 434.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>32.</HI> Containing <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s An&s;wer to the Chaplain. <HI>p. 440.</HI></ITEM>
</LIST>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="3" TYPE="book">
<HEAD>BOOK III.</HEAD>
<LIST>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>1.</HI> Containing the plea&s;ant Di&s;cour&s;e between the Dutche&s;s, her Dam&s;els and <HI>Sancho Pancha,</HI> worthy to be read with attention. <HI>p. 449.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>34.</HI> Relating the method that was taken to di&s;inchant Madam <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o,</HI> which is one of the mo&s;t famous Adventures
<PB REF="8"> in this Book. <HI>p. 453.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>2.</HI> Containing the Means that were u&s;'d to di&s;inchant <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> with other admirable Pa&s;&s;ages. <HI>p. 458.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>3.</HI> Containing the &s;trange and wonderful Adventure of the Lady <HI>Dolorida,</HI> otherwi&s;e Counte&s;s of <HI>Trifaldi,</HI> with a Letter which <HI>San|cho</HI> wrote to his Wife <HI>Tere&s;a Pancha. p. 462</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>4.</HI> Being a Continuation of the famous Adventure of the Lady <HI>Do|lorida. p. 466.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>5.</HI> Wherein Madam <HI>Dolorida</HI> recounts her Misfortunes. <HI>p. 467.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>6.</HI> Being a Continuation of the Wonderful Hi&s;tory of the Counte&s;s of <HI>Three-Skirts. p. 471.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>7.</HI> Containing &s;everal Matters that appertain and belong to this remarkable Adventure. <HI>p. 473.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>8.</HI> Containing the Arrival of Skrew-Peg, and the End of this Te|dious Adventure. <HI>p. 477.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>9.</HI> Containing the Coun&s;el which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> gave <HI>Sancho</HI> be|fore he went to his Government. <HI>p. 483.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>10.</HI> Being a Continuation of <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s In&s;tructions to <HI>San|cho. p. 486.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>11.</HI> How <HI>Sancho</HI> went to take Po&s;&s;e&s;sion of his I&s;land, and of the &s;trange Adventure that befel <HI>Don Quixote</HI> in the Ca&s;tle. <HI>p. 489.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>12.</HI> How the famous <HI>Sancho Pancha</HI> took po&s;&s;e&s;sion of his I&s;land, and how he behav'd him&s;elf in his Government. <HI>p. 494.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>13.</HI> Of the strange Accident that befel <HI>Don Quixote</HI> while he was pondring upon Madam <HI>Joan Tomboy: p. 498.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>14.</HI> Containing a Continuation of <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Government. <HI>p. 502.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>15.</HI> What befel <HI>Don Quixote</HI> with Madam <HI>Doroty</HI> the Dutche&s;|&s;es Waiting-woman, with other Accidents worthy Eternal Memory. <HI>p. 507.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>16.</HI> What befel <HI>Sancho</HI> in his Progre&s;s round the I&s;land. <HI>p. 512.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>17.</HI> Who they were that whipp'd Madam <HI>Doroty</HI> and claw'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> with the &s;ucce&s;s of the Page that carried <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Letter to his Wife. <HI>p. 519.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>18.</HI> Containing the Continuation of <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Government. <HI>p. 524.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>19.</HI> The Adventure of the Second Madam <HI>Sorrowful,</HI> otherwi&s;e Mi&s;tre&s;s <HI>Doroty. p. 528.</HI></ITEM>
</LIST>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="4" TYPE="book">
<HEAD>BOOK IV.</HEAD>
<LIST>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>1.</HI> Containing the toil&s;ome Conclu&s;ion of <HI>Sancho Pancha</HI>'s Go|vernment. <HI>p. 533.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>2.</HI> Containing &s;everal things that tend to the Illu&s;tration of this Hi|&s;tory, and no other. <HI>p. 537.</HI></ITEM>
<PB REF="8">
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>3.</HI> What befel <HI>Sancho</HI> upon the Road, which is all truth. <HI>p. 540.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>4.</HI> Of the &s;trange Combat between <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and the Lacquey <HI>To&s;ilos,</HI> in vindication of Madam <HI>Doroty</HI>'s Daughter. <HI>p. 544.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>5.</HI> How <HI>Don Quixote</HI> took his leave of the Duke, and what pa&s;&s;'d between him and the Di&s;creet, but Impudent Hoyden Madam <HI>Tomboy. p. 547.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>6.</HI> How <HI>Don Quixote</HI> met with Adventures upon Adventures, &s;o thick that he knew not which way to turn him&s;elf. <HI>p. 550.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>7.</HI> What happen'd to <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> which may be truly call'd an Adventure. <HI>p. 557.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>8.</HI> What befel <HI>Don Quixote</HI> going to <HI>Barcellona. p. 562.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>9.</HI> What happen'd to <HI>Don Quixote</HI> upon his entry into <HI>Barcell|lona,</HI> with other things that carry more of Truth than Probability. <HI>p. 568.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>10.</HI> Containing the Adventure of the Enchanted Head, &amp;c. <HI>p. 570.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>11.</HI> What befel <HI>Sancho</HI> going aboard the Galleys, and of the Ad|venture of the Beautiful <HI>Moore&s;s. p. 576.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>12.</HI> Containing that unlucky Adventure which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> layd mo&s;t to his heart of any that ever befel him. <HI>p. 581.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>13.</HI> Who the Knight of the <HI>White Moon</HI> was; and of the News of <HI>Don Gregorio</HI>'s Liberty, and &s;everal other Adventures. <HI>p. 583.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>14.</HI> Which treats of that which he &s;hall &s;ee who reads, and he &s;hall hear that li&s;tens with attention. <HI>p. 586.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>15.</HI> Containing <HI>Don Quixots</HI>'s Re&s;olution to turn Shepherd all the time of his being confin'd from bearing Arms. <HI>p. 589.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>16.</HI> Containing the Adventure of the Bri&s;tles. <HI>p. 592.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>17.</HI> Containing the &s;trange&s;t Adventure that ever <HI>Don Quixote</HI> met with, and the mo&s;t &s;urprizing in all this large Hi&s;tory. <HI>p. 596.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>18.</HI> Which follows the Seventeenth, and treats of &s;everal things nece&s;&s;ary for the Illu&s;tration of this Hi&s;tory. <HI>p. 599.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>19.</HI> What befel <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and his Squire in their way home. <HI>p. 602.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>20.</HI> How <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho</HI> arriv'd at their Village. <HI>p. 607.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>21.</HI> Of the &s;trange ill Omens that happen'd to <HI>Don Quixote</HI> be|fore he enter'd the Village. <HI>p. 610.</HI></ITEM>
<ITEM>Chap. <HI>22.</HI> How <HI>Don Quixote</HI> fell &s;ick, of the Will that he made, and of his Death. <HI>p. 613.</HI></ITEM>
</LIST>
</DIV3>
</DIV2>
</DIV1>
<DIV1 TYPE="dedication">
<PB REF="9">
<PB REF="9">
<HEAD>To the Right Honourable WILLIAM Earl of Yarmouth, TREASURER OF His MAJESTIES HOUSHOLD.</HEAD>
<OPENER><SALUTE>My Lord,</SALUTE></OPENER>
<P>_THE Story of <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> no le&s;s plea&s;ant than gravely Moral, has been always highly Favour'd and Ca|re&s;s'd by Per&s;onages of mo&s;t Illu&s;trious note in all the Learned Parts of Europe; to which it has been made familiar by frequent Tran&s;lati|ons. And therefore it is, that your Lord&s;hip being equally Eminent, if
<PB REF="10"> not Superiour to any of them, for your Ancient Decent, and the Politene&s;s of your Hereditary Learning and Judg|ment, I humbly pre&s;ume to lay this Oblation at your Lord&s;hips Feet; not knowing where a Work &s;o generally Applauded abroad, could find in <HI>Eng|li&s;h</HI> Dre&s;s a more generous and &s;afe Protection, or my &s;elf a greater Ho|nour then to be,</P>
<CLOSER><SALUTE>My Lord,</SALUTE>
<SIGNED>Your Lord&s;hips mo&s;t Humble, And mo&s;t Obedient Servant. <HI>J. PHILIPS.</HI></SIGNED></CLOSER>
<PB REF="10">
</DIV1>
</FRONT>
<BODY>
<DIV1 N="1" TYPE="part">
<PB REF="11">
<P><FIGURE>
<FIGDESC>Don Quixote knighted</FIGDESC>
<P>Don Quixot Dubb'd a Knight Errant by the Innkeeper. page 10.</P>
</FIGURE></P>
<P><FIGURE>
<FIGDESC>Don Quixote and windmills</FIGDESC>
<P>Don Quixot's Encounter with the Windmills. page 29.</P>
</FIGURE></P>
<DIV2 N="1" TYPE="book">
<PB N="1" REF="11">
<HEAD>THE LIFE and ATCHIEVEMENTS Of the mo&s;t Renown'd Don Quixote OF MANCHA. PART I. BOOK I.</HEAD>
<DIV3 N="1" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. I.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">The Condition and Quality of <HI>DON QUIXOTE;</HI> with the Rea&s;ons and Manner of his fir&s;t Engage|ing Him&s;elf in Hazardous Enterprizes and Noble Atchievements.</HEAD>
<P>IN &s;ome part of <HI>Mancha,</HI> of which the Name is at pre&s;ent &s;lipt out of my Memory, not many years ago, there liv'd a certain Country Squire, of the Race of King <HI>Arthur</HI>'s Tilters, that for|merly wander'd from Town to Town, Cas'd up in Ru&s;ty old Iron, with Lance in Re&s;t, and a Knight-Templers Target; be&s;triding a forlorn <HI>Pega&s;us,</HI> as Lean as a <HI>Dover</HI> Po&s;t-Hor&s;e, and a confounded Foun|der'd Jade to boot. Beef-&s;teaks &s;tew'd in a Na&s;ty Pipkin, with a Red-Herring to ta&s;te his Liquor a Nights; Fa&s;ting and Prayer a Fridays, parch'd Pea&s;e a Saturdays, with a Lark now and then a Sundays to mend his Commons, con&s;um'd three parts of his E&s;tate. The re&s;t he as pro|digally wa&s;ted in an extravagant Wardrobe: In which was an ancient Plu&s;h-Jacket, purchas'd from a Mountebanks Widow; a Pair of Black Bays Breeches for Holidays, purchas'd of the Hangman; and a Pair of Boots, fir&s;t Exchang'd for Heath-Brooms, and then new Vamp't by the Cobler; with one Spur and Spur-Leather; well knowing, that if one &s;ide of the Hor&s;e went forward, the other mu&s;t follow. And you may add to the&s;e his Extravagances, one Sute more of <HI>Iri&s;h</HI> Frize for Worky-days. He kept in his Hou&s;e a grave Matron of Fifty for Service, a Niece of Twenty for private Recreation, and a Skip-kennel to Saddle his Hor&s;e, and F<GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="UOM" EXTENT="1 letter">ob Orchards for Second Cour&s;e. The Ma&s;ter him&s;elf was in his Fortieth year; &s;trong of Con&s;titution, but the Skin of his Face wither'd
<PB N="2" REF="12"> like a Winter-Pippin; an Early Ri&s;er, and a great Night-Walker. Some there are who a&s;&s;ert, that he bore the Sirname of <HI>Quixada,</HI> or <HI>Que&s;ada</HI> (tho they who write his Life are at great variance one among&s;t another as to this particular), yet by mo&s;t probable conjectures the Addition of <HI>Quixada</HI> may be well enough allow'd him. But let that pa&s;s, it not be|ing a &s;traw matter to our purpo&s;e what his Sirname was, or whether he had a Sirname or no; For it is our bu&s;ine&s;s to Write the Truth, the whole Truth, and nothing but the Truth.</P>
<P>Know then, That this &s;ame Wor&s;hipful Gentleman, whenever he had any lei&s;ure time to &s;pare (which was for the mo&s;t part all the Year long) dedicated his vacant Hours to the Reading Stories of Knight Errantry; which he did with &s;uch an eager Appetite and earne&s;t Devotion, that he forgot all his other Exerci&s;es, and let his E&s;tate go at &s;ix and &s;evens. Nay, &s;uch was the Folly of this Country Squire in the pro&s;ecution of his vain Studies, that he made his Lands <HI>Errant</HI> before him&s;elf, and &s;old a fair E&s;tate to buy Books of Knight-Errantry to gratifie his Curio&s;ity; in&s;omuch, that he &s;tufft his &s;mall Cottage with whole Wheel-barrow Loads of that &s;ort of Wa&s;te Paper. Yet none of tho&s;e famous Writers tickl'd his Fancy like the Works of the Renown'd <HI>Feliciano de Sylva:</HI> For he look'd upon the clearne&s;s of his Stile, enterlac'd and embelli&s;h'd with certain quaint Ginglings and chiming Expre&s;&s;ions, as &s;o many Jewels of Eloquence; e&s;pecially when he came to read the Love-Letters and Amo|rous Billets of the Knights to their Ladies; and the haughty Challenges which the di&s;gu&s;ted Champions &s;ent one to another. As where he found the&s;e Charms of his Under&s;tanding:</P>
<P><HI>The Rea&s;on of your &V;nrea&s;onablene&s;s, which has affronted my Rea&s;on, has incens'd my Rea&s;on in &s;uch a manner, that I have ju&s;t Rea&s;on to Complain of your Beauty.</HI></P>
<P>And when in another place he met with the following Rapture:</P>
<P><HI>The Sublime Heavens of your Divinity, that rai&s;e you to the Stars, and make you the De&s;erver of the De&s;ert which your Grandeur De&s;erves.</HI></P>
<P>Such Conceits and Whim&s;ies as the&s;e, had &s;o di&s;turb'd the Thoughts of our di&s;tracted Knight, that he took no Repo&s;e Day or Night, but conti|nually plagu'd and tormented his Brains, to unravel tho&s;e profound My|&s;teries which <HI>Ari&s;totle</HI> him&s;elf would ne're have been able to have done, could they have rais'd him from the Dead to that intent.</P>
<P>He could by no means endure to hear of tho&s;e unrea&s;onable and inhu|man Cuts and Ga&s;hes which Don <HI>Belianis</HI> both gave to others and receiv'd him&s;elf. For he con&s;ider'd, that &s;uch cur&s;ed Sla&s;hes as tho&s;e, let the Surgeon be never &s;o skilful, could ne're be Cur'd without the Face and Body being &s;trangely disfigur'd with the Scars and Marks of Quarrel&s;om Honour. Neverthele&s;s, he highly applauded in that Author, the con|cluding his Book with a Promi&s;e of the Remaining part of tho&s;e won|d'rous Adventures. And many times, not finding Him &s;o good as his word, he had an itching de&s;ire to have turn'd Romancer, and to have &s;upply'd the unfortunate neglect of that forgetful Gentlemen, by putting an end to the Story him&s;elf: Which others &s;ay he certainly had done, had not his Thoughts been wholly employ'd upon far more important and weighty De&s;igns. Moreover, this Scorbutic Humour of his had like to
<PB N="3" REF="12"> have been prejudicial to his Soul's Health: For the Curate of the Pari&s;h and He could never meet over a Pot of Nappy Drink and a Game at Back-Gammon, but they were always at Daggers-drawing about who was the brave&s;t Kill-Giant, <HI>Palmerin</HI> of <HI>England</HI> or <HI>Amadis de Gaul:</HI> But <HI>Didymus,</HI> a Barber of the &s;ame Village, affirm'd to his Teeth, that there was none to compare with the Knight of the <HI>Sun;</HI> yet if any one came near him, for fore-&s;troke and back-&s;troke, 'twas Don <HI>Galaor</HI> the Brother of <HI>Ama|dis de Gaul;</HI> for be&s;ides that he was better born by the Mothers &s;ide, and better bred, for a true Bear-Garden Cut and Sla&s;h there was no man living out-did him.</P>
<P>Fix'd in his Re&s;olutions he betook him&s;elf &s;o pa&s;&s;ionately and with &s;o much eagerne&s;s to his Studies, that a Nights he por'd on from Sun-&s;et to Sun-ri&s;e, and a Days from Sun-ri&s;e to Sun-&s;et. And thus, by Sleeping &s;o little and Reading &s;o much, he exhau&s;ted the moi&s;ture of his Brain to that Degree, that the Vehicle of his Under&s;tanding being quite dry'd up, his Sen&s;es for&s;ook their Quarters. In the mean time, his empty <HI>Pericranium</HI> was &s;tufft with nothing but the Lumber of Enchantments, Quarrels, En|counters, Battels, Challenges, Wounds, Love-Letters, Amorous Addre&s;&s;es, Torments of De&s;pair, Horrible Woes, Dire Di&s;tre&s;&s;es, Labyrinths, Intrigues, Po&s;&s;ibilities, Impo&s;&s;ibilities, and a World of other Trompery. And the&s;e charming Follies had taken &s;o deep a root in his Fancy, that he believ'd for Go&s;pel all the frivolous Fables and Chimera's that he read. He admir'd the <HI>Cid Rudiaz</HI> for a mo&s;t Valiant Knight; but not to be compar'd with the Knight of the <HI>Burning Pe&s;tle;</HI> for he with one back &s;winge of his Faulchion cut in two i' the middle two famous Gyants, both near as tall as two ordinary Steeples, and about ten Yards about i' the Wa&s;t. But he had an extraordinary opinion of <HI>Bernardo del Carpio,</HI> who &s;ent the En|chanted <HI>Roldan</HI> to the Devil, lifting him up from the Ground by the But|tocks with one Hand, and griping his Wezant &s;o hard with the other, that he Choak'd him in four Minutes, as <HI>Hercules</HI> did <HI>Anteus.</HI> He always &s;poke very Honourably of the Gyant <HI>Morgante;</HI> who tho he were de&s;cen|ded from the mo&s;t cruel and &s;avage Race of all the Gyants, yet always carried him&s;elf like a per&s;on that had &s;omething of Breeding and Gentility in him. But above all the re&s;t he Extoll'd to the Skies <HI>Raynaldo</HI> of <HI>Mont|albon;</HI> among who&s;e Atchievements, there was none pleas'd him &s;o to the Life, as when he Sally'd out of his Ca&s;tle and Rob'd all that he met upon the Road, Man, Woman, and Child: And then again, when he &s;tole the Idol of <HI>Mahomet,</HI> which was all of Gold, and pawn'd it when he had done to new Rig his Harlot.</P>
<P>In &s;hort, having thus lo&s;t his Wits, the &s;trange&s;t Whim&s;ie enter'd his Noddle, that ever pe&s;ter'd a Di&s;tracted Skull. For now, &s;uch was the Re&s;ult of all his Studies and Meditations, That as a thing that was not only convenient, but ab&s;olutely nece&s;&s;ary, as well for the increa&s;e of his Honour as for the public Good, nothing el&s;e in the World would &s;erve him, but he mu&s;t needs Dub him&s;elf and turn <HI>Knight Errant;</HI> with a de&s;ign to roam about the World in que&s;t of Adventures, and to put in practice whatever he had Read, in imitation of tho&s;e wand'ring Champions in former times, that trotted from Po&s;t to Pillar, Pot valiant and Fool-hardy, &s;eeking all occa&s;ions to pick Quarrels for the Relief of injur'd Virgins, abus'd Marry'd Women, and oppre&s;s'd Widows, in defiance of all Danger; and after great Atchievements thus perform'd, to re&s;t his weary Bones and Bruis'd Limbs in the Bed of immortal Honour. Poor in Pur&s;e, but Rich in Conceit, he had already in Imagination the Diadem of <HI>Per&s;ia.</HI> And therefore flat|ter'd
<PB N="4" REF="13"> with the&s;e bewitching Dreams, and pufft up with a thou&s;and &s;oar|ing Thoughts, he prepares with expedition to take the Field. The fir&s;t thing he did, was to &s;cour an old Suit of Armour, that had been his Fa|ther's Grandfather's Great-Grandfather's Father's; as Ru&s;ty as the Key|hole of a Mi&s;er's Powdering Tub, which for many Ages had been laid up and forgotten in a mouldy Hamper among the Garret-Lumber. But when he had Rubb'd with a dry Brick (as bright as their Age would per|mit) the Cuirace, Vambraces, and Gauntlets, the Devil of any Helmet could be found, but only a &s;ingle Head piece. However his Indu&s;try and Ingenuity &s;upply'd that defect, by pa&s;ting together &s;everal pieces of Brown Paper; of which he made him&s;elf a mo&s;t complete Vizor to defend his No&s;e and Eyes. This Invention pleas'd him wonderfully; neverthele&s;s to make Tryal whether it were proof again&s;t a Gyants &s;trong Arm and keen Cutlace to boot, he pre&s;ently drew forth his own Sword. But &s;o it was, &s;hame light on all ill luck, that with one pui&s;&s;ant &s;troke he &s;poil'd the Toil and Labour of a whole Week. Scorning, however, to be daunted by his fir&s;t Misfortune, he fell again to work with his brown Paper and Pa&s;te; and warn'd by his fir&s;t Mi&s;carriage, he bethought him&s;elf of putting a thin Plate of <HI>Iron</HI> between every piece of Paper; which he did &s;o arti|ficially, as if he had been <HI>Tubal-Cain</HI> him&s;elf, that now fully &s;atisfi'd with the &s;trength and &s;ufficiency of his Workman&s;hip, he re&s;olv'd to confide in his Ingenuity, without any farther Trial.</P>
<P>In the next place, he went to vi&s;it his Warlike Steed; which tho a lean ill-favour'd Jade, who&s;e Bones &s;tuck out like the Corners of a Spani&s;h <HI>Reyal,</HI> with more Defects than a Brewer's Mill-hor&s;e, yet he valu'd equal to <HI>Alexander</HI>'s <HI>Bucephalus,</HI> or <HI>Ce&s;ar</HI>'s cloven-footed Barb. Four Days toge|ther he &s;pent in con&s;idering what Name to give him; for (as he argu'd very well with him&s;elf) there was no Rea&s;on that a Hobby, which carry'd &s;o famous a Knight, &s;hould be without a remarkable Name, e&s;pecially a Bea&s;t &s;o &s;erviceable as he was; and therefore he labour'd to give him &s;uch a Name, as &s;hould demon&s;trate as well what he had been before he had the Honour to bear the burthen of a Knight-Errant, as what he was afterwards. Be&s;ides, he thought it but fit, &s;ince the Ma&s;ter had chang'd his Condition, that the Hor&s;e al&s;o &s;hould change his Name, and get him a new one, a brave &s;onorous Word, to make a noi&s;e in the Air, as it part|ed from Tongue, befitting the Re&s;pect and E&s;teem that was due to the Quality and Profe&s;&s;ion of his Owner. And &s;o at length, after &s;everal Names, which with long Study and Meditation, came into mind, reject|ing &s;ome, blotting out others, chopping and changing, da&s;hing out, put|ting in, &s;cratching his Pate, rubbing his Forehead, twitching his Beard, at la&s;t he pitch'd upon the celebrated and alti&s;onant Name of <HI>Rozinante.</HI> A Name to his heart's de&s;ire, a lofty, loud &s;ounding, Riddle-unfolding, Sen&s;e-explaining Name, pointing from his fir&s;t Condition of a Pack hor&s;e, to the high Degree of a <HI>Hackney-Errant.</HI></P>
<P>Now having found out a Name, &s;o much to his &s;atisfaction for his Hor&s;e, his next care was to find out &s;ome &s;ignal <HI>Appellative</HI> for him&s;elf; to which purpo&s;e he &s;ate in &s;erious Council with his own Thoughts Eight Days more. At the end of which, he concluded upon the Wor&s;hipful, Right-Wor&s;hipful, Honourable, Right-Honourable Name of <HI>Don Quixote:</HI> From whence the mo&s;t celebrated Authors of this unque&s;tionable Hi&s;tory infer, That his true Name was <HI>Quixada,</HI> and not <HI>Que&s;ada,</HI> as others erroneou&s;ly conjecture. And finding that the valiant <HI>Amadis,</HI> not content with the bare plain Name of <HI>Amadis,</HI> without the Addition of his Nation and Coun|try,
<PB N="5" REF="13"> to lace it, and render it famous, gave him&s;elf the Title of <HI>Amadis de Gaul;</HI> he deem'd it mo&s;t highly proper to embelli&s;h his own Name like a fring'd Pair of Gloves, with the Trimming of his Country's Denomination, and therefore call'd Him&s;elf <HI>Don Quixote</HI> of the <HI>Mancha,</HI> as well to honour the Hamlet of his Nativity, as to let the World know the place of his Birth.</P>
<P>And thus having &s;cour'd his Arms, made him&s;elf a Beaver to his Iron Scul|cap, and found out a Name both for his Bea&s;t and Him&s;elf; he con&s;ider'd, that there was nothing now wanting more, but to find out a <HI>Gyp&s;ie Mort</HI> for the exerci&s;e of his Court&s;hip, and to be the Lady of his Affections; for that a <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> without a Doxie, was like a Tree without Leaves, or a Body without a Soul. Said he to him&s;elf, &s;hould it happen, for the pu|ni&s;hment of my Sins, or for &s;ome &s;pite the Devil may owe me, that I &s;hould meet with &s;ome Giant, as it is u&s;ual for <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> to do, and I &s;hould lay him &s;prawling at the fir&s;t Encounter, or &s;liver him into two equal parts, and &s;o become the Lord and Ma&s;ter of his miraculous Carkace, would it not be proper for me to &s;end the&s;e Trophies of my Valour to &s;ome Lady or o|ther? And that the Giant, vanqui&s;h'd and mangl'd as he was, &s;hould, at his fir&s;t entry into her pre&s;ence, throw him&s;elf at her Feet, and with a low and trembling Voice, &s;hould cry, <HI>Faire&s;t of Ladies, I am the Giant</HI> Cara|culiambro, <HI>Lord of the I&s;land of</HI> Malindrama, <HI>vanqui&s;h'd in &s;ingle Fight by the ever, as he ought to be, mo&s;t renown'd and valiant Knight,</HI> Don Quixote <HI>of the</HI> Mancha, <HI>who has here &s;ent me to pre&s;ent my &s;elf a pro&s;trate Captive to your</HI> Illu&s;trious Sublimity, <HI>for your</HI> Highne&s;s <HI>to di&s;po&s;e of at your own mo&s;t ab&s;olute Will and Plea&s;ure.</HI> You cannot imagine how the Knight was tran&s;ported with Joy, after he had thus di&s;cours'd with him&s;elf; more e&s;pecially, having withal bethought him&s;elf where to find a <HI>Trugmallion</HI> fit for his turn. For, as concurring Fates would have it, there liv'd, it &s;eems, in a Village ad|joining to his own Lord&s;hip, a young fre&s;h-colour'd &s;merking Country-Wench that went for a Maid, but in truth, was a crackt piece of Ware, with whom the Knight had formerly been in Love; tho for her part, &s;he knew nothing of it, nor took any Cognizance of his Kindne&s;s. Her Name was <HI>Aldon&ccedil;a Loren&ccedil;o;</HI> and this was &s;he of whom he made choice to be the Idol of his amorous Devotions; and then pumping for a Name to call her by, that might be &s;utable to his own, and corre&s;pond with the Dignity of &s;o great a Lady and Prince&s;s, as &s;he was like to be; at length he pitch'd up|on the Name of <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o,</HI> for that his Mi&s;tre&s;s was a Native of that Village. An Invention that wonderfully pleas'd him, to hear the &s;mooth, mu&s;ical, poetical Running of the Syllables, &s;o proper for Sonnets, Madrigals, and Serenades; and the Maje&s;ty of <HI>Tobo&s;o,</HI> that brought up the <HI>Tail</HI> of the <HI>Name.</HI></P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="2" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="6" REF="14">
<HEAD>CHAP. II.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Of <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s fir&s;t Frolick; or his &s;olemn Departure from his Native Habitation.</HEAD>
<P>HAving made the&s;e Provi&s;ions, and &s;ecured him&s;elf again&s;t all Accidents, he re&s;olv'd no longer to delay his entrance upon the Stage of the World, as now believing him&s;elf guilty of all the Mi&s;chiefs, all the Wrongs and Inju&s;tices committed among mortal men, which he had power both to redre&s;s and prevent. And &s;o, one morning before day, in the Summer-heat of <HI>July,</HI> without imparting his De&s;ign &s;o much as to his Shirt, or be|ing perceiv'd by any Creature living, he ca&s;es him&s;elf in Iron from top to toe, laces on his Helmet, hangs his Target at his left &s;houlder, takes Lance in Hand, and then mounting <HI>Rozinante,</HI> away he &s;neak'd out at a pri|vate Gate of a Back-yard into the free and open Field, tran&s;ported at the pro&s;perous Succe&s;s of &s;uch a noble De&s;ign. But hardly had he jogg'd on a|bove a hundred &s;low Paces from his Habitation, when a mo&s;t terrible &s;cru|ple of Con&s;cience had like to have ruin'd all, and put him upon the di&s;|mal Re&s;olution of renouncing the whole Enterpri&s;e. For it came into his Mind, wretched Man as he was, that he had never yet been Dubb'd, as the Laws of Knighthood requir'd; and therefore that he neither could, nor ought to Challenge, or Combate any profe&s;s'd Knight. And, which was more, that as a <HI>Probationer</HI> only, it became him to wear white Armour, and not to carry any <HI>Device</HI> or <HI>Motto</HI> in his Shield, till he had &s;ignaliz'd him&s;elf by &s;ome remarkable Encounter.</P>
<P>The&s;e weighty Con&s;iderations put him in a &s;trange <HI>Quandary,</HI> till at length his Vanity having &s;urmounted his Rea&s;on, he re&s;olv'd to be <HI>dubb'd</HI> by the next Per&s;on he met, in imitation of &s;everal others, who had done the like, as he had ob&s;erv'd in the continual Progre&s;s of his Studies. As for that Nicety concerning the Colour of his Arms, he was &s;oon rid of it, when he bethought him&s;elf that he had both powder'd Brick, and lei&s;ure &s;ufficient, to polli&s;h and burni&s;h 'em, that they &s;hould look as white as the <HI>driv'n Snow.</HI> And thus having appeas'd the&s;e mutinous Qualms, on he troop'd the pace of a Butter-woman's old Mare, leaving it to the Di&s;cretion of his Hor&s;e to go which Way he pleas'd; believing a&s;&s;uredly, that it was only in that, wherein the very E&s;&s;ence and Being of all <HI>Adventures</HI> con&s;i&s;ted. In this &s;low March, a thou&s;and Dreams and Fancies rocking his delighted Soul; What a charming Plea&s;ure will it que&s;tionle&s;s be, &s;aid he, for Ages to come, to read the <HI>Story</HI> of my famous Acts! When the grave and &s;erious <HI>Penman</HI> of this my fir&s;t Career in Search of Fame, &s;hall thus begin.</P>
<P><Q>Scarce had the Bright-hair'd <HI>Phoebus</HI> began to di&s;hevel his gold'n Tre&s;|&s;es o're the &s;ilent Earth; and &s;carce the little Birds had tun'd their Pipes to &s;ing their early Welcomes to the beautiful <HI>Aurora,</HI> who having newly left her jealous <HI>Paramour</HI>'s Bed, began to &s;hew her &s;elf to drowzie Mortals, from the Balconies of <HI>La Mancha</HI>'s Horizon, when the renowned Knight, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> di&s;daining effeminate Repo&s;e, and the &s;oft Plea&s;ures of voluptuous Dreams, mounting his fierce Cour&s;er, <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> entred the ancient and delightful Plains of <HI>Montiel.</HI> For to tell ye truth, that was the very Road he took. And then proceeding; Oh happy Age, &s;aid he, and happy Sons of Men, which now the Gods have deem'd worthy to behold tran&s;cen|dent Acts of Valour, and be the Witne&s;&s;es of my Atchievements, more fit
<PB N="7" REF="14"> to be engraven on Columns of Bra&s;s, and cut in Marble Pillars, as Monu|ments of my Glory, and Examples for future Ages. And thou, who&s;e Fate &s;oever it &s;hall be to regi&s;ter th' Effects of my a&s;toni&s;hing Prowe&s;s, Forget not, I be&s;eech thee, to publi&s;h to the World the Vigour and Cou|rage of my <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> the faithful and con&s;tant Companion of my Adven|tures.</Q> Out of the&s;e he rambl'd into other Di&s;cour&s;es; and, as if he had been really and truly up to the hard Ears in Love. <Q>Oh, Prince&s;s <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> quo He, &s;ole Mi&s;tre&s;s of this Captive Heart! Ju&s;tly mu&s;t I complain of your Inju&s;tice in thus condemning me to live an Exile from your Pre&s;ence, and impo&s;ing on me your &s;evere and rigorous Commands never to behold your Beauties more. Remember, mo&s;t illu&s;trious Lady, and th' only Em|pre&s;s of my Thoughts, remember, I &s;ay, the Pains I take, and the Hard|&s;hip which I undergo, all for love of Thee.</Q></P>
<P>With raving, &s;uch as the&s;e, he entertain'd his Thoughts, and &s;uch like Ejaculations, which he had cond' by Heart from Volumes of Romances; and the&s;e enchanting Dotages had &s;o po&s;&s;e&s;s'd and &s;tupify'd his Rea&s;on, that he never minded the parching Heat of the Sun, which now &s;hot down his Beams &s;o perpendicular upon his Coxcomb, enough to have broil'd his Brains, had he but had a Scull to have contain'd a Dram of <HI>Intellect.</HI></P>
<P>He travel'd all that Day however, without meeting any Adventure wor|thy the Trouble of Relation, which put him into a kind of De&s;pair; &s;uch was his Impatience to try the Strength of his Arm.</P>
<P>Now here it is that Authors di&s;agree; for &s;ome aver, That the fir&s;t Ad|venture which fle&s;h'd our Knight-Errant, was that of the <HI>Lapicean Gate:</HI> O|thers, that of the <HI>Wind-mills:</HI> But all that I can di&s;cover in this matter, and what I meet with in the <HI>Annals</HI> of <HI>La Mancha,</HI> is only this; That all that Day, his Hor&s;e and He &s;tept on, travelling fair and &s;oftly; and that toward the Evening they were both ready to peri&s;h for Hunger, and &s;o tir'd, that <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> could hardly &s;tand upon his Legs. At what time, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> looking wi&s;tly about him, in hopes to di&s;cover either &s;ome Ca&s;tle, or Shepherd's lowly Cottage, where to re&s;t him&s;elf and his weary Steed, by and by e&s;py'd an Inn; a Sight more welcome than a Land mark to a Tempe&s;t-driv'n Pilot. Thereupon, Nece&s;&s;ity vanqui&s;hing Compa&s;&s;ion, he quickn'd feeble <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> with a Spur, and arriv'd at the Inn upon the &s;hutting in of Daylight. Now it happen'd, that at the &s;ame time two young Females, otherwi&s;e call'd Daughters of Joy, who were to go the next Day to <HI>Sevile</HI> with the Carrier, &s;tood cooling them&s;elves at the Inn Door. This fell luckily out; for the Knight-Errant, who&s;e Head was intoxicated with Ro|mances, and made all his Conjectures by his Reading, no &s;ooner &s;aw the Inn, but he imagin'd it to be a Ca&s;tle with four Towers, which his &s;trong Fancy as &s;oon had fortify'd with Motes and Draw-bridges, and all tho&s;e o|ther Securities of Fortification de&s;crib'd in the Stories of Knight-Errantry. Therefore he &s;topp'd a while at a di&s;tance from the Gate of this imagina|ry Fortre&s;s, expecting when &s;ome Dwarf would &s;ound his Horn upon the Plat-form, to give Notice of the Arrival of a &s;trange Knight. But finding that no Dwarf appear'd, and that <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> had more mind to he i'the Sca|ble, he advanc'd to the Inn Gate, where e&s;pying the two young Hackney-Sinners before mention'd, he took'em for Ladies of great Quality &s;tanding for the benefit of the fre&s;h Air, at the Gate of the Ca&s;tle. It happen'd al&s;o at the in&s;tant Time, as Luck would have it, that a Swineherd hard by, &s;ounded his Horn three times to call home his Hoggs; which was delicious Mu&s;ick in <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Ear, who now believed, that the Dwarf had given notice of his Approach. Thereupon, with a Joy un&s;peakeable, he rode gravely
<PB N="8" REF="15"> up to the two Jilts; who beholding a Man &s;o formidable cas'd in Iron up to his very Teeth, and loaden be&s;ide with his War-like Lumber of Lance and Buckler, as tho&s;e that were more us'd to naked Conver&s;ation, and di&s;|arm'd Carnality, were about to run for't. But then, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> rightly conjecturing their Terror by their Flight, lifting up his Pa&s;t board Vi&s;or, and di&s;covering his wither'd, du&s;ty Countenance, with a comely Grace, and grave Delivery: Ladies, quo he, be not afraid; for be &s;ecure, your Flight is groundle&s;s: The Order of Knighthood, which I profe&s;s, permits me not to injure any Per&s;on, much le&s;s &s;uch fair and vertuous Ladies as your &s;elves. Tho&s;e &s;oft Expre&s;&s;ions &s;topt their Career, &s;o that they turn'd back to, and viewed with Admiration the ridiculous Figure of the ru&s;ty Apparition, that &s;poke with &s;o much Affability, and yet they could not &s;ee any Mouth he had. But that which made 'em mo&s;t merry, was to hear them&s;elves call'd <HI>Ladies,</HI> a Title they had never been accu&s;tom'd to; in&s;o|much that it put 'em into a loud fit of Laughter, which &s;o incens'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who thought him&s;elf the Subject of their Mirth, that with a Countenance overca&s;t of a &s;udden, like a &s;erene Sky; Give me leave to tell ye, Ladies, quo he, That Mode&s;ty and Di&s;cretion would better become Dam&s;els of Quality, which I take you to be; whereas Laughter without Ground, is an Imprudence next to Folly: <Q>Neverthele&s;s, bright Pair of matchle&s;s Beauties, quo he, I &s;peak not this out of any ill Will, but by way of whole&s;om Advice to tho&s;e whom I am bound to &s;erve and honour.</Q> This high flown Mixture of Reproof and Ceremony, &s;et the two young Wen|ches a gigling ten times wor&s;e than before, and made the poor Knight as mad as a March Hare: &s;o that 'tis hard to conjecture what would have been the I&s;&s;ue, had he not at the &s;ame time &s;een the Inkeeper appear: who ob&s;erving &s;uch a &s;trange Di&s;gui&s;e of human Shape, &s;o odly accouter'd with an old Wardrobe of Mar&s;hal Furniture, could hardly refrain bearing a part with the two Harlots him&s;elf. But having more rea&s;on than they to fear &s;uch a World of Warlike Preparation, he re&s;olv'd to u&s;e him with more Re&s;pect, and therefore &s;ubmi&s;&s;ively acco&s;ting <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> <Q>Sir Knight, &s;aid he, if you &s;eek for Accommodation in this Place, you will fail of nothing but a Bed; for all things el&s;e are here at your Service in abun|dance.</Q> <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> mov'd with the Humility of the <HI>Lord</HI> of the <HI>Ca&s;tle</HI> (for &s;uch he had fancy'd the <HI>Innkeeper</HI> to be) and willing to return a be|coming An&s;wer; <Q>Worthy <HI>Paladine,</HI> quo he, the meane&s;t trifle in the World &s;uffices me, I am not a Per&s;on that &s;tudies Delicacy of Diet, or gaudy Curtains and Valence, as you may well &s;ee; my Arms are all the Ornament and Equipage that I admire, and Combate is my Bed of Re|po&s;e.</Q></P>
<P>The Inn-keeper could not well apprehend at fir&s;t why Don <HI>Quixote</HI> gave him the Apellation of <HI>Paladine.</HI> But having been an <HI>Andaluzian</HI> Bully, a <HI>Jamaican</HI> Buckaneer, as true a Thief as ever &s;ung <HI>P&s;alm</HI> at <HI>Tyburn,</HI> and &s;till as wicked as a Northern O&s;tler or a <HI>French</HI> Page, it was not long before he took the Elevation of the <HI>Knight Errant</HI>'s Pole, and &s;o having his An&s;wer &s;oon ready: <Q>Why then, Sir Knight, &s;aid he, con&s;idering the cour&s;e of Life which you profe&s;s, methinks a good clean Pavement of hard Stones &s;hould be the be&s;t Bed in the World for your purpo&s;e; for I dare &s;ay your Wor&s;hip &s;leeps no more then a Sentinel. Therefore Sir, 'tis but alighting, and I'le &s;ecure ye a Lodging that &s;hall not only keep ye awake for one Night, but all the Year long, if you plea&s;e.</Q> And having &s;o &s;aid, he went and held Don <HI>Quixote</HI>'s Stirrup; who, what with his pon|derous Load of old Iron, and with Fa&s;ting all day, di&s;mounted with great
<PB N="9" REF="15"> trouble and difficulty: However, as &s;oon as he found his Feet upon the firm ground, his fir&s;t care was of his Steed, which he recommended to the more e&s;pecial charge of the <HI>Paladine;</HI> a&s;&s;uring him, that of all the Bea&s;ts that ever ta&s;ted Hay, there was not a Better in the World. Upon which the Inn-keeper view'd him narrowly, with both his Eyes; but could not believe half &s;o much as <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;poke in his Prai&s;e. Ne|verthele&s;s, he led him to his Lodging in the Stable, rubb'd him down, litter'd him, fill'd his Rack; and &s;o leaving the Hor&s;e, he came to &s;ee what the Knight his Ma&s;ter wanted; whom he found pulling off his Ar|mour by the a&s;&s;i&s;tance of the two Female Traders, to whom he was by this time perfectly reconcil'd. They had got off his Cor&s;let and his Cui|race, but do what they could for their Lives they could not uncla&s;p his Gorget; and which was wor&s;e, his Helmet was ty'd &s;o fa&s;t under his Chin, with two Green Ribbands, that it was impo&s;&s;ible to unloo&s;e the Knots without the help of a Knife, which the Knight would by no means permit to come &s;o near his Throat. So that he was forc'd to keep on his Head-piece all Night; which was not a little plea&s;ant to behold. How|ever, that he might not appear ingrateful to the two Jilts that had tugg'd and pull'd and moyl'd to help him from his Load, whom he took for no le&s;s then per&s;ons of Honour, and Ladies that belong'd to the Ca&s;tle, he made his Courtlike Addre&s;&s;es to their Lady&s;hips in the following man|ner:</P>
<P><Q>Certainly, Ladies 'tis pa&s;t Belief, that ever Knight was thus Honou|rably attended in a &s;trange place, as <HI>Don Quixote.</HI> Noble Ladies, take care of Him, and of his Hor&s;e. <HI>O Ro&s;inante!</HI> For that is my Hor&s;es Name, and <HI>Don Quixote</HI> of the <HI>Mancha</HI> is mine, which I never thought to have di&s;cover'd, till I had render'd it famous by &s;ome Atchievement, for your &s;akes. But Nece&s;&s;ity con&s;training me to apply that ancient <HI>Romance</HI> of <HI>Lancelot</HI> to my pre&s;ent Occa&s;ion, has enforc'd me to reveal a Secret e're I thought it &s;ea&s;onable: Yet I hope the time will come, when you &s;hall be pleas'd to honour me with your Commands; and then I doubt not but to give you full A&s;&s;urances of my Obedience, and to let you &s;ee by the Terror of my Arm, both my Ability and Readine&s;s to &s;erve ye.</Q></P>
<P>To this the two young <HI>Wagtails,</HI> altogether unaccu&s;tom'd to &s;uch kind of Romantick Rhetorick, and under&s;tanding as little the meaning of his Court&s;hip, that &s;ignify'd nothing to their Employment, made no Reply; only they ask'd him, if he pleas'd to go to Supper; with all my Heart, quo <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> for I'le a&s;&s;ure ye, I think it high time. But as ill luck would have it, it happen'd to be upon a <HI>Friday</HI> Night, when there was no|thing in the <HI>Inn,</HI> but &s;ome few Remnants of a &s;mall <HI>Trout;</HI> tho others af|firm, it was only a Piece of in&s;iped <HI>Poor John.</HI> However, they gave it the Name of <HI>little Trout,</HI> and ask'd him, whether he thought he could fancy &s;uch a &s;ort of Diet, e&s;pecially when there was nothing el&s;e to be had. 'Tis the &s;ame thing to me, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> provided there be more then one; for many little Trouts make a large <HI>Salmon-Trout.</HI> For what is't to me, whether I am paid five Shillings in ten &s;everal Six-pences, or a whole Crown-piece? And be&s;ides, 'tis probable a little Trout may prove the better Meat, as we find Lamb to be far more delicate then Mutton. In &s;hort, what|e're it be, bring it in; for the Weight of Armour, and the Hard&s;hips of Travel, are neither to be &s;upported without a full Belly. Thereupon they laid the Cloth at the Inn Gate, for the Benefit of the fre&s;h Air; where the Knight was no &s;ooner &s;ate down, but the Hoa&s;t brought him a &s;mall Com|mons of his <HI>young Trout,</HI> as he call'd it, but &s;o ill dre&s;s'd, as if it had been
<PB N="10" REF="16"> Cook'd in <HI>Ram-Alley,</HI> or <HI>White-Fryers,</HI> with a &s;lice or two of a Bran loaf, and that mouldy to boot. But you would have &s;plit your &s;ides to have &s;een him eat: For by rea&s;on that his Helmet was ty'd &s;o &s;traight under his chin, his chaps had not liberty to play; and &s;uch was the po&s;ition of his Beaver above, that it was impo&s;&s;ible for him to feed him&s;elf without help. So that his condition had been very ill, had not the Dam&s;els that &s;ate by him been &s;o kind as to mince his Meat fit for his &s;wallow, and then put it into his Mouth. But then how to get the Gla&s;s to his No&s;e the Devil him|&s;elf could not find a way, till the Inn-keeper, more &s;uttle then he, &s;upply'd that defect with another Invention, by &s;etting one end of a hollow Cane to his Mouth, and pouring the Wine in at the other. All this while the poor Gentleman &s;uffer'd with patience all the&s;e inconveniences, and would have endur'd a thou&s;and more, rather then cut the Ribbands that occa&s;ion'd all his Mi&s;ery.</P>
<P>Hardly was this Pa&s;time over, when it happen'd that a <HI>Sow-gelder</HI> draw|ing near the Inn, blew his Horn &s;ome three or four times as he came along; and that plea&s;ing Harmony put all things out of doubt: For that he took to be a Con&s;ort of Mu&s;ick &s;ent to play at his Table. And therefore now more then ever confirm'd that the <HI>Poor John</HI> was Trout, that the brown Loaf was <HI>King&s;ton</HI> white bread, that the two Strumpets were Ladies of Honour, and the Inn-keeper &s;ome Potent <HI>Paladine,</HI> to whom the Ca&s;tle belong'd, he fell into an exta&s;ie of joy for the happy fortune of his fir&s;t Cariere; the &s;ucce&s;s of which flatter'd him with &s;o fair a Pro&s;pect of future Pro&s;pe|rity. Nothing troubled him, but that he yet wanted the <HI>Ceremony</HI> of <HI>Dub|bing,</HI> without which he could not lawfully undertake any meritorious En|terprize.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="3" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. III.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">The Plea&s;ant Relation of <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s being Dubb'd a Knight-Errant.</HEAD>
<P>BUT that vexatious care tormenting his mind with re&s;tle&s;s Angui&s;h, caus'd him to make all the quick di&s;patch imaginable of his &s;hort and homely Commons. So that after he had clean'd his Trencher and his Di&s;h with the remainder of his Bread, up he ro&s;e in great ha&s;t, and carried the <HI>Inn-keeper</HI> along with him into the Stable, where after he had &s;hut the Door, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> fell at his feet, and in an unwonted tran&s;port of Grief and Melancholy, <Q>This is the Place, cry'd he, mo&s;t Noble <HI>Paladine,</HI> from whence I never mean to ri&s;e again, till your Lord&s;hip has vouch&s;af'd to grant me one &s;ingle Boon, which I have to reque&s;t, and which will no le&s;s redound to your Honour, then the Benefit of the Univer&s;e.</Q> The Inn-keeper amaz'd to &s;ee the Knight pro&s;trate at his feet, and talking at &s;uch a rate, was in a peck of troubles, either what to &s;ay, or what to do; finding all that he could po&s;&s;ibly do or &s;ay, was to importune him to ri&s;e; but all in vain, till he had a&s;&s;ur'd him to fulfil his de&s;ires. <Q>'Twas no more then what I always never que&s;tion'd from your Magnanimity, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote.</HI></Q> Then proceeding, The Boon, &s;aid he, which I crave, and which you &s;o obligingly conde&s;cend to grant me, is no more then this, that to morrow by break of day, you will do me the favour to dubb me into
<PB N="11" REF="16"> the Order of Knight-hood; and that this Night you will permit me to keep my Vigils arm'd in the Chappel belonging to your Ca&s;tle, and prepare my &s;elf for that Illu&s;trious Character which I &s;o pa&s;&s;ionately thir&s;t after; to the end I may be in a condition to &s;eek Adventures in all Quarters of the World, and like another <HI>The&s;eus,</HI> to relieve the di&s;tre&s;&s;ed, and rid the Earth of Violence and Inju&s;tice, according to the Laws of Knight-Errantry, which I profe&s;s.</P>
<P>The Inn-keeper, who was as arch as the Devil could make him, and now had made a full di&s;covery of the &s;oft place in <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Head, which he &s;u&s;pected before, to make him&s;elf &s;port, and for a jolly Scene of Mirth to invite Cu&s;tomers to his Hou&s;e, re&s;olv'd to gratifie his Humour. To that purpo&s;e, he applauded his judgment in the choice of &s;uch a De|&s;ign, then which there could be nothing more Honourable, or more glo|riou&s;ly enterpriz'd by a Brave and Valiant Knight, &s;uch he judg'd him to be, by his Graceful A&s;pect and Deportment. That he him&s;elf had pur&s;u'd the &s;ame Chace of Honour in his Youth, travelling through all parts of the World in &s;earch of bold Adventures; to which purpo&s;e he had left no cor|ner unvi&s;ited of the <HI>Kings-Bench Rules,</HI> the skulking holes of <HI>Al&s;atia,</HI> the Academy of the <HI>Fleet,</HI> the Colledge of <HI>Newgate,</HI> the Purliews of <HI>Turn|boll,</HI> and <HI>Pickt-Hatch;</HI> the <HI>Bordello's</HI> of St. <HI>Giles's, Ban&s;tead-Downs, New|market-Heath:</HI> The Pits of Play-Hou&s;es, the Retirements of Ordinaries, the Booths of <HI>Smithfield</HI> and <HI>Sturbridge;</HI> not a Publick Bowling-Green where he had not exercis'd his heels; nor an Execution-crowd, nor a Hedge-Tavern, where he had not employ'd his pauming, topping, cogging Fin|gers; bubling young Heirs, &s;olliciting Widows, abu&s;ing Virgins; and in a word, that he had &s;ignaliz'd his Name in all the Se&s;&s;ions-Hou&s;es, Criminal Courts of Judicature, and Pillories of the Nation; till at length he came to retire to that Ca&s;tle, where he liv'd upon his own Revenues, and the Spoils of others, Entertaining all Knights Errant, of what Quality or Con|dition &s;oever, out of that re&s;pect which he bare to their Profe&s;&s;ion, and to partake of what they got in recompence of the good which they did in the World.</P>
<P>As for any Chappel, he confe&s;s'd he had none at that time, having pull'd it down, out of a de&s;ign to build another much more beautiful; however he knew well that in a ca&s;e of Nece&s;&s;ity, a Probationer might keep his Vigils where he pleas'd; which he might therefore do in a Tower of the Ca&s;tle, that &s;eem'd to have been built for the &s;ame purpo&s;e; and that in the Morning he would not fail to compleat the Ceremony, &s;o that he might a&s;&s;ure him&s;elf of being as true a Knight as any in the World. Have you any Money? then added the Inn-keeper. Money! reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> not a Groat. Nor did I ever read in any Story, that ever any Knight-Er|rant but one ever carry'd Money about him. That's your mi&s;take, cry'd the Inn-keeper: for tho you do not read of any &s;uch Cu&s;tom in your Books, it was not becau&s;e it was not &s;o, but becau&s;e the Writers could not imagine their Readers to be &s;uch &s;ots, as to believe that Knights-Errant went un|provided of two &s;uch nece&s;&s;ary Accommodations, as Money and change of fre&s;h Linnen. Otherwi&s;e he might as well believe that all <HI>Knights-Errant</HI> were lou&s;ie, and went a begging: And therefore he might well think, they carry'd both Money and clean Shirts along with 'em, be&s;ides a little Box of Oyntment to dre&s;s their Wounds. For it &s;o happens many times that your Knight-Errants may be Engag'd in a de&s;perate Combat in the mid&s;t of a wild and &s;pacious De&s;art, where they may ride a hundred Miles before the meet with they Sign of an Anatomy-Lecture, and &s;o a Knight-Errant
<PB N="12" REF="17"> might rot before he could find a Surgeon; unle&s;s, which rarely falls out, he has &s;ome kind Enchantre&s;s for his Friend, to &s;end him &s;ome fair Dam&s;el or Dwarf in a Cloud with a Box of Balm of <HI>Gilead;</HI> of which one &s;ingle drop tented into the Wound upon the tip of the Dwarf or Dam&s;els Tongue, makes him as &s;ound in three Minutes as ere he was in this World. But becau&s;e there is no depending upon &s;uch accidents as the&s;e, therefore in former days, your Knight-Errants had their Squires to carry their Money and other Nece&s;&s;aries; as their Dre&s;&s;ing-Box, Lint, and Rags: Or el&s;e if they had no Squires, they carry'd tho&s;e things them&s;elves in a little Bag fitted &s;o neatly to their Saddles, that it was hardly to be di&s;cern'd. So that it is not only my Advice, but a Charge which I lay upon you, as to my Son and Darling in Chivalry, never to ride without Money and other Nece&s;|&s;aries, which you will find to &s;tand you in &s;tead, when your be&s;t Friends for&s;ake ye.</P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> having li&s;ten'd with great attention to the pretended <HI>Pala|dine,</HI> promis'd punctual Obedience to all his Commands, and then prepar'd him&s;elf for the <HI>watch of his Arms.</HI> To which purpo&s;e, he went and fetch'd all his ru&s;ty Furniture together, and plac'd it all in great Order in a Hor&s;e-Trough, clo&s;e by a Well in the Yard, which he fancy'd to be the <HI>Tower;</HI> and then embracing his Target and his Lance, he took &s;everal turns before the <HI>Hor&s;e-Trough</HI> with an A&s;pect no le&s;s fierce and haughty then graceful and plea&s;ant at the &s;ame time. In the mean while, the Inn-keeper, to make him&s;elf &s;port, di&s;cover'd to all that were in the Inn, the Extravagancies of <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> his watching his Arms, and his impatience to be Dubb'd a Knight; who all admiring at the Folly of the Per&s;on, de&s;ir'd to be Specta|tors of the Scene; and &s;o &s;tanding at a di&s;tance, they beheld <HI>Don Quixote</HI> with a grave and &s;erious countenance, &s;ometimes dancing &s;tep-&s;tately before the Trough; &s;ometimes leaning upon his Lance, with his Eyes all the while wi&s;tly fix'd upon his Arms; for the Moon, that by this time began to &s;hine as clear as in a fro&s;ty Night, di&s;cover'd the whole Ceremony. But while the Knight was thus performing his <HI>Vigils,</HI> one of the Carriers that lodg'd in the <HI>Inn,</HI> came forth to Water his Mules, which he could not do without removing the Arms out of the <HI>Trough. Don Quixote</HI> no &s;ooner e&s;py'd him, but he knew his de&s;ign, and therefore by way of prevention, cry'd out to him in a loud and furious tone, <Q>Fool-hardy Knight, who ere thou art, that daringly thus pre&s;um'&s;t to approach the Arms of the mo&s;t valiant Combatant that was ever girt with a Sword, take heed what thou do&s;t, and be not &s;o adventurous to touch tho&s;e Arms, unle&s;s weary of thy Life, thou ha&s;t a mind to forfeit it, for the puni&s;hment of thy head|long Temerity.</Q></P>
<P>A warning &s;ufficient, one would have thought, but the indi&s;creet Car|rier was &s;o far from regarding <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s terrible Menaces, that as if he had rather &s;corn'd his Threats, he took the Arms and to&s;s'd 'em from the Trough, as if he had been playing at Coits. But he had better have been a&s;leep in his Bed. For then it was, that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> lifting up his Eyes to Heav'n, and elevating his thoughts to his fair Mi&s;tre&s;s, <Q>A&s;&s;i&s;t me, Madam, cry'd he, in the Revenge of this Affront, the fir&s;t ere offer'd to your Va&s;&s;al; and while my injur'd Honour lies at &s;take, let not your Protection bauk the fir&s;t Tryals of my Courage.</Q> Which &s;hort Ejaculation ended, he laid by his Target, took his Lance in both hands, and letting drive with all his force at the audacious Carrier, gave him &s;uch a blow upon his incon&s;iderate Pate, that he laid him &s;prawling at his feet; one more &s;uch, and the &s;awcy Ra&s;cal had ne're known who had hurt him. Which Exploit thus
<PB N="13" REF="17"> valiantly perform'd, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> gather'd up the &s;catter'd pieces of his Armour, put 'em into the Hor&s;e-trough again, and renew'd his Cere|monies as before, without the lea&s;t Di&s;turbance or Di&s;compo&s;ure i' the World.</P>
<P>Soon after, another Carrier, not knowing what had happen'd, came with de&s;ign to water his Mules. But, as he was going to clear the Trough of that which he only thought to be old Lumber; Don <HI>Quixote,</HI> with|out &s;peaking a word, or imploring the a&s;&s;i&s;tance of Male or Female, a &s;e|cond time laid by his Shield, and taking his Lance a &s;econd time with both Hands, laid on &s;o like a Kettle-Drummer, that he broke the Car|rier's Pate in three or four places. Immediately the Fellow roar'd out Murder, and his Outcry &s;ummon'd forth all the re&s;t of the Carriers and Pa&s;&s;engers in the Inn, to know what was the matter. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;eeing them coming, brac'd on his Target, and with his Sword drawn in his Hand, <Q>Godde&s;s of Beauty (cry'd he to his <HI>Dulcinea</HI>), Thou Strength and Vi|gor of my Heart, in &s;ea&s;on now enliven with the Beams of thy Gran|deur, thy Captive Champion, ready to engage environing Dangers.</Q> And having thus invok'd his Female Deity, he found him&s;elf in&s;pir'd with &s;uch a Reinforcement of Courage and Re&s;olution, that all the Carriers in the world could ne're have made him budg'd an Inch. On the other &s;ide, the Carriers, tho they were wary how they came too near, yet wil|ling to revenge the Sufferings of their Fellow-Travellers, gave the Knight &s;uch a Volley of Stones, that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was forc'd to &s;helter him&s;elf under the covert of his Shield (that began to Ring as if the Wo|men had been Charming down a Swarm of Bees) re&s;olving not to &s;tir a foot, for fear of abandoning his beloved Armour. The Inn-keeper, on the other &s;ide, bawl'd out to the Carriers to let him alone; crying out, that he had told them already what a Fool he was; adding farther, that the Law would acquit him for a Madman &s;hould he kill all the Carriers in the Kingdom. All this while the undaunted Hero made more noi&s;e than all the <GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="UOM" EXTENT="1 word"> reproaching the Carriers for Rogues and Cowards, and cal|ling the <GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="UOM" EXTENT="1 letter">aladine of the Ca&s;tle Villain and Traitor, for &s;uffering a Knight Errant to be &s;o abus'd: <Q>But I would make thee know, &s;aid the Knight, what a perfideous Ra&s;cal thou art, had I but receiv'd the Order of Knight|hood. But for you Scoundrels, Fling on, &s;aid he, do your wor&s;t; come near and receive the wages of your In&s;olence, which I que&s;tion not but to pay ye without abatement.</Q> And this he utter'd with &s;o much fury and re&s;olution, that he &s;troke a terror into all his A&s;&s;ailants: So that what with the dread that invaded the Carriers, and the loud per&s;wa&s;ions of the Inn-keeper, the &s;torm of Gravel and Stones ceas'd; and <HI>Don Quixote</HI> per|mitting the Enemy to carry off their wounded, return'd to watch his Ar|mour with &s;uch calmne&s;s of Temper, and moderation of Mind, as if he had never been di&s;turb'd.</P>
<P>But now the Inn-keeper having had pa&s;time &s;ufficient, and weary'd with the Follies of his Gue&s;t, re&s;olv'd to di&s;patch him forthwith, and to gra|tifie the Squire with the Cur&s;e of unfortunate Knighthood, to prevent any mi&s;chief in his Hou&s;e. So that after he had excus'd the in&s;olence of tho&s;e &s;awcy Bumpkins, as being done without his privity or con&s;ent; he gave him to under&s;tand, that he had no Chappel in his Ca&s;tle, as he had told him before, and that it was indeed needle&s;s; for that the remain|ing part of the Ceremony which con&s;i&s;ted only in the &s;triking him upon the Neck and Shoulders with the Sword, might as well be perform'd in the Field as in any other place, as he had Read in the Regi&s;ter of the
<PB N="14" REF="18"> <HI>Ceremonies of the Order. Don Quixote,</HI> who was greedy of being Dubb'd, as a hungry Kite of a dead Hor&s;e, ea&s;ily &s;ubmitted to the Inn-keepers ar|guments, de&s;iring the <HI>Paladine</HI> to make ha&s;te; for that if he were once Knighted, and &s;hould be once a&s;&s;ail'd, as he had lately been, he did not be|lieve he &s;hould leave a Man alive in his Ca&s;tle, but &s;uch as the <HI>Paladine</HI> &s;hould reque&s;t him to &s;pare. Immediately the Inn-keeper, like a Per&s;on that would do nothing ra&s;hly, went and fetch'd his Book where he &s;et down the Carrier's Accompts for Straw and Provender, and then returning with the two young Harlots already mention'd, and a Boy that carry'd be|fore him a lighted Candle's End, he caus'd <HI>Don Quixote</HI> to kneel: Then reading in his <HI>Manual,</HI> as if he had been mumbling &s;ome &s;ort of devout Prayer, he lifted up his Hand in the mid&s;t of his Devotions, and gave him &s;uch a Dabb i' th Neck, that he made him ki&s;s the Buttons of his Doublet, and at the &s;ame time, with the flat of his Sword, &s;uch a &s;lap up|on the Blade-bone, as made him &s;hrink up his Shoulders agen. Which done, he order'd one of the Truls to gird the Sword about the Knight's Wa&s;te; which &s;he did with an extraordinary Grace and Dexterity, con&s;ider|ing how hard a thing it was to forbear laughing at every particular of the Ceremony, had not her Experience admoni&s;h'd her, by what &s;he had &s;een the Knight &s;o lately perform, that he was not a Per&s;on to be droll'd with. So far from that, that when &s;he had girded on the Sword, <Q><HI>Heaven,</HI> quo &s;he, with a low Curt&s;ie, grant ye Succe&s;s in all your Combates and Ad|ventures.</Q> In return of which, the Knight de&s;ir'd to know her Name, that he might under&s;tand to whom he was oblig'd for &s;o great a Favour, and make her a Sharer in all the Honour of his valorous Atchievements. To which the Lady an&s;wer'd with all Humility&punc; That her Name was <HI>Betty,</HI> the Daughter of a Cobbler in <HI>Southwark,</HI> that kept a Stall under a Chand|ler's Shop in <HI>Kent-&s;treet;</HI> and that &s;he would be his humble Servant in all Places where &s;he &s;hould have the Happine&s;s to meet him. I be&s;eech ye, reply d <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> hereafter, for my &s;ake, a&s;&s;ume the Title of <HI>Madam,</HI> and call your &s;elf <HI>Madam Betty;</HI> which &s;he gratefully promis'd to do.</P>
<P>The t'other <HI>Nymph</HI> put on his Spurrs, which occa&s;ion'd a Dialogue of the &s;ame Nature between them two: For nothing would &s;erve him, but he mu&s;t know her Name likewi&s;e; who mode&s;tly an&s;wer'd him, That her Name was <HI>Nancy-cock,</HI> that her reputed Father liv'd in <HI>Chick-lane,</HI> and was call'd, <HI>The End of the Law,</HI> as being the Common Executioner of all Ma|lefactors in the Palatinate of <HI>Tyburn.</HI> Thereupon the new Knight oblig'd, her al&s;o to call her &s;elf <HI>Madam Nancy-cock,</HI> returning her a thou&s;and Thanks and making her large Proffers of his Service.</P>
<P>The&s;e wonderful Ceremonies, the like to which were never heard of be|fore, being thus perform'd with a kind of Tantivy &s;peed, <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who was almo&s;t out of his Wits to be gadding after new Adventures, made ha&s;te to &s;addle <HI>Ro&s;inante;</HI> and being mounted, he embrac'd the Inn-keeper a Hor&s;e-back, returning him a whole Ship's Lading of Thanks for Dubbing him, in a tedious Complement &s;o full of Extravagances, as would argue a greater Folly to repeat 'em. To which the Inkeeper, over-joy'd to be rid of him, made &s;hort Replies, and glad he was gone, di&s;charg'd him without &s;topping his Hor&s;e for the Reck'ning.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="4" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="15" REF="18">
<HEAD>CHAP. IV.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">What befel the new Knight after he had left the Inn.</HEAD>
<P><HI>A&V;rora</HI> now began to di&s;play her Vermillion Beauties, when <HI>Don Quix|ote</HI> quitted the Inn, &s;o well pleas'd, &s;o frolick, &s;o jocond, to find him|&s;elf Dubb'd a Knight, that he infus'd the &s;ame Satisfaction into his Hor&s;e, who was ready to bur&s;t his Girts for Joy. But calling to mind the Advice which the Inn-keeper had giv'n him, touching the Provi&s;ion of nece&s;&s;ary Accommodations for his Travels, he re&s;olv'd to return home, to furni&s;h him&s;elf with Money and Shirts, and to get him a Squire. For which Em|ployment he had already de&s;ign'd a Neighbour of his, a poor labouring Man, with a great Charge of Children, the fitter therefore to make a Shield-Porter. With this Re&s;olution he took the Road back to his own Village; at what time, <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> as if he had divin'd his Ma&s;ter's De&s;ign, carry'd him a round Trot &s;o nimbly, and &s;o lightly, that you could hardly perceive his Heels to touch the Ground. But <HI>Don Quixote</HI> had &s;carce rid two hun|dred Paces, when he fancy'd that he heard a mournful Voice that pierc'd his Ears, from a Thicket upon the right Hand. Thereupon he li&s;ten'd with both Ears, and being confirm'd that he was under no mi&s;take, he gave Thanks to Heaven, that had &s;ent him an Opportunity to perform the Duty of his Profe&s;&s;ion, and reap the Fruit of his pious De&s;igns. The&s;e Moans, &s;aid he, are que&s;tionle&s;s the Moans of &s;ome di&s;tre&s;&s;ed Creature, that has need of my A&s;&s;i&s;tance, which it behoves me to give; and &s;o &s;aying, he gave <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> a gentle Remembrance with his Spurr of Knighthood, and ha&s;ten'd to that &s;ide of the Wood. Whither he was no &s;ooner come, but he beheld a mo&s;t doleful Spectacle; a young Lad of about fifteen Years of Age, naked from the Wa&s;te upward, and ty'd to a Tree. This was he that &s;ent forth tho&s;e mi&s;erable Lamentations, and not without good Rea&s;on. For a lu&s;ty Raw-bon'd Country Fellow was there tawing the Hide of the poor Stripling with a Brawny Arm, and an unmerciful Twi&s;t of Leather Thongs, and between every La&s;h he tuter'd him with a Proverb; crying ever and anon, <HI>A &s;hort Tongue, Sirrah, and watchful Eyes.</HI> To which the young Var|let made no other Reply, but, <HI>Good Ma&s;ter, I will never do &s;o agen; for the Pa&s;&s;ion of God, good Ma&s;ter, I will never do &s;o agen&mdash; Pray Ma&s;ter, Indeed Ma&s;ter, I will be more careful for the future. Don Quixote</HI> beholding this barbarous Cruelty of the Country Fellow, mov'd with Indignation in the &s;urly Tone of Anger, <Q>Di&s;courteous Knight, cry'd he, 'tis a ba&s;e and un|worthy Act, to a&s;&s;ail a naked Per&s;on that is not able to defend him&s;elf; but mount thy Steed, and handle thy Lance (for he took the Farmer's <HI>Mole-&s;ticker</HI> that lay by him upon the Ground, for a Lance) and then I'le make thee know thou ha&s;t done like a Coward, and the Son of a Whore.</Q></P>
<P>The Country-fellow giving him&s;elf over for lo&s;t at the &s;ight of &s;uch an Apparition in Armour, with a Lance fix'd to his Brea&s;t, quaking and &s;hi|vering, made An&s;wer; Sir Knight, this young <HI>Hedge-bird,</HI> whom I am cha&s;tizing, is my Servant, imploy'd by me to look after my Sheep, but &s;uch a carele&s;s Ra&s;cal, that he lo&s;es one or two every Day, and therefore I puni&s;h him for his Carele&s;ne&s;s, or rather his Knavery: 'Tis true, he com|plains that I do not pay him his Wages, but upon my Life and Soul, he tells a mo&s;t impudent Lye. <Q>The Lye in my Pre&s;ence, Dog, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI>
<PB N="16" REF="19"> by the Sun that &s;hines, I could find in my Heart to run my Lance quite through thy Lungs. Unbind the Boy, and pay him without more words, or el&s;e by him that made me, I'le immediately annihilate thee.</Q> The Countryman not daring to &s;peak a word more, made him a low Bow, and pre&s;ently unbound the Boy; of whom <HI>Don Quixote</HI> demanded how much was owing him? Nine Months, &s;aid he, at four Shillings and eight Pence a Month; which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> having ca&s;t up, and finding to be two and forty Shillings, order'd the Farmer to pay the Fellow his Money down, un|le&s;s he intended to be &s;ent forthwith to the other World. The poor Coun|tryman ready to &s;ink into the Earth for fear, reply'd, That he would not for&s;wear him&s;elf in that Condition he was in for all the World; yet by his Oath already &s;worn, he did not owe the Lad &s;o much: be&s;ides that, he was to abate for three Pair of Shoes, and Six-pence for his being let Blood when he was Sick. That may be, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> but the Blood-letting and the Shoes mu&s;t go in Satisfaction for the Stripes which you have giv'n him without a Cau&s;e; for if he have made u&s;e of your Leather in his Shoes, you have &s;la&s;h'd off as much of his Skin; and if the Surgeon let him Blood when he was ill, you have drawn Blood from him when he was in Health; &s;o there's <HI>Tit</HI> for <HI>Tott,</HI> reck'n one for t'other. Alas, Sir! cry'd the Countryman, 'tis my Misfortune not to have &s;o much, Money about me; but let <HI>Andrew</HI> go home along with me, and I'le pay him to a Farthing. Go along with him! Cry'd the young Rogue, finding him&s;elf to be o'the better &s;ide the Hedge, God pre&s;erve me, Sir, &s;hould I go along with him, he would flea me like another St. <HI>Bartholomew.</HI> How! reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> never fear, young Man, he had better eat, than touch thy Skin. I &s;hall forbid him to offer any &s;uch thing, and then I &s;uppo&s;e he will not dare to incur my Di&s;plea&s;ure; and therefore provided he will &s;wear by the Order of Knighthood, of which he is a Companion, I will not only let him go, but &s;ecure thy Money. Take heed what you &s;ay, reply'd the young Rogue, for my Ma&s;ter is no Knight, nor ever was of any Order in his Life; he's no more then plain <HI>Gaffer Haldudo,</HI> the rich <HI>Cuff,</HI> that lives at <HI>Quintanar.</HI> That's nothing to the Purpo&s;e, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> there may be Knights among the <HI>Haldudo</HI>'s; be&s;ides that, he who bravely does, is a Herauld to him&s;elf, &s;ince every man is the Son of his own Works. Oh but, Sir, of what Works is he the Son, cry'd the <HI>young Crack-rope,</HI> who denies to pay me what I have earn'd by the Sweat of my Brows. I do not refu&s;e to pay thee, hone&s;t <HI>Andrew,</HI> God knows my Heart, for by all the Orders that ever were in the World, if thou wilt go home along with me, I'le pay thee to a Farthing, not only in hard Six-pences and Shillings, but Perfum'd to boot. Spare your Perfume, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> only pay the Lad his Money, and I am &s;atisfy'd; but be &s;ure you be true to your Word and your Oath: For if thou fail&s;t, tho but a Half-peny, by the &s;ame Oath I &s;wear, to find thee out, tho hid as deep within the Bowels of the Earth as a <HI>Lizard.</HI> And to the end thou may&s;t under&s;tand who it is thou art either to o|blige with Safety, or offend at thy Peril; know I am the Valiant <HI>Don Quixxote</HI> of the <HI>Mancha,</HI> the Flail of Oppre&s;&s;ion, and the Scourge of In|ju&s;tice. So Peace be with ye, upon Condition of exact Performance, as you will an&s;wer the contrary at your Peril. And having &s;o &s;aid, he put Spurs to his <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> and rode away.</P>
<P>So &s;oon as he was gone, the crafty old Hunks of a Farmer follow'd him with both his Eyes, as far as he could &s;ee him; and when he was quite out of &s;ight, away goes he back to his young <HI>Ne're-be-good,</HI> and in a Tone of &s;eeming Kindne&s;s; Come, hone&s;t <HI>Andrew,</HI> &s;aid he, 'tis now that
<PB N="17" REF="19"> I intend to pay thee thy Arrears, according to my Obligation, and as the <HI>Flail of Oppre&s;&s;ion, and the Scourge of Inju&s;tice</HI> has commanded me to do. A&s;&s;uredly, &s;aid <HI>Andrew,</HI> if you do not fulfil the Orders of this &s;ame Noble Knight, who&s;e Valour and Ju&s;tice God reward with a long and pro&s;perous Life, I will go &s;eek him out where ever he is, and bring him back to cha|&s;ti&s;e your contempt, according to his Oath. Content, cry'd the Farmer; and to &s;hew thee how I love thee, I am re&s;olv'd to increa&s;e the Debt, that I may advance the Payment. And with that, binding <HI>Andrew</HI> again to the Tree, he fell anointing the poor Boy's back with &s;uch a dete&s;tation of Com|pa&s;&s;ion, till he had almo&s;t kill'd the young Mi&s;creant. Now call, &s;aid the Farmer, your <HI>Scourge of Inju&s;tice,</HI> thou &s;halt find, he'l ne'r be able to undo what I have done, tho 'tis but the half of what I &s;hould do; for thou Rogue thou, I could find i'my heart to flea thee alive. However, he un|ty'd the Ra&s;cal at length, and gave him free liberty to go and &s;eek out his Patron to revenge his Quarrel. But the Country Farmer having had his Plenary &s;atisfaction, fell a laughing with his Ru&s;tick <HI>Ho, Ho, Ho's,</HI> till his &s;ides were ready to crack, to &s;ee the Boy go limping away, &s;hrugging his flea'd &s;houlders, in &s;earch of a Needle in a Bottle of Hay.</P>
<P>In the mean time the valiant <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> believing he had perform'd a mo&s;t &s;ignal Act of Ju&s;tice, was &s;trangely tran&s;ported in his thoughts, and ravi&s;h'd with this &s;ucce&s;sful beginning, <Q>Mo&s;t beautiful of Beauties, fair <HI>Dul|cinea del Tobo&s;o,</HI> &s;aid he, well may'&s;t thou account thy &s;elf the mo&s;t Fortu|nate of all Women living, who ha&s;t for thy Va&s;&s;al &s;o Famous a Knight as <HI>Don Quixote</HI> of the <HI>Mancha,</HI> who, as all the World knows, was dubb'd a Knight but ye&s;terday, and this very day prevented the mo&s;t terrible Cruelty that ever Inju&s;tice invented, by wre&s;ting this young Lad out of the hand of his inhumane and mercile&s;s Executioner.</Q> And having &s;o &s;aid, he per|ceiv'd him&s;elf to be in a place where four Roads met; at what time it came into his mind, that it was u&s;ual for Knights-Errant to &s;top at &s;uch places, there to con&s;ult with them&s;elves which way to take; which that he might be punctual in every thing, he re&s;olv'd to do. But not being able to de|termine with him&s;elf, he gave <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> his own Head, leaving it ab&s;o|lutely to his di&s;cretion to make his own choice; upon which, <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> govern'd by natural in&s;tinct, took the way that led to his own Stable.</P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> had not rode above two Miles, but he perceiv'd a great company of People that follow'd him upon the &s;ame Road, who afterwards prov'd to be Merchants of <HI>Toledo,</HI> that were going to buy Silks at <HI>Murcia;</HI> being &s;ix in number well mounted, with three Servants on Hor&s;e-back, and three on foot, that led their Mules. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> no &s;ooner had 'em in view, but he imagin'd this to be &s;ome new Adventure; and therefore with a &s;owr and re&s;olute courage fixing him&s;elf in his Stirrups, couching his Lance, and covering him&s;elf with his Target, he po&s;ted him&s;elf in the middle of the High-way, till the &s;uppo&s;ed Knights-Errants came up; and no &s;ooner were they come, as he thought, within hearing, but in a haughty and imperious tone, That Man, &s;aid he, who adventures to &s;tir an Inch farther, moves at his Peril, until he has acknowledg'd the Empre&s;s of the <HI>Mancha,</HI> the Incomparable <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o,</HI> to be the Peerle&s;s Beauty that &s;urpa&s;&s;es all the Beauties of the Univer&s;e. At tho&s;e words, the Merchants &s;topp'd, to con&s;ider the &s;trange Di&s;gui&s;e and Po&s;ture of their Op|ponent, and ea&s;ily conjecturing as well by his Ob&s;olete Figure, as by his words, what &s;ort of Creature he was; yet no le&s;s willing to have a little &s;port, then to under&s;tand the meaning of that extravagant Confe&s;&s;ion, for which their very Bowels them&s;elves were to be &s;o rudely ran&s;ackt: One of
<PB N="18" REF="20"> the Company in &s;mooth and calm Language, Sir Knight, &s;aid he, we never &s;aw this Lady you talk of in our lives, but let us have a &s;ight of her, and then if &s;he be &s;uch a <HI>Phoenix</HI> as you &s;ay &s;he is, we &s;hall readily comply with your de&s;ires. What Obligation will that be, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> when you have &s;een her, to acknowledge a Truth &s;o vi&s;ible to your Eyes? 'Tis your Duty to believe, confe&s;s, avouch, to &s;wear, and maintain this cer|tain Truth, whether you &s;ee or no. And therefore make me this acknow|ledgment forthwith in due form, or el&s;e he challeng'd and defy'd 'em for Sons of Whores, and Lyars. For whether you come one by one, as the Laws of Chivalry require, or all at once, as it is the u&s;ual cu&s;tom of Raga|muffins and Ruffins, know I am ready &s;ingly to abide the Encounter in confidence of the Ju&s;tice on my &s;ide. Sir Knight, reply'd the Merchant, I be&s;eech ye in the name of all the <HI>Princes</HI> here pre&s;ent, that for the di&s;|charge of our Con&s;ciences, which will not permit us to &s;wear hand over|head to a thing &s;o prejudicial to all the Empre&s;&s;es, Queens, Dutche&s;&s;es, and Counte&s;&s;es in <HI>Europe,</HI> you will do us the kindne&s;s to let us but &s;ee the Portraiture of your Lady, tho it were no bigger then a Cherry-&s;tone; for by a &s;ingle thread we may judge of the whole Skean, and &s;o with peace and quiet of Con&s;cience be able to give you &s;atisfaction to your hearts con|tent. For to tell you truth, we find our &s;elves already &s;o enclin'd to favour your Mi&s;tre&s;s, that tho your Picture &s;hould repre&s;ent her blind with one Eye, and the other di&s;tilling Brim&s;tone and Quick-&s;ilver, yet we &s;hould be apt to be as partial in her favour, as ever <HI>Paris</HI> was to <HI>Venus.</HI> Di&s;till! ye damn'd Scoundrel, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> in a hideous rage, there's nothing di&s;tills from her but Civit and Amber; &s;he is neither blear-ey'd, nor cup|board-back'd, but as &s;traight as a Bulru&s;h; and therefore know, you &s;hall &s;everely pay for the Bla&s;phemies you have utter'd again&s;t Beauty's matchle&s;s Paragon. And &s;o &s;aying, with his Lance couch'd he ran with &s;o much fury at the &s;poke&s;-man Merchant, that had not <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> chanc'd to have flounder'd and fallen down in the mid&s;t of his Career, the audacious Mer|chant had paid dear for his fleering. But <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> fell, and &s;o threw his Ma&s;ter, who lay rolling and tumbling in the du&s;t, and u&s;ing all his skill and &s;trength to get upon his leggs again, but could not for his Guts, &s;o encumber'd was he with his Lance, his Spurs, his Target, and the weight of his ru&s;ty Harne&s;s. However, in this helple&s;s condition, he play'd the Hero with his Tongue, crying out, Hold, Scoundrels, hold&mdash;abide my Fury, white-liver'd Fugitives; &s;tay till I get up again, Da&s;tards, Cowards, and &s;uffer me to redeem my Honour lo&s;t, not by my own, but the misfortune of a damn'd &s;tumbling Jade.</P>
<P>Upon this, one of the Mule-drivers, who no doubt was none of tho&s;e that were endu'd with the mo&s;t Saint-like Patience, not enduring the Re|proaches and <HI>Bravado's</HI> of the wallowing Knight, adventur'd to wre&s;t his Lance out of his hand, and having broke it in two pieces, with the butt-end did &s;o be labour <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Ribs, that you would have thought he had been thre&s;hing a Wheat-&s;heaf. At length, the Merchants call'd to him, and bid him hold; but the fellow was &s;o pleas'd with his Exerci&s;e, that he could not forbear rib-roa&s;ting the poor Knight, till he had almo&s;t pounded him into green-&s;awce: For after he had broken one end of the Lance, he took the other, laying on without cea&s;ing, till he had &s;plinter'd both ends upon the di&s;grac'd Cavalier's Iron enclo&s;ure; who notwith&s;tanding all that &s;torm of Ba&s;tinadoes, lay all the while banning the Villains that had tak'n him at that advantage, and threatning Heaven and Earth for the injury he
<PB N="19" REF="20"> had receiv'd. But at la&s;t the Mule-driver &s;urcea&s;t, and the Merchants pur|&s;u'd their Journey, furni&s;h'd with matter for Di&s;cour&s;e and Mirth.</P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote,</HI> finding him&s;elf alone, made a new attempt to get upon his feet; but if he could not before, you may be &s;ure he was le&s;s able to ri&s;e of him&s;elf, when his Joints were almo&s;t di&s;located, and his Fle&s;h half bruis'd to a Gelly. Neverthele&s;s this was his comfort, that his misfortune was a mi&s;ery frequently incident to Knight-Errantry; and a farther con&s;o|lation it was, that this mi&s;chance had befall'n him not through his own want of Courage, but through the fault of his Hor&s;e.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="5" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. V.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">A farther continuation of the Knight<HI>'s</HI> Misfortunes.</HEAD>
<P>WHEN <HI>Don Quixote</HI> found that he had no way in the World to help him&s;elf up upon his Leggs, he had recour&s;e to his u&s;ual Remedy, which was to bethink him&s;elf what Stratagem he had read among his Au|thors. Nor had he &s;tudy'd long before his fruitful folly brought to his re|membrance the &s;tories of <HI>Balduin</HI> and the <HI>Marque&s;s</HI> of <HI>Mantua,</HI> when <HI>Char|lot</HI> left the former wounded in the Mountain. A &s;tory known both to old and young, and as true as the Miracles of <HI>Mahomet.</HI> This Romance &s;eem|ing to him as if made on purpo&s;e for the condition he was in, he fell a rol|ling and wallowing in the du&s;t like a man in de&s;pair, and with a langui&s;hing voice to breath out the &s;ame expre&s;&s;ions, which the &s;ame Author puts into the <HI>Knight of the Wood.</HI> <Q>Where art thou, faire&s;t Lady, that thou art &s;o little mov'd with my misfortunes? Either thou know'&s;t nothing of my Sufferings, or el&s;e thou art become fal&s;e and di&s;loyal.</Q></P>
<P>As he was thus going on, ju&s;t as he came to the&s;e words, <HI>O Noble Mar|que&s;s</HI> of <HI>Mantua, my &V;ncle,</HI> good luck &s;o order'd it, that a poor Labour|ing-man, that liv'd in his own Village, and not far from his own Hou&s;e, happen'd to pa&s;s by with a Sack of Meal which he had fetch'd from the Mill, who &s;eeing a thing in Humane &s;hape lying all along upon the ground, ask'd him who he was, and wherefore he made &s;uch a doleful Complaint? <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who fancy'd him&s;elf to be <HI>Balduin,</HI> and took the Labouring-man for the <HI>Marque&s;s</HI> of <HI>Mantua</HI> his Uncle, made him no An&s;wer, but continu'd repeating his Ver&s;es, and recounting all his Misfortunes, with the A|mours of his Wife with the Emperor's Son, word for word as they are &s;et down in the &s;tory. The Labouring-man a&s;toni&s;h'd to hear &s;uch a world of Romantic <HI>Gibri&s;h,</HI> lifted up the Vi&s;or of his Helmet, bruis'd and batter'd as it was by the Mule-driver's Mallets, and after he had wa&s;h'd the du&s;t off his face, pre&s;ently knowing who he was; Good God, Ma&s;ter <HI>Quixada,</HI> cry'd the Labourer, who was your Taylor, to make ye this Iron Suit? How came ye into this Condition? But do what he could for his life, the other would give him no other An&s;wer but what he went on repeating out of his Ro|mance. Which the poor man ob&s;erving, took off his Brea&s;t-plate and Cor&s;let, and &s;ell a &s;earching for his Wounds, but finding no &s;ign of any Blood, or any ga&s;hes in his Skin, with a great deal of trouble he got him upon his Leggs, and then heav'd him upon his A&s;s, as being the more ea&s;ie and gentle Carriage. And &s;o careful he was of the Knights Arms, that he pickt all the very &s;plinters of his Lance, and having bound them up toge|ther, fa&s;ten'd 'em to <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI>'s Saddle; and &s;o driving the A&s;s &s;oftly before
<PB N="20" REF="21"> him, and leading <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> by the Bridle in his Hand, he made toward the Village with a &s;low Pace, mu&s;ing with him&s;elf, yet not able to ap|prehend the Meaning of tho&s;e Extravagancies which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> utter'd all the Way. On the other &s;ide <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was no le&s;s afflicted; for he felt him&s;elf &s;o cru&s;h'd and mortify'd, that he could hardly &s;it the gentle Animal, that crept no fa&s;ter hardly then a Snail; and all along he breath'd forth &s;uch loud Sighs and Lamentations, that pierc'd the very Skies; &s;o that the compa&s;&s;ionate Labourer could not forbear once more to demand the Cau&s;e of his Grief. But as if the Devil him&s;elf had &s;till put him in mind of Stories accommodated to his Condition, he quitted that of <HI>Bal|duin,</HI> and call'd to mind the Hi&s;tory of the Moor <HI>Abyndaraxe,</HI> when <HI>Rodrigo</HI> of <HI>Narvaez,</HI> Governour of <HI>Antequera,</HI> took him, and carry'd him away Pri|&s;oner. So that when the poor labouring Man ask'd him a third Time the cau&s;e of his Sorrows, he an&s;wer'd Word for Word what the Pri&s;oner <HI>Aben|cerrage</HI> reply'd to <HI>Don Rodrigo</HI> in <HI>Diana</HI> of <HI>Monte Mayor,</HI> applying every Thing &s;o odly to him&s;elf, that the labouring Man curs'd him to the Pit of Hell for his Extravagancies; and thence at length concluding, that the poor Gentleman was become a meer Sot, he made all the ha&s;te he could to the Village to be rid of his Impertinences. For, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;till continuing the Se|ries of the Story, you mu&s;t know, <HI>Don Rodrigo de Narvaez,</HI> &s;aid he to the Labourer, that this beautiful Prince&s;s, of whom I have given ye an account, is at pre&s;ent the Incomparable <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o,</HI> for who&s;e &s;ake I have done, &s;till do, and will perform the mo&s;t famous Exploits of Chivalry that ever were known before, ever &s;een in our Days, or that future &s;ame &s;hall record. Alas! reply'd the poor labouring Man, as I am a Sinner to God, I am neither <HI>Rodrigo de Narvaez,</HI> nor the <HI>Marque&s;s of Mantua,</HI> but only poor <HI>Peter Alon&s;o,</HI> your hone&s;t Neighbour; nor are you either <HI>Balduin</HI> or <HI>Abyndaraxe,</HI> but a good hone&s;t Country-Gentleman of this Village, that ever &s;ince you came to your Means, have gone by the Name of Squire <HI>Quixada.</HI> I know who I am, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and I know, moreover, that I not only de&s;erve to be the &s;ame that I have nam'd, but the <HI>Twelve Peers of France</HI> likewi&s;e, and the <HI>Nine Worthies,</HI> all in one, &s;ince all their famous Exploits being added together, cannot equal my Atchievements.</P>
<P>In this, and &s;uch other Di&s;cour&s;es they &s;pent their Time, till they came to the Village, where they arriv'd toward the Evening. But the Labourer unwilling that the <HI>Squire</HI> &s;hould be &s;een &s;o ill mounted, &s;tay'd at a &s;mall di|&s;tance under a Hedge till 'twas Dark, and then led him home to his own Hou&s;e, where there was nothing but Confu&s;ion, by rea&s;on of the Ma&s;ter's Ab&s;ence, which made the labouring Man willing to tarry a while and li&s;ten. There at the &s;ame time were the Curate and the Barber, his u&s;ual Com|panions, with whom his Servant-maid, it &s;eems, was ju&s;t then di&s;cour&s;ing the Point. Lord ble&s;s me! quo &s;he, Mr. <HI>Doctor,</HI> what d' you think of this Misfortune that has befall'n my Ma&s;ter? 'Tis now &s;ix Days ago &s;ince we have &s;een either Him, or his Hor&s;e, and he mu&s;t have carry'd away his Lance and his Arms too; for we can find 'em no where about the Hou&s;e: It makes me almo&s;t at my Wits end. But as I was born to die, I'le be hang'd if tho&s;e cur&s;ed Books of Knight-Errantry have not been the Occa|&s;ion of all this. I remember, I have often heard him &s;ay, He intended to turn Knight-Errant, and wander about the World in Search of Adventures; the Devil and his Friend <HI>Barabbas</HI> take all tho&s;e confounded Volumes that have thus debauch'd the be&s;t Headpeice in <HI>Mancha.</HI></P>
<P>His Neice made the &s;ame loud Complaint to Mr. <HI>Nicholas</HI> the Barber: My Unkle, quo &s;he, was wont to read the&s;e devili&s;h Books for two Days
<PB N="21" REF="21"> and two Nights together; at the end of which he would lay a&s;ide his Book, and fall a Fencing again&s;t the Walls like a meer Bedlamite; and when he had &s;ufficiently hac'kd and hew'd the Po&s;ts and Doors, he would cry, He had &s;lain four Giants as big as Steeples; and then he fancy'd the Sweat, occa&s;ion'd by the violent Motion of his Body, to be the Blood of his Wounds, which he had receiv'd in the Combate; then drinking a large Gla&s;s of cold Water, which he dream't to be a &s;ort of precious Liquor &s;ent him by the Sorcerer <HI>E&s;quife,</HI> he conceited him&s;elf whole and &s;ound again. Now I dur&s;t not &s;peak a Word of this, for fear the World &s;hould think my Uncle di&s;tracted; &s;o that indeed I am the wretched Cau&s;e of all his Misfortunes, for not giving notice of his Follies in time, that &s;o proper Remedies might have been apply'd, er'e 'twas too late, and all the&s;e ex|communicated Authors might have been burnt for <HI>Hereticks.</HI> May I be broil'd for a Martyr, reply'd the Curate, if they be not all condemn'd and executed before to morrow Night. They have lo&s;t me one of my be&s;t Friends, but be&s;hrew my Heart, they &s;hall never do any more Mi&s;chief. All which Di&s;cour&s;e, when the li&s;tn'ing Labouring Man had heard, no longer doubting the Truth of what he &s;u&s;pected before; Hou&s;e there, cry'd he, as loud as he could yaul, open the Gates there for the <HI>Marque&s;s</HI> of <HI>Man|tua,</HI> and the Lord <HI>Balduin,</HI> who is return'd home very dangerou&s;ly wounded, as al&s;o for the valiant <HI>Rodrigo de Narvaez,</HI> Governour of <HI>Antiquera,</HI> who brings along with him the Moor <HI>Abyndaraxe,</HI> Pri&s;oner. At which Words they open'd the Gate; at what time the Curate and the Barber knowing their Intimate Friend, the Neice her Uncle, the Servant her good Ma&s;ter; they all ran to embrace, and welcome him home. To whom <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> Forbear, &s;aid he, with a faint Voice, I am &s;ore wounded by rea&s;on my Hor&s;e fail'd me, therefore let me be gently carry'd to Bed; and if it be po&s;|&s;ible let the Enchantre&s;s <HI>&V;rganda</HI> be &s;ent for to cure my Wounds. Now, as I hope to be &s;av'd, cry'd the Servant-maid, did not I gue&s;s right, when I told ye my Ma&s;ter's Di&s;ea&s;e? But get him to Bed, and let that <HI>Gyp&s;ie</HI> go to the Devil, we'll cure him, my Life for yours, without Enchantments. Millions of Cankers con&s;ume tho&s;e cur&s;ed Legends that brought him to this Condition. Thereupon they carry'd the crazie Gentleman up to his Bed, and &s;earch'd for his Wounds, but could find none. No, no, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I am not wounded, but only bruis'd by the Fall of my Hor&s;e, while I was fighting again&s;t ten Giants, the va&s;te&s;t in Bulk, and mo&s;t couragious that ever were in the World. Hoy-da&mdash; quo the Curate, What, Giants too i'the Con&s;piracy! By my Sanctity, there &s;hall not one remain in Being by to morrow Night. This done, they put a thou&s;and Que&s;tions to <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> but he was not to be Catechiz'd, only he bid 'em let him have &s;omething to eat, and then leave him to his Re&s;t, as being that of which he &s;tood mo&s;t in need.</P>
<P>Thus while the Knight was left to enjoy him&s;elf, and the Plea&s;ure of his own <HI>Chimera</HI>'s, the Curate inform'd his Curio&s;ity at large, in what Con|dition the <HI>Labouring Man</HI> had found him; who fail'd not to give a punctu|al Account of the Particulars &s;o far as he knew, as al&s;o of all the Fop|peries which he utter'd upon the Way; which confirm'd the Curate to proceed in his De&s;ign the next Day; to which Purpo&s;e he appointed to meet the Barber at <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Hou&s;e.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="6" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="22" REF="22">
<HEAD>CHAP. VI.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Of the delightful and diligent Survey which the Curate and the Barber took of the Squire<HI>'s</HI> Library.</HEAD>
<P>THE Squire quite weary, &s;ore, and tir'd, was now taking a &s;weet Nap, when the Curate and the Barber came to his Hou&s;e, and de|&s;ir'd the Key of his Study-door, which was readily deliver'd. So &s;oon as the Door was open, they all went in, Servant-maid and all; and there they found about a hundred large Folio's, together with &s;everal Quarto's and Octavo's very well bound, and exactly methodiz'd. Pre&s;ently the Maid ran out, and returning in Po&s;t-ha&s;te again, brought a Ba&s;on of Holy-water, de&s;iring the Curate to &s;prinkle the Study, for fear lea&s;t &s;ome one of tho&s;e Sorcerers, of which the Books were full, &s;hould come and enchant both him and the Barber, for going about to &s;end 'em out of the World. But the Curate, not &s;o &s;uper&s;titious, de&s;ir'd the Barber to take down the Vo|lumes one by one, to &s;ee what &s;ort of Puni&s;hment they de&s;erv'd, for that they might not all de&s;erve alike. No, no, cry'd the Neice, never &s;pare any, for they are all alike guilty of my Unkle's Ruine; and therefore let us throw 'em all out at Window, and make a Bone-fire of 'em all to|gether in the Court-yard: And this was the Opinion of the Maid al&s;o; &s;o highly were they re&s;olv'd upon the De&s;truction of tho&s;e poor Innocent Volumes. But the Curate having more mind to read the &s;everal Titles, determin'd to proceed his own Way.</P>
<P>So then, the fir&s;t Book that Mr. <HI>Nicholas</HI> pull'd down, was <HI>Amadis de Gaule,</HI> in four Volumes. Oh, ho! cry'd the Curate, there is &s;ome My&s;tery in this, that this Book comes fir&s;t of all: For I have heard, that this was the fir&s;t Book of <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI> that ever was printed in <HI>Spain,</HI> and that it has &s;erv'd as a Model for all the re&s;t. And therefore my Advice is, That it be condemn'd to the Fire, without Mercy, as the Author and Upholder of a mo&s;t pernicious Sect. I beg his Reprieve, cry'd the Barber, for that I have heard &s;everal under&s;tanding People aver, That it is the be&s;t Story that we have, of its kind; and therefore as the only Thing that's good, belonging to the Profe&s;&s;ion, it may de&s;erve a Pardon. Well then, &s;aid the Curate, for this time we'll &s;pare <HI>Amadis</HI>&mdash; Go to the next. The&s;e are the Atchievements of <HI>E&s;plandian,</HI> the lawful begotten Son of <HI>Amadis de Gaule.</HI> What then, quo the Curate, he had never half the Wit or Courage of his Father&mdash; Here, Mi&s;tre&s;s Governe&s;s, open the Window, and throw it into the Yard, 'twill &s;erve as a good Foundation for the Pile we intend to rear. Nor was the Maid flack to obey his Order, and &s;o <HI>Don E&s;plandian</HI> was &s;ent headlong into the Court, till his Executioners were at lea&s;ure.</P>
<P>What's the next, cry'd the Curate? This, reply'd the Barber, is <HI>Ama|dis</HI> of <HI>Greece;</HI> and I am apt to believe, that all that &s;tand a'this &s;ide are of the &s;ame Family. Then let 'em all be &s;ent packing into the Court, cry'd the Curate: For rather then &s;pare from the Fire Queen <HI>Quintiquine&s;tra,</HI> and the Shepherd <HI>Darinel,</HI> with his Eclogues, and the Diabolical Di&s;|cour&s;es of the Author; I think I &s;hould burn my own Father alive, if I met him in the Di&s;gui&s;e of a <HI>Knight-Errant.</HI> I am of the &s;ame Opinion, quo the Barber, and I by my Troth, quo the Niece. If it be &s;o, quo the Maid, let 'em e'en go all together for Company; and &s;o to &s;ave the Labour of travelling up and down Stairs, &s;he &s;ent 'em flying out at Window, to the clearing of a whole Shelf or two.</P>
<PB N="23" REF="22">
<P>What Bundle of Paper is that, quo the Curate? Tis is <HI>Don Olivantes de Laura,</HI> reply'd Mr. <HI>Nicholas.</HI> The &s;ame Author, quo the Curate, if I mi|&s;take not, wrote the <HI>Garden of Flowers;</HI> and I know not which is the mo&s;t ra&s;cally lying Book of the two. But this I know for certain, that he &s;hall march into the Court for a Non&s;en&s;ical arrogant Whelp as he is.</P>
<P>The next, cry'd the Barber, is <HI>Flori&s;mart</HI> of <HI>Hyrcania.</HI> How! Mon&s;ieur <HI>Flori&s;mart,</HI> is he there, reply'd the Curate? Nay then, &s;ince we have caught him, he &s;hall down y' faith into the Court, maugre his wonderful Birth, and prodigious Adventure; for the Flatne&s;s and in&s;ipidne&s;s of his Stile de|&s;erve no better U&s;age.</P>
<P>Here's the <HI>Cavaleir Platir</HI> continu'd, cry'd the Barber. Hang him, quo the Curate, for a letcherous old Goat, there's nothing in him that de&s;erves a Grain of Pity. Out with him, Mi&s;tre&s;s Governe&s;s, without any more ado.</P>
<P>The next that was open'd, was the <HI>Knight of the Cro&s;s.</HI> Why truly, quo the Curate, one would think that he might de&s;erve &s;ome Favour, for the &s;ake of his <HI>Holy Title,</HI> &s;ufficient to cover many Imperfections. But what &s;aies the Proverb; <HI>The Devil lurks behind the Cro&s;s:</HI> let him go to Perdition.</P>
<P>Then the Barber fetching down the next Volume, Here, &s;aid he, is the <HI>Mirrour of Knighthood.</HI> Oh, I have the Honour to know him, cry'd the Curate; there you &s;hall find the Lord <HI>Rieynald of Montauban,</HI> with all his Crew, a Parcel of Rake-Hell and Skim-the-Divel, the Twelve <HI>Peers of France,</HI> and that faithful Hi&s;torian, <HI>Arch-bi&s;hop Turpin.</HI> However, I think fit to condemn the&s;e Gentlemen only to Perpetual Exile, becau&s;e their Story contains &s;omething of the Famous <HI>Boyardo</HI>'s Invention; from whence that Chri&s;tian Poet, <HI>Ario&s;to</HI> borrow'd &s;everal of his Fancies: whom indeed, I would u&s;e with as little Re&s;pect, if I &s;hould meet him prating in any other Language then his own, as high a Value as I have for him in his Native Idiome. Why, I have him at home in <HI>Italian,</HI> quo the Barber, but I cannot under&s;tand him. So much the better, reply'd the Curate, 'tis not a Farthing matter; and we &s;hould have been highly oblig'd to the <HI>Captain</HI> that tran&s;lated it into <HI>Spani&s;h,</HI> had he &s;par'd him&s;elf that Trouble; for, to &s;ay Truth, he has done his Author a filthy deal of wrong; a Mis|fortune that happ'ns to all Tran&s;lators of Ver&s;e, who can never retain the natural Graces of the Original Language, let their Wit and Indu&s;try be never &s;o great. And therefore, as for him, and all others that undertake to write of the Affairs of <HI>France;</HI> 'tis my Opinion, that we ought to pre|&s;erve 'em in &s;ome &s;ecure and dry Place, till we can be at lei&s;ure to con&s;ider how to di&s;po&s;e of 'em; except it be <HI>Bernardo del Carpio,</HI> and one more call'd <HI>Roncivalles,</HI> with whom if ever I meet, I will certainly deliver 'em up into the Hands of the Secular Power. To all which the Barber readily &s;ubmit|ted, as one that pinn'd his Faith upon the Curate's Sleeve, well-knowing him to be a good <HI>Chri&s;tian,</HI> and a Friend of Truth.</P>
<P>Thereupon, opening the next Volume, they found it to be <HI>Palmerin de Oliva,</HI> and the next to that, <HI>Palmerin of England.</HI> Are ye there, quo the Curate, let that <HI>Palmerin de Oliva</HI> be fir&s;t torn to flitters, then burnt, and la&s;tly let his A&s;hes be &s;trew'd i'the Air, for the Wind to carry where they may be never &s;een more. But for <HI>Palmerin of England,</HI> let him be pre&s;erv'd as a Relique of Antiquity; and let us put him in a Box as co&s;tly as that which <HI>Alexander</HI> found among the Spoils of <HI>Darius,</HI> which he con&s;ecrated to <HI>Ho|mer</HI>'s Works. That Book, Neighbour, is to be valu'd for two things. Fir&s;t, for its own Excellency; and &s;econdly, becau&s;e it is &s;aid to have been written by a learned King of <HI>Portugal.</HI> All the Adventures of the Ca&s;tle of <HI>Mi|raguarda</HI> are well and neatly fancy'd, the Stile is ea&s;ie and pure; be&s;ide that, the Author has taken great care to ob&s;erve a <HI>Decorum</HI> in all, and to be ex|act
<PB N="24" REF="23"> in his Characters. And therefore Mr. <HI>Nicholas,</HI> with Submi&s;&s;ion to your better Advice, both he, and <HI>Amadis de Gaul</HI> &s;hall be exempted from the Fire; but for all the re&s;t, Long-tail and Bob-tail, without any farther &s;earch, let 'em all go to the Stake. Not &s;o furious, good Neighbour, re|ply'd the Barber, for this Book here in my Hand, is the famous <HI>Don Belia|nis.</HI> He, quo the Curate with his two, three, and four Parts, had need of a good Do&s;e of <HI>Rheubarb</HI> to purge off that dreadful Ma&s;s of Choler that continually inflames his Blood; be&s;ides, his <HI>Ca&s;tle of Fame,</HI> &s;hould be ut|terly demoli&s;h'd, and &s;everal other Impertinences par'd away; which done, we &s;hould be willing to &s;hew him Mercy, or expo&s;e him to Ju&s;tice, as we approv'd or di&s;approv'd the Emendations made. Till then, Neighbour, pray keep him at home in your own Clo&s;et, and be &s;ure to let no body read him. I like your Admonitions very well, quo the Barber, and to &s;ave him the trouble of reading any more <HI>Titles,</HI> he bid the Maid take all the great Volumes and throw 'em into the Court. She that would have burnt all the <HI>Romances</HI> in the World for a new Smock, had no need of be|ing twice &s;poken to, &s;o that &s;he &s;ent eight large Folio's pre&s;ently to their <HI>long Home.</HI> But the next Book, heaving more then &s;he could well lift, &s;he let fall at the Barber's Feet, who being curious to &s;ee what it was, found it to be the <HI>Hi&s;tory</HI> of the famous <HI>White Tyrant.</HI> Cuds-niggers-dag|gers, quo the Curate, what ha' ye got <HI>Mon&s;ieur</HI> the <HI>White Tyrant</HI> too? Let me &s;ee him pray, Mr. <HI>Nicholas;</HI> this is a Trea&s;ure that you have found; this is an Antidote again&s;t Melancholy. Here we &s;hall find the Valiant Knight, <HI>Don Kyrie Ely&s;on</HI> of <HI>Montalban,</HI> and <HI>Thomas</HI> of <HI>Montalban</HI> his Bro|ther, with the Knight <HI>Fon&s;eca;</HI> the Combate of the valiant <HI>Detriante</HI> with the <HI>Ma&s;tiff;</HI> the Stratagems of the Lady <HI>Plea&s;ure-of-my-life;</HI> the Amours and Wiles of the Lady <HI>Tranquilla,</HI> and the Empre&s;s in love with her Page. The Devil take me now, Neighbour, if I lye, this is one of the be&s;t Books in the World, for the Stile, and the mo&s;t natural. Here the Knights eat, and &s;leep, and die i'their Beds, and make their Wills before they expire; with &s;everal other things both profitable and nece&s;&s;ary, of which other Books never &s;peak a Word. Yet for all that, I have a good mind to &s;end the Author to &s;pend the re&s;t of his days i' the Gallies for poi&s;oning the World with &s;o many curs'd Ab&s;urdities, as it were, knowingly, and of his Malice fore-thought. Carry him home therefore, Neighbour, and read him, and then you will find, that all that I &s;ay is true. I make no que&s;tion of it, cry'd the Barber; but what &s;hall we do with all the&s;e le&s;&s;er Books that remain behind? Certainly, reply'd the Curate, the&s;e can never be Books of Chivalry, they are too &s;mall. Here are none but Poets, and men of <HI>Madrigals,</HI> I'le warrant ye. And &s;o it fell out; for the fir&s;t they open'd, happen'd to be <HI>Diana de Monte Mayor.</HI> I thought &s;o, quo the Curate; but for the&s;e, believing all the re&s;t to be of the &s;ame Stamp, they cannot be thought to de&s;erve the Puni&s;hment of a <HI>Woman-Coiner;</HI> for they cau&s;e not that Di&s;order in the World, which Books of <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI> are guilty of; nor are the Maggots which they engender, half &s;o corroding and pre|judicial to the Brain. O good Mr. Curate, cry'd the Neice, let 'em e'en &s;uffer with the re&s;t; for &s;hould my Uncle be cur'd of his <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> Frenzy, and once betake him&s;elf to reading the&s;e Books, we &s;hould have him turn Shepherd, and then we &s;hould never keep him from roving and rambling over all the Groves, Meadows, and Plains o'the Kingdom with his Croud and his Flageolet, and which is wor&s;e, perhaps we &s;hould have him turn Poet too; for they &s;ay, that Poetry is one of the mo&s;t infectious Di&s;ea&s;es i'the World, and the mo&s;t incurable. The Lady &s;peaks Rea&s;on,
<PB N="25" REF="23"> quo the Curate; 'twill do very well to remove this Stumbling-block out of our Friends way. And to that end let us begin with <HI>Diana de Monte Mayor;</HI> yet I do not think it fit to throw him into the Fire, but only to geld him; for indeed all that he talks about the Witch <HI>Felicia,</HI> and the enchanted Water, with the greate&s;t part of his Ver&s;es, is too luxuriant and rampant; after which Ca&s;tration, we may permit his <HI>Eunuch-&s;hip</HI> the Honour of be|ing the fir&s;t that wrote in Pro&s;e of that nature.</P>
<P>Cuds-fi&s;h, quo the Barber, here is another <HI>Diana</HI> call'd the <HI>&s;econd,</HI> com|pil'd by one of <HI>Salamanca;</HI> Hey-day! and a third, written by one <HI>Giles Pole.</HI> Let that of <HI>Salamanca,</HI> quo the Curate, encrea&s;e the number of the Dead; but pre&s;erve that of <HI>Giles Pole,</HI> as charily as if <HI>Apollo</HI> him&s;elf had wrote it. Now go on, Neighbour, for it grows late. Nouns, quo the Barber, here are no le&s;s then <HI>Ten Books</HI> of the <HI>Fortune</HI> of <HI>Love,</HI> compos'd by <HI>Anthony Lefra&s;o,</HI> a <HI>Sardinian Poet.</HI> By my Holy Orders, quo the Curate, &s;ince <HI>Apollo</HI> was <HI>Apollo,</HI> and the Mu&s;es were the Mu&s;es, or that ever Poets were in the World, there was never, in its kind, a more plea&s;ant and wit|ty Book written; he that never read this Book, never read any thing that was delightful. Give it me, Neighbour, I had rather have it then a <HI>Gown</HI> and <HI>Ca&s;&s;ock</HI> of the be&s;t <HI>Florence</HI> Silk in <HI>Tu&s;cany.</HI> The&s;e that follow are the Shepherd of <HI>Iberia,</HI> the <HI>Nymphs of Enares,</HI> the <HI>Cure of Jealou&s;ie.</HI> Take 'em Jaylor, quo the Curate, as they come together, let 'em go together&mdash; and never ask why, Neighbour, for then we &s;hall ne're ha' done. Here's another Shepherd, quo the Barber, call'd the <HI>Shepherd of Filida.</HI> He was no Shepherd, cry'd the Curate, but a compleat Courtier, keep him as the Apple of thine Eye. Ble&s;s me, quo the Barber, we &s;hall ne're be poor now, here's the Ware-hou&s;e it &s;elf, or the <HI>Trea&s;ury of Poetry.</HI> Ay, quo the Curate, 'tis a Ware-hou&s;e indeed, but like a <HI>Co&s;termongers,</HI> there are a World of rotten Pippins among the &s;ound; were they le&s;s, they would be of more value: Keep it however, becau&s;e the Author is my Friend, and for the &s;ake of &s;ome few &s;oaring Fancies of his that are extant. Here's a <HI>Book of Sonnets</HI> and <HI>Madrigals,</HI> quo the Barber, by <HI>Lopez Maldonado.</HI> That's my particular Friend, reply'd the Curate. Men admire his Ver&s;es when he reads 'em him&s;elf, and &s;uch is the Sweetne&s;s of his Voice, that when he &s;ings 'em, he makes all the World dance after his Pipe. He is a little too tedious in his Eclogues; pre&s;erve him however from Tribulation. But how d' ye call the next? This is <HI>Michel Servantes</HI>'s <HI>Galatea,</HI> reply'd Mr. <HI>Nicholas.</HI> He is one of my old Acquaintance, quo the Curate; but a Per&s;on more remarkable for his Misfortunes, then his Poetry. Something there is of Conceit and Invention in his Book; a great Cry, and a little Wool; for he promi&s;es much, performs little. We mu&s;t &s;tay for his Second Part, of which he a&s;&s;ure us; perhaps in that, he may make amends for his former Errors. Set him a&s;ide therefore, and let us &s;ee who are they that &s;tand there all a|row? Why, here is th' <HI>Araucana</HI> of <HI>Don Alonzo d' Hercilla;</HI> th' <HI>Au&s;triada</HI> of <HI>John Ruffo,</HI> one of the Common-Council-men of <HI>Cerdova,</HI> and the <HI>Mon|ferrat</HI> of <HI>Chri&s;topher de Verves,</HI> a Poet of <HI>Valencia.</HI> Tho&s;e, quo the Curate, are the be&s;t Heroick Ver&s;es that ever were compos'd in <HI>Spani&s;h,</HI> and may compare with the choice&s;t of the <HI>Italians.</HI> Pre&s;erve 'em therefore charily, as precious Monuments of the Excellency of our Poets.</P>
<P>At length the Curate, weary of looking over &s;o many Authors, conclud|ed to throw all the re&s;t into his Bone-fire, without farther Examination. But the Barber &s;hewing him one more that was already open'd, and entitl'd, the <HI>Tears of Angelica:</HI> Truly, quo the Par&s;on, I &s;hould have wept my &s;elf, had this Book mi&s;carry'd, by my Order; for the Author was not only one
<PB N="26" REF="24"> of the be&s;t Poets of <HI>Spain,</HI> but in the whole World; and has been parti|cularly &s;ucce&s;sful in his Tran&s;lation of &s;everal of <HI>Ovid</HI>'s Fables.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="7" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. VII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Of <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s &s;econd departure from his Hou&s;e.</HEAD>
<P>VVHile they were thus employ'd, they heard <HI>Don Quixote</HI> making a mo&s;t horrid noi&s;e, and crying out in his Bed, <Q>Here, here, Vali|ant Knights; Here it is that you ought to &s;hew the &s;trength and vigour of your Arms, and not to let the Courtiers carry away the Honour of the Tournament.</Q> This hideous out-cry call'd away the Inqui&s;itors from any farther examination of the Study; &s;o 'tis very probable, that the re&s;t of the Library being left to the mercy of the <HI>Maid</HI> and the <HI>Niece,</HI> they made havock of all, without minding due forms of Law. And thus 'tis thought that <HI>La Carolea, Leo of Spain,</HI> and the <HI>Acts of the Emperor,</HI> Compos'd by <HI>Don Lewis D' Alvala,</HI> which could not choo&s;e but be in the &s;ame Catalogue, were all Sacrific'd to the Flames of <HI>Purgatory.</HI> A Fate, perhaps, which they might have avoided, had the Curate been there to have heard their Ju&s;tifications.</P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> was ju&s;t up, when his <HI>Library-Condemners</HI> came into the Chamber, where they found him making a heavy bu&s;tle, tearing his Throat, full of Anger, quarrelling with the Air, and laying on upon the Walls back-&s;troke and fore-&s;troke; thereupon they altogether lay'd hold of him, and having di&s;arm'd him, put him to bed; where after he had repos'd a while, and recover'd his &s;trength, turning to that &s;ide where the <HI>Curate</HI> &s;ate, <Q>My good Lord Arch-Bi&s;hop <HI>Turpin,</HI> &s;aid he, 'tis the greate&s;t piece of &s;hame in the World, that the twelve <HI>Peers</HI> &s;hould &s;o ba&s;ely let the Courtiers go away with the Honour of the <HI>Tournament,</HI> after we the Knights Adventurers had carry'd it for three days together before.</Q> Patience is a Vertue, an't like your Wor&s;hip, reply'd the Curate: Fortune is fickle, and they that lo&s;e to day, may win to morrow. Therefore pray Sir, mind your Health at pre&s;ent; for of nece&s;&s;ity you mu&s;t be extreamly tyr'd, if not very much wounded. <Q>As for my being wounded, an&s;wer'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> there's no &s;uch thing; but that I am bruis'd and mortify'd 'tis very true: For when I was down, <HI>Rowland</HI> the <HI>Ba&s;tard</HI> fell a thra&s;h|ing my bones with a huge Ok'n Plant, out of meer &s;pleen, becau&s;e I pre|tended to be more Valiant then He. But I will renounce the Name of <HI>Rinaldo</HI> of <HI>Montalban,</HI> if, maugre all his Enchantments, I do not quit &s;cores with Him, &s;o &s;oon as I get well. And therefore let 'em bring me my Sup|per, 'tis that which I have mo&s;t need of at pre&s;ent, and then let me alone to my Revenge.</Q> Accordingly they brought him &s;ome Victuals, which when he had eat'n, he fell a&s;leep again, at what time they left him to his &s;lumbers, partly wondring, partly &s;miling at his Follies. The &s;ame Night the Female Executioner burnt all the Books &s;he could find in the Hou&s;e; and 'tis a hundred to one but that &s;everal &s;uffer'd in the General Calamity that de&s;erv'd a better Fate, according to the Proverb, <HI>That many times the Innocent peri&s;h with the Guilty.</HI></P>
<P>Among the re&s;t of the Cures, which the <HI>Curate</HI> and <HI>Barber</HI> had found out, as mo&s;t proper for their Friends Di&s;temper, one was to &s;top up the Study-door, &s;o that he might not be able to find it when he ro&s;e, hoping that the
<PB N="27" REF="24"> Effect would cea&s;e, when the Cau&s;e was taken away; and that if he en|quir'd for the Key, they &s;hould tell him that a certain <HI>Enchanter</HI> had carry'd away Study, Books and all. Two days after, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> being got up, the fir&s;t thing he did was to go vi&s;it his Books, but not finding the Study where he had left 'em, he &s;ought about in every Room of the Hou&s;e for the door. At length, perceiving all his labour in vain, he ask'd the Maid-Servant where his Study of Books &s;tood? What Study, Sir, reply'd the Maid, according to her In&s;tructions? Here's neither Study nor Books, nor &s;o much as a piece of Paper i' this Hou&s;e, for the Devil has carry'd all away. Not the Devil, cry'd the Niece, but &s;omething, or &s;ome body ten times wor&s;e, the Lord deliver me. For about a day or two after you were gone, in the Night time there came a Sorcerer as they call 'em, mounted upon a Dragon, and wrapt up in a Cloud in&s;tead of a Leaguer Cloak; who as &s;oon as he came to the Door, alighting from the Dragon's back, enter'd the Hou&s;e, went up to the Study, and what he did there, the Lord of <HI>Oxford</HI> knows: But there he &s;tay'd a while, and when he went away, he left &s;uch a &s;moak and &s;tench behind him, that we were almo&s;t choak'd. At length, we went to &s;ee what he had done; but looking for the Study, we could neither find Books nor Study, nor any &s;ign of a Study that had been there. Only the Maid and I remember (and 'twas as much as we could do, being half &s;car'd out of our Wits) that as he was going away, the cur&s;ed old Mi&s;creant cry'd out with a loud voice, <HI>I think I have plagu'd the owner of the&s;e Books for drubbing the Gyant my Friend.</HI> And then I think he call'd him&s;elf by the Name of <HI>Munnaton. Whe&s;ton</HI> you mean, an&s;wer'd <HI>Don Quixote.</HI> Ay, Ay, <HI>Whe&s;ton,</HI> or <HI>Whi&s;ton,</HI> cry'd the Maid, I am &s;ure his Name ended in <HI>Ton.</HI> 'Tis very true, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> he is a very famous Necromancer, and my Mortal Enemy; for he under&s;tands by his Art, that I am one day, in de|&s;pight of all his Magick, to vanqui&s;h in &s;ingle Combat, a young Knight, whom he loves and protects, and therefore he works me all the mi&s;chief he can. But let him know, he does but fool him&s;elf, and that there's no avoiding what the Fates have ordain'd. There's no que&s;tion to be made on't, reply'd his Neice: But dear Uncle, &s;aid &s;he, why do you thus engage your &s;elf in all the&s;e Quarrels and Combats? Would it not be much better for you to live quiet at home, enjoy your E&s;tate, and take the plea&s;ure of Hunting, then to perplex and weary your &s;elf with roving and rambling about the World like a Vagabond; and &s;eeking for better Bread then is made of Wheat, not con&s;idering, that there's &s;ome People who gad a great way for Wool, that return home without Hair. Oh my dear Neice, an|&s;wer'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> thou art much mi&s;tak'n; for before I'le be &s;horn by any Man, I'le tear his Beard from the Chin of the proude&s;t <HI>He</HI> that dares but to look upon the Curles of one of my Locks. To which his Neice made no reply, perceiving the Knight begin to be in wrath.</P>
<P>Fifteen whole days did our Hero remain at home to repair his batter'd Carka&s;s, without the lea&s;t &s;ign of any Reformation; during which time, the Curate and the Barber had the mo&s;t plea&s;ant di&s;putes in the World with him, while he maintain'd that there was nothing &s;o beneficial to Mankind as <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> to which end he was re&s;olv'd to re-e&s;tabli&s;h the Order. In which di&s;putes the <HI>Curate</HI> &s;ometimes contradicted him, &s;ometimes &s;ub|mitted; for had he not us'd that Policy, he might have been thra&s;h'd for a Necromancer.</P>
<P>In the mean time, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> very privately, but very earne&s;tly made it his bu&s;ine&s;s every day to &s;olicite one of his Neighbours, a Labouring-man, and a good hone&s;t Fellow, if we may be permitted to call a poor man ho|ne&s;t:
<PB N="28" REF="25"> for he was poor indeed; poor in Pur&s;e, and poor in Brains: Which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> con&s;idering, be&s;tow'd all his Rhetoric upon him, told him out &s;o many thou&s;ands of Promi&s;es, and gave him &s;o many fair Arguments, that at length he prevail'd with him to become his Squire. Among other motives this was one, that his pro&s;pect of Gain was great, but his Lo&s;s could be nothing: For that in Knight-Errantry there were oft-times tho&s;e lucky hits, that in the time that a man may be taking up two &s;traws, the Knight might take an I&s;land; and it might be his luck to make him Go|vernour of a whole Country. Thus <HI>Sancha Pancha</HI> (for that was the Name of the Labouring-man) vanqui&s;h'd by the&s;e invincible Rea&s;ons, for&s;ook his Wife and Children to follow his Neighbour in the quality of a <HI>Squire,</HI> or <HI>Shield-Porter.</HI></P>
<P>And now <HI>Don Quixote</HI> a&s;&s;ur'd of &s;uch a nece&s;&s;ary Appurtenance, made it his bu&s;ine&s;s to furni&s;h him&s;elf with Money: To which purpo&s;e, putting here to Sale, Mortgaging there, and all the while &s;elling <HI>Robin Hood</HI>'s Pennoth's, he got a good round Sum together. After that, he borrow'd another Target of one of his Neighbours, and having repair'd his Head-piece and Vi&s;or the be&s;t he could, he gave notice to his Squire of the day and hour that he intended to depart, to the end he might furni&s;h him&s;elf with all things nece&s;&s;ary; more e&s;pecially he bid him be careful not to for|get a Wallet. <HI>Sancha</HI> promis'd all Obedience, and moreover &s;ignify'd his de&s;ire to take his A&s;s along with him, which was &s;trong and in good ca&s;e. The mentioning of the A&s;s put <HI>Don Quixote</HI> into a brown &s;tudy for a time, being in a great Quandary whether it were lawful for him to permit his Squire that Priviledge; not being able to call to mind that of all the Knights which he had read, ever any one carry'd along with him a Squire mounted upon an A&s;s. However at la&s;t he re&s;olv'd to give <HI>Pancha</HI> his liberty, hoping in time to mount him more honourably, the fir&s;t unmannerly Knight that he &s;hould happ'n to unhor&s;e. He al&s;o furni&s;h'd him&s;elf with Shirts, and other Nece&s;&s;aries, according to the Inn-keepers In&s;tructions. Which being done with all the &s;ecrecy imaginable, <HI>Sancha,</HI> without &s;o much as ki&s;&s;ing his Wife, or bidding his Children <HI>God-buy;</HI> and <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> leaving both his Maid and his Niece fa&s;t a&s;leep, &s;tole out of the Hou&s;e one Night, and having got the Village upon their backs, they made &s;uch ha&s;t, that by break of day they were quite out of the danger of being pur&s;u'd. As for <HI>Sancha Pancha,</HI> he rode like a Patriarch, with his Wallet and his Bottle, and with a &s;trange impatience to &s;ee him&s;elf Governour of the I&s;land which his Ma|&s;ter had promis'd him.</P>
<P>They took the &s;ame Road which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> had done the time before, that is to &s;ay, over the Plains of <HI>Montiel,</HI> through which they travell'd with le&s;s annoyance, then when <HI>Don Quixote</HI> rode alone, by rea&s;on it was very early in the Morning, at what time a brisk breeze of Wind cool'd the fre&s;h Air. And all this while they had not &s;pok'n a word one to another; but <HI>Sancha Pancha,</HI> who&s;e Tongue was never wont to lie &s;till &s;o long, at length breaking &s;ilence, <Q>Sir Knight-Errant, quo he to his Ma&s;ter, pray do not you forget the I&s;land which you have promis'd me. Heark ye me, Friend <HI>Sancha,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> you mu&s;t know that in all Ages, this has been the con&s;tant practice of Knight-Errants, to give their Squires the Government of tho&s;e I&s;lands and Kingdoms which they conquer; which laudable Cu&s;tom I am re&s;olv'd to keep up to that degree, that whereas other Knights never rewarded their Squires, till they were grown old, and incapable of &s;tarving by Day, and watching a Nights, and then gave 'em only &s;ome little Province or other, with the Title of Count or Marque&s;s:
<PB N="29" REF="25"> For my part, &s;hould it be my hap, before we have liv'd &s;ix days together, to gain an Empire, to which many other Kingdoms were &s;ubject, I would cau&s;e thee to be Crown'd King of one of tho&s;e Kingdoms. Nor do thou think this to be a &s;trange thing: For &s;uch good Fortune oft-times befals a Knight-Errant, and that by ways and means &s;o un-fore&s;een and unexpected, that I may chance to give thee much more then I promis'd.</Q> If this &s;hould come to pa&s;s, reply'd <HI>Sancha Pancha,</HI> a&s;&s;uredly my Wife <HI>Joan Guthridge</HI> will be a Queen, and all my Children <HI>Infanta's</HI> and <HI>Dolphins.</HI> There's no doubt on't, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote.</HI> I do a little que&s;tion it, an&s;wer'd <HI>Sancha;</HI> for I am per&s;waded, if it &s;hould rain Crowns, we &s;hould hardly meet with one that would fit my Wives Head: For to tell ye truth, Sir, &s;he's no more fit to make a Queen, then a pickl'd Herring; I believe &s;he would prove a better Counte&s;s, and yet, &s;o God help me, if &s;he be able to manage that Place well, I believe 'tis as much as &s;he can do. Leave that to <HI>God a' mighty,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> he will give thee what is mo&s;t convenient for thee; and therefore pluck up a good Heart, and &s;corn to content thy &s;elf with le&s;s then a Vice-Roy-&s;hip, or an Earldom at lea&s;t. No more I will, reply'd <HI>Don Sancha;</HI> e&s;pecially &s;ince I have &s;o good and &s;o di&s;creet a Ma&s;ter, that knows what to give me, and what I am able to di&s;charge.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="8" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. VIII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Of <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s good Succe&s;s in his dreadful and unheard-of En|counter with the Windmills.</HEAD>
<P>WHile they were thus familiarly talking together, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and his Squire di&s;cover'd at a di&s;tance &s;ome thirty or forty Windmills; which &s;o &s;oon as the Knight e&s;py'd, <Q>Fortune now conducts us better then we can guide our &s;elves. See yonder (Friend <HI>Sancha</HI>) no le&s;s then thirty Giants of enormous &s;tature; all which I am re&s;olv'd not only to encoun|ter, but to di&s;-embowel. 'Twill be a good beginning to enrich our &s;elves with their Spoils; for the Quarrel is ju&s;t, and the extirpation of this de|te&s;ted Race will be an acceptable piece of Service to God.</Q></P>
<P>What Giants? reply'd <HI>Sancha Pancha.</HI> Why tho&s;e Giants which thou &s;ee&s;t yonder, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> with their hugeous Arms, of which Race there are &s;ome who&s;e Arms will reach two Leagues in length. Mind what you &s;ay, reply'd <HI>Sancha;</HI> for an't like your Wor&s;hip, tho&s;e things which you &s;uppo&s;e to be Giants, are no Giants, but Windmills; and the Arms you fancy, are only the Sails that turn about the Wheels when they grind the Corn. <Q>I &s;ee, &s;aid <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that thou art a Ninny in matters of <HI>Chivalry.</HI> They are Giants, Fool; and therefore if thou art afraid, go a&s;ide and &s;ay thy Pray'rs: for my part, I am re&s;olv'd to encounter 'em, tho as many more.</Q> And &s;o &s;aying, he &s;purr'd <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> forward, tho <HI>Sancha</HI> &s;till &s;wore him&s;elf to the Devil, that they were no Giants, but Windmills. But let him &s;wear him&s;elf to his Damm to boot, he &s;o &s;trongly fancy'd 'em to be Giants, that he never regarded the Oaths of his Squire; and the nearer he rode, the more he was confirm'd in his imagination. So that as &s;oon as he came within hearing, he tore his Throat, crying out, Stand, Caitiffs; &s;tand your Ground, vile Mi&s;creants as ye are, and flye not ba&s;ely from a &s;ingle Knight, that fears not to encounter ye all in a heap
<PB N="30" REF="26"> together. By and by the Wind ri&s;ing, made the <HI>Sweeps</HI> begin to move: But that made him ten times madder. Then he &s;wore Nouns and Pro|nouns, what! defie him to his Teeth! But ye &s;hall pay for your arrogance, quo he, tho ye had as many Arms as the Giant <HI>Briareus.</HI> After that, he mo&s;t devoutly recommended him&s;elf to his Lady <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> imploring her aid in that extremity of danger; and &s;o covering him&s;elf with his Buckler, and couching his Lance in his Re&s;t, he ran with all <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI>'s might again&s;t the fir&s;t Windmill, pu&s;hing his Lance through one of the <HI>Winlow's,</HI> which with the &s;wiftne&s;s of its motion whirling away the Lance, &s;hiver'd it into &s;everal pieces; and then throwing Hor&s;e and Man after it, lay'd the poor Knight &s;prawling i' the Field, at the di&s;tance of more Yards, then would have mea&s;ur'd <HI>Long Megg</HI> of <HI>Lincoln</HI> a Gown and Petticoat. Which <HI>Don Sancha</HI> perceiving, ha&s;ten'd with his A&s;s a Dog-trot; and finding his Ma&s;ter almo&s;t doz'd with the fall, Mercy &s;ave me, quo he, did I not worry your Wor&s;hip to take care what ye did? and told ye they were Windmills? Which no body but might have &s;een, that had not more Windmills in his Head. Peace, Friend <HI>Sancha,</HI> peace, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> there is nothing &s;o &s;ubject to Fortune as War, for it fluctuates in perpetual incon&s;tancy. But let me tell thee what I think, and am certain 'tis true; that cur&s;ed Ne|cromancer, <HI>Whe&s;ton,</HI> that carry'd away my Study and my Books, as &s;ure as a Gun has chang'd the Giants into Windmills, on purpo&s;e to deprive me of the Honour which I intended, of grinding them to powder; &s;uch is his rage and malice again&s;t me: But all his Enchantments in the end mu&s;t yield to the edge of my Sword. <HI>Pray God ye be John,</HI> reply'd <HI>Sancha;</HI> and &s;o heaving him up again upon his Leggs, by the help of a <HI>Shrieve's Block,</HI> he mounted the unfortunate <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> once more, half Shoulder-&s;prain'd, poor Bea&s;t, with his fall.</P>
<P>This Atchievement thus perform'd, they took the Road that leads to the Pa&s;&s;age through the Mountains, and all the way the la&s;t Adventure was the &s;ubject of their Di&s;cour&s;e; <HI>Don Quixote</HI> believing that he could not mi&s;s of Adventures in a Road &s;o greatly frequented. However the lo&s;s of his Lance extreamly tormented him, for which, after he had expre&s;s'd his grief to <HI>Sancha,</HI> <Q>I remember, &s;aid the Knight, that I have read of a certain Ca|valier, who&s;e Name was <HI>Don Pedro de Vargas,</HI> who having brok'n his Lance, tore down a huge ma&s;&s;ie Arm of an Oak, and &s;lew &s;o many <HI>Moors,</HI> that he won to him&s;elf and his Po&s;terity the Sirname of <HI>Machuca,</HI> or the <HI>Oak-render.</HI></Q> I tell thee this, <HI>Sancha,</HI> becau&s;e I intend to tear down from the next Oak I meet, an Arm as &s;turdy and as fit for the work as you can imagine that to be, with which I will perform &s;uch feats of Arms, that thou &s;halt ble&s;s thy &s;elf, that ever thou had&s;t the Honour to &s;ee me, and be the witne&s;s of Exploits almo&s;t &s;urmounting belief. By the Gho&s;t of St. <HI>Jago,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Sancha,</HI> I believe 'tis true, becau&s;e you &s;ay it. But pray, Sir, &s;it upright i' your Saddle, you ride upon one Buttock, as if you had a Bile upon t' other. No Bile, good <HI>Sancha,</HI> but a plaguy brui&s;e upon the Crupper-bone: However, a Knight-Errant mu&s;t never complain, tho his Guts were coming out of his Belly. Then I &s;hall &s;ay no more, reply'd <HI>Don Sancha;</HI> and yet God knows my heart, I &s;hould be glad to hear you complain a little &s;ometimes, when you have receiv'd a hurt. For my part, I am &s;ure I &s;hall cry like a &s;ucking Calf if a Giant does but hold a Cudgel over my Pate, unle&s;s the Squires are under the &s;ame Law with their Ma|&s;ters. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> laugh'd at the &s;implicity of his Squire, and a&s;&s;ur'd him he might cry as much as he would, and when he would, whether he had any cau&s;e or no; for that he had never found any thing to the contrary
<PB N="31" REF="26"> in all his reading. Pray, Sir, then, &s;aid <HI>Sancha,</HI> is it not high time to &s;et our Teeth a going, for I find 'tis not Lawful for you to complain of Hun|ger? I do not find my Stomack yet up, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> but for thy own part, do as thy Belly requires. <HI>Sancha</HI> having thus obtain'd leave, open'd his Wallet, as he &s;ate upon his A&s;s, and having cut him&s;elf a good Lunchin of Bread and Chee&s;e, fell a munching behind his Ma&s;ter, ever and anon lifting his Bottle to his No&s;e, as would have made a <HI>Dutch-man</HI> a-dry to have &s;een him. And thus as he &s;ate cramming his Guts at ea&s;e, and drinking at lei&s;ure, he went his A&s;&s;es pace, minding neither Family at home, nor his Ma&s;ter's great Promi&s;es, but only to fortifie him&s;elf again&s;t Hunger and Drowth.</P>
<P>That Night they made their Beds under the Trees; from one of which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> pull'd down a lu&s;ty, thumping long Branch, to &s;erve him in|&s;tead of a Lance, and fix'd to it the head and &s;teeling of his broken Wea|pon. After that, he compos'd him&s;elf to his Re&s;t; but alas, he could not &s;leep a wink for thinking upon his dear <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> in imitation of what he had read in his Romances, where the Knights-Errant never &s;hut their Eyes, but &s;pend their Nights in De&s;arts and Fore&s;ts, contemplating upon the Beauty of their ab&s;ent Mi&s;tre&s;&s;es. But <HI>Sancha,</HI> who was of a coar&s;er Mettle, and more earthy &s;ub&s;tance, could not hold up &s;o briskly again&s;t the Charms of <HI>Morpheus.</HI> For he, having fill'd his Paunch with &s;omething more then Wind, fell fa&s;t a&s;leep, without the help of Succory-water, and made but one napp of it, from the time that he lay'd him&s;elf forth upon the Gra&s;s, till Sun-ri&s;e. Nor would the heat of the &s;corching Planet, nor the melody of the Birds that warbl'd on every &s;ide, have made him &s;tir, had not his Ma|&s;ter wak'd him with five or &s;ix <HI>huzza's,</HI> as loud as St. <HI>Pulcher</HI>'s <HI>Tenor.</HI> How|ever, being thus rous'd, he forgot not to wa&s;h his Eyes with a dram of the Bottle, where he took two or three long-winded &s;wiggs, not a little pen|&s;ive to find it then &s;o light, and no po&s;&s;ibility of a Recruit upon the Road they were to Travel. As for <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who had been fea&s;ting all Night upon the more delicate and &s;avoury thoughts of his Mi&s;tre&s;s, he car'd for no Breakfa&s;t; and therefore being mounted, they rode directly toward the pa&s;&s;age of the Mountains, which they di&s;cover'd about Eight a Clock i' the Morning. Where being arriv'd, Here it is, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that we may have Opportunity to thru&s;t our Arms up to the elbows in <HI>Adventures.</HI> But here by the way I mu&s;t admoni&s;h thee never to draw thy Sword, tho thou &s;ee&s;t me in the greate&s;t danger i'the World, unle&s;s thou find'&s;t me a&s;|&s;aulted by the Rabble, or any mean Mechanick Fellows like thy &s;elf; for in &s;uch a ca&s;e thou may'&s;t a&s;&s;i&s;t me, otherwi&s;e the Laws of Chivalry will not per|mit thee to encounter a Knight, till thou art Dubb'd thy &s;elf. Never doubt, Sir, quo <HI>Don Sancha,</HI> but I &s;hall obey your Wor&s;hip mo&s;t punctually in this; and &s;o much the rather, becau&s;e I am naturally of a very peaceable temper, and a &s;worn Enemy to Quarrels. On the other &s;ide, if any Knight offer to drubb me fir&s;t, I am afraid I &s;hall hardly ob&s;erve your Laws; for all Law, both Divine and Humane, permits a Man to defend his own Skin. I agree to that, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> but as to thy a&s;&s;i&s;ting me again&s;t Knights-Errant, I tell thee again, thou ha&s;t no more to do, then only to &s;ay thy Prayers; but as to other things, thou art to bridle thy natural Courage. Don't I tell ye, Sir, that I'le be &s;ure to do it: Ne'r tru&s;t me now, if I don't keep that Commandment more &s;olemnly then any of the Ten.</P>
<PB N="32" REF="27">
<P>Concluding thus their Di&s;cour&s;e, they e&s;py'd coming toward 'em two Fryers, of the Order of St. <HI>Benedict,</HI> mounted upon <HI>Dromedaries,</HI> for they were a &s;ort of &s;trapping Mules, with their <HI>&V;mbrello's</HI> and Gla&s;&s;es before their Eyes. Behind appear'd a Coach and five or &s;ix Gentlemen a' Hor&s;e-back, with two Men a foot that led the Mules. In the Coach was a Lady of <HI>Bi&s;cay,</HI> going to meet her Husband at <HI>Sevil,</HI> where he &s;tay'd to take Shipping for the <HI>Indies,</HI> where he had obtain'd a con&s;iderable Employment. No &s;ooner had <HI>Don Quixote</HI> de&s;cry'd the Fryers, who were not of the &s;ame Company, tho travelling the &s;ame Road, but he cry'd to his Squire, Ei|ther I am deceiv'd, Friend <HI>Sancha,</HI> or yonder is one of the mo&s;t famous Adventures that ever were known. For without all que&s;tion, tho&s;e Sable Apparitions that yonder appear, mu&s;t be &s;ome <HI>Necromancers,</HI> that are car|rying away &s;ome Prince&s;s in that Coach; and it is my Duty to u&s;e the ut|mo&s;t of my power to prevent &s;o great an Injury. Oh! quo <HI>Don Sancha,</HI> &s;haking his Noddle, I fear me this will be more idle then the Adventure of the Wind mills. 'Slife, Sir, y'are under another mi&s;take; the&s;e are <HI>Benedictine</HI> Fryers; and I'le be hang'd if the Coach does not belong to the People that are travelling upon the Road: And therefore I &s;ay again, have a care of being deluded by the Temptations of the Devil. I have told thee already, <HI>Sancha,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that thou art a meer <HI>Ninny-hammer</HI> in Adventures. What I &s;ay, is true, and thou &s;halt find it &s;o to be pre|&s;ently. And having &s;o &s;aid, he advanc'd, and po&s;ted him&s;elf ju&s;t in the middle of the High-way where the <HI>Monks</HI> were to pa&s;s. And when they came within hearing, in a loud and haughty tone, <Q>Anathema's and Devils in Humane &s;hape, cry'd he, relea&s;e tho&s;e High-born Prince&s;&s;es that you are conveying away in that Coach, or el&s;e expect a &s;peedy Death, as the ju&s;t Reward of your impious deeds.</Q> Thereupon the Monks immediately &s;topp d their Mules, no le&s;s a&s;toni&s;h'd at the &s;trange di&s;gui&s;e of the &s;peaker, then at his thundring expre&s;&s;ions. We are neither Per&s;ons Po&s;&s;e&s;s'd, quo they, nor Excommunicated, but Fryers of the Order of St. <HI>Benedict,</HI> tra|velling upon the Road. I am not to be cajol'd with fair words, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> I know well enough what ye are, perfidious Infidels: And im|mediately, not admitting any reply, he ran &s;o furiou&s;ly with his Lance couch'd again&s;t the Fryers, that if one of 'em had not prudently thrown him&s;elf to the ground, his Soul mu&s;t have been forc'd to &s;eek another Habitation; while the other <HI>Monk,</HI> ob&s;erving the di&s;courteous u&s;age of his Friend, clapt Spurs to his Mule, and flew for't with that &s;peed, as if he had been running a Race with the Wind. <HI>Sancha</HI> no &s;ooner perceiv'd the Fryer &s;prawling upon the ground, but he skipp'd off his A&s;s, and pre&s;ently fell to rifling the <HI>Religious Benedictine;</HI> at what time the two Lackeys that attended the Fryers on foot, coming up to the Squire, ask'd him what he meant to &s;trip the Gentleman? Becau&s;e they are my due, reply'd <HI>Sancha,</HI> as being the &s;poils which my Lord and Ma&s;ter has won in the field of Battel. This was all <HI>Heathen Greek</HI> to the Lackeys; and therefore, to relieve their Ma&s;ter, &s;eeing <HI>Don Quixote</HI> at a di&s;tance, who was then in a deep Di&s;cour&s;e by the &s;ide of the Coach, they both fell upon <HI>Sancha,</HI> threw him down, and after they had trampl'd upon his Guts, as if they had been treading a <HI>Hay-mow,</HI> and torn above the be&s;t half of his Beard from his Chin, left him for dead. In the mean while the <HI>Benedictine,</HI> who was more &s;car'd then hurt, re-mounts his Mule, and all in a cold &s;weat, as pale as a Gho&s;t, &s;purs after his Com|panion, who &s;taid for him at a di&s;tance, expecting the i&s;&s;ue of this unex|pected Adventure; and then, both together, they pur&s;u'd their Journey, making as many &s;igns of the Cro&s;s, as if they had had the Devil at their backs.</P>
<PB N="33" REF="27">
<P>All this while <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was mo&s;t bu&s;ily employ'd at the Boot of the Coach, where after many <HI>Goodly Good Morrows</HI> to the <HI>Bi&s;cayner</HI> Lady, <Q>Madam, &s;aid he, your tran&s;cendent Beauty is now no longer under re|&s;traint; you are free and at liberty: This Arm of mine &s;hall puni&s;h the bold attempters to en&s;lave your Per&s;on. And that you may not be igno|rant who was your Deliverer, know I am the valiant <HI>Don Quixote</HI> of the <HI>Mancha,</HI> Knight-Errant; the Slave and Captive that adores the fair and incomparable <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o.</HI> Nor do I demand any other recom|pence for the Service I have done you, but that you will be pleas'd to re|turn to <HI>Tobo&s;o,</HI> there to vi&s;it this Lady in my Name, and let her know how far you are beholding to me for your Liberty, and what I have done to obtain it.</Q></P>
<P>To all this riff-raff, a <HI>Bi&s;cayner</HI> Gentleman, who rode along with the Coach, li&s;ten'd mo&s;t attentively; and ob&s;erving that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> not only &s;topp'd the Coach, but would make the Coach-man al&s;o drive back to <HI>Tobo&s;o,</HI> he bore briskly up to him, and taking hold of his Lance, <Q>Sir <HI>Cadwallader,</HI> quo he, for <HI>Bi&s;can Spani&s;h</HI> is <HI>Wel&s;h-Engli&s;h,</HI> i' the name of St. <HI>Taffee,</HI> what make her &s;tand prating there? Her was as good get her gone, and that quickly too, el&s;e as Cott &s;hall &s;hudge her Soul, her will &s;tick her to the Heart, Plood, and Cutts. To which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> reply'd very &s;owrly, Wer't thou a Gen|tleman, as thou art not, but a Scoundrel, I had cha&s;tiz'd thy In&s;olence long ere this. Splutrenailes, no Shentleman, cry'd the <HI>Bi&s;cayner;</HI> by Cott and St. <HI>Taffee,</HI> thou ly'&s;t i' thy Throat: Her be as coot a Shentleman as a Chri&s;tian. Throw away her Pike-&s;taffs, and draw her Swords, and her &s;hall find her a Shentleman py Land, a Shentleman py Sea, a Shentleman in &s;pite of the Tevil, and her lyes in her Liver, and Lights, and Lungs, if her tenies what her &s;ay.</Q> <HI>A match quo Momfort,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> and with that, throwing down his Lance, drawing his Sword, and &s;houldring his Buckler, he made at the <HI>Bi&s;cayner,</HI> fully re&s;olv'd upon nothing but Ma&s;&s;acre. The <HI>Bi&s;cayner</HI> &s;eeing him come on &s;o furiou&s;ly, would fain have alighted, confiding little in his Mule, that was but a hyr'd Bea&s;t. But all he had time to do, was only to draw his Sword, and &s;natch a Cu&s;hion out of the Coach, to &s;erve him in&s;tead of a Shield. Which done, the two Champions en|counter'd each other with all the &s;igns of Mortal Antipathy. The &s;tanders|by did all they could to pacifie their fury; but 'twas a thing impo&s;&s;ible. For the <HI>Bi&s;cayner</HI>'s <HI>Wel&s;h</HI> Blood was in &s;uch a boyling condition, that he &s;wore by the Peek of <HI>Tenariff,</HI> he would Murder his Mi&s;tre&s;s, and all that oppos'd him, if they would not let him alone to kill the Knight.</P>
<P>Upon this, the Lady, quaking and quivering, commanded the Coach-man to drive out of harms way, while the <HI>Bi&s;cayner</HI> at the &s;ame time let fall a driving blow upon his Adver&s;ary's &s;houlder with &s;uch a Gigantick force, that but for his tru&s;ty Target, he had &s;plit the Knight from the Collar to the Wa&s;t, like a Chequer Talley. Thereupon <HI>Don Quixote</HI> feeling the blow like the fall of a Mountain, with a loud voice, <Q>Bright Flower of Beauty, deare&s;t <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> Mi&s;tre&s;s of my Soul, cry'd he, a&s;&s;i&s;t your Champion in this extremity of danger, fighting to &s;upport your Honour.</Q></P>
<P>After which &s;hort Ejaculation, gra&s;ping his Sword, and &s;houldring his Target with a &s;hort-hand &s;wiftne&s;s, and with a Tempe&s;tuous forehead, me|nacing nothing but Thunder and De&s;truction, he darted him&s;elf, Dragon-like upon his Enemy, as if he had re&s;olv'd to venture the fortune of the Combat all upon one blow. On the other &s;ide, the <HI>Bi&s;cayner,</HI> gue&s;&s;ing his de&s;ign by his dreadful Countenance, guarded him&s;elf as well as he could with his Cu&s;hion, and breathing no le&s;s fury, with an undaunted bravery
<PB N="34" REF="28"> re&s;olv'd to abide the &s;hock of his mercile&s;s Foe, who with his Arm aloft came poudring on like a falling Meteor from the Skie. And all the while the Spectators, ready to bewray their Breeches, &amp; crumpl'd up with panick fear, attended the fatal i&s;&s;ue of the Combat; while the Lady and her waiting Gentlewomen put up their Prayers to Heaven for the <HI>Bi&s;cayner,</HI> and vow'd golden Mountains to all the Saints in <HI>Spain,</HI> upon condition of &s;uc|ce&s;s.</P>
<P>The mi&s;chief on't is, that the Author of this Hi&s;tory gives us no farther account of this Battel, but leaves it undecided, pretending that he finds no|thing more mention'd concerning it in the Records of <HI>D. Quixote</HI>'s Atchieve|ments. However, the next Undertaker of this work, could not believe that &s;o remarkable a &s;tory could be &s;wallow'd up in the Jaws of Oblivion; or that the Wits of <HI>Mancha</HI> could be &s;uch Sots, as not to pre&s;erve in their Publick <HI>Regi&s;ters,</HI> or Private <HI>Scrutoirs</HI> &s;ome odd Papers to eternize the Orna|ment of their Village; and therefore he made a diligent enquiry, and after long &s;earch found what he &s;ought, by an Accident that &s;hall be related in the next Book.</P>
</DIV3>
<TRAILER>The End of the Fir&s;t Book.</TRAILER>
<PB REF="28">
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="2" TYPE="book">
<PB REF="29">
<P><FIGURE>
<FIGDESC>Don Quixote fighting</FIGDESC>
<P>Don Quixot and the Carrier Fighting for the Inn keepers Maid. Pag: 35</P>
</FIGURE></P>
<P><FIGURE>
<FIGDESC>Sancho Panza in a blanket</FIGDESC>
<P>Sancho Pancha to&s;s't in a Blanket.</P>
</FIGURE></P>
<DIV3 N="1" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="35" REF="29">
<HEAD>THE SECOND BOOK OF THE DELIGHTFUL HISTORY OF Don Quixote DE LA MANCHA. PART I. BOOK II.</HEAD>
<HEAD>CHAP. I.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">The Event of the dreadful Combat between the couragious <HI>Bi&s;cayner,</HI> and the valiant <HI>Don Quixote.</HI></HEAD>
<P>IN the fir&s;t Part of this Hi&s;tory we left the brave <HI>Bi&s;cayner,</HI> and the famous <HI>Don Quixote</HI> brandi&s;hing their Swords over their Heads, and preparing to give each other tho&s;e damnable Chops, that had their Weapons fall'n perpendicular upon unarmed Sculls, they had chyn'd one another to the very Saddle-Bows. But, as I &s;aid before, the Story remain'd imperfect, becau&s;e the Author gave us no light where we &s;hould find Matter to continue the Relation. This perplex'd me to the Soul; and the Plea&s;ure which I took at the Beginning augmented my Grief, when I &s;aw it &s;o impo&s;&s;ible to &s;ee the Conclu&s;ion. But Lord! thought I, how can it be? It is impo&s;&s;ible, at lea&s;t very unju&s;t, that &s;o famous a Cham|pion &s;hould want &s;ome learned Per&s;on to complete the Story of his At|chievements, &s;uch as were never heard of before; a Misfortune that never befel any of his Predece&s;&s;ors in <HI>Knight-Errantry.</HI> And therefore not being able to imagin, that a Knight, &s;o renowned as he, &s;hould be le&s;s behold|ing to Fame, then <HI>Platir</HI> and others of the &s;ame Order, yet le&s;s worthy; I laid the Fault upon <HI>Time,</HI> who having a greedy Worm in his Maw, that devours all things, might have chopp'd up this Hi&s;tory for a reli&s;hing Bit,
<PB N="36" REF="30"> or el&s;e maliciou&s;ly buri'd it, to prevent Mankind from wa&s;ting and con&s;um|ing tho&s;e precious Hours, which are but Members of him&s;elf. On the o|ther &s;ide, I could not believe the Hi&s;tory of our Champion to be &s;o ancient, but that his Neighbours and Friends might well remember the mo&s;t con&s;i|derable Pa&s;&s;ages. And this it was that engag'd me to make a particular, and more exact Enquiry into the Life and Miracles of our renowned <HI>Spaniard,</HI> that blazing Star of <HI>La Mancha,</HI> and the fir&s;t, who in this unfortunate Age renew'd the neglected Profe&s;&s;ion of <HI>Knight-Errantry;</HI> devoting him&s;elf to relieve the Di&s;tre&s;&s;ed, protect Widows and Orphans, and defend the Ho|nour of young Dam&s;els, &s;uch as gallop with their Whips and their Pal|fries from Mountain to Mountain, and Valley to Valley, with all their Vir|ginity about 'em, as &s;afe as if it were at home lock'd up i'their Trunks; and unle&s;s they happen to meet with &s;ome boi&s;terous Clown, or letcherous Giant, at four&s;core years of Age are laid i' their Graves as good Maids as their Mothers. But all my Labour and Indu&s;try had been fruitle&s;s, and the World had been depriv'd of this ine&s;timable Trea&s;ure, had not kind For|tune been &s;o propitious to throw it into my Hands by a lucky Accident, as you &s;hall hear.</P>
<P>Standing one day in the <HI>Mercers-Row</HI> at <HI>Toledo,</HI> I &s;aw a young Lad offering certain loo&s;e Quires of Paper to a Grocer to &s;ell; being therefore, as I am, very curious, to &s;crape together all the printed or written old pieces of Pa|per I could meet with, I took an occa&s;ion to bid the Boy let me &s;ee one of his Quires, and finding it to be in <HI>Arabick,</HI> which I did not under&s;tand, I look'd about to &s;ee whether I could find e're a <HI>Jew</HI> of a <HI>Moor,</HI> to be my In|terpreter, a Conveniency ea&s;ie to be had in a place where &s;o many &s;everal Languages are &s;pok'n. So that having met with a Per&s;on fit for my pur|po&s;e, I de&s;ir'd him to tell me the meaning of that &s;ame <HI>Arabick;</HI> who had not read many Lines before he began to laugh. I ask'd him what he laugh'd at? At a certain Remark here, &s;aid he, that I find in the Margin, in the&s;e Words. <HI>This &s;ame</HI> Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o <HI>&s;o often mention'd in this Hi&s;tory, is &s;aid to have had the be&s;t hand in &s;alting of Pork, of any Woman in</HI> Mancha.</P>
<P>When I heard the Name of <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o,</HI> I was both &s;urpriz'd and pleas'd. For, thought I to my &s;elf, tho&s;e Papers mu&s;t certainly contain the Hi&s;tory of <HI>Don Quixote.</HI> Thereupon I de&s;ir'd the <HI>Jew</HI> to read me the Title of the Book, which he did in the&s;e Words: <HI>The Hi&s;tory of</HI> Don Quixote <HI>of the</HI> Mancha, <HI>written by</HI> Cades Hamech Benengeli, <HI>an Arabian Hi|&s;toriographer.</HI> I was &s;o over-joy'd when I heard the Title, that I could not di&s;&s;emble my Pa&s;&s;ion, but &s;natching the Papers out of the Grocer's hands, I agreed with the Boy to &s;ell me that for Three-pence, which he would not have &s;old me for twenty times as much, had he known my mind. This Purcha&s;e thus made, I pre&s;ently withdrew into the Cloi&s;ter of the great Church, with my <HI>Moor,</HI> and bargain'd with him for fifty Pound of Rai&s;ins, and two Bu&s;hels of Wheat, to tran&s;late the whole into <HI>Spani&s;h,</HI> charging him not to add or dimini&s;h, but to keep clo&s;e to the Original. And for the more quick di&s;patch, I carry'd him home to my own Hou&s;e, where in &s;ix Weeks he completed his Work.</P>
<P>Upon the fir&s;t leaf of the Book was painted to the life the Combat between the <HI>Bi&s;cayner</HI> and <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> in the &s;ame Po&s;ture as we left 'em, with their Swords brandi&s;h'd over their Heads, the one guarding him&s;elf with his Target, and the other holding up his Cu&s;hion. The <HI>Bi&s;cayner</HI>'s Mule was painted &s;o exactly to the life, that you would have &s;worn it to have been a hir'd Mule, half a League off. Under the <HI>Bi&s;cayner</HI> was written, <HI>Don Sancho de A&s;pecia,</HI> and under <HI>Ro&s;inante, Don Quixote. Ro&s;inante</HI> was
<PB N="37" REF="30"> &s;o admirably well done, &s;o &s;lim, &s;o lean, &s;o lank, &s;o hide bound, with a rough Coat, a &s;harp Ridge-bone, and lolling Ears, that you would have &s;worn, at fir&s;t &s;ight, he had been tak'n out of a Du&s;t-Cart. Not far off &s;tood <HI>Sancho Pancha</HI> holding his A&s;s by the Halter. A plea&s;ant Protraiture, tun belly'd like a <HI>Switzer,</HI> thick and &s;hort like a <HI>Su&s;&s;ex</HI> Dumplin, with a couple of gouty Legs, like two Collars of Brawn; and this is the rea&s;on why he is call'd in Story &s;ometimes <HI>Pan&s;a,</HI> or <HI>Gorbelly,</HI> &s;ometimes <HI>Can&s;a,</HI> or <HI>Bandy|legs.</HI> Whoever objects again&s;t the Truth of what is here &s;aid, can give no &s;olid Rea&s;on, I am &s;ure, for his incredulity, but only that it was writ|ten by an <HI>Arabian,</HI> who are generally as great Lyers as ever the <HI>Cretans</HI> could be. However, as they are our Enemies, I am apt to believe, that the Author rather &s;tudi'd to &s;uppre&s;s the Truth, then to add to our Cham|pion's Fame, and the rather, becau&s;e I find, where he ought to have en|larg'd upon his Prai&s;es, he pa&s;&s;es many things over in &s;ilence. A great piece of Malice and Ba&s;ene&s;s in a Hi&s;torian, whom it behoves to be pun|ctual and faithful, free from Pa&s;&s;ion or Intere&s;t, dete&s;ting, either through Favour or Affection, to deviate from the Truth, which is the Mother of Hi&s;tory, as Hi&s;tory is the <HI>Feoffee in Tru&s;t</HI> for the Pre&s;ervation of all great Actions; or rather, the Trea&s;ury of Fame, where all the renowned Ex|ploits of worthy Champions are depo&s;ited, as in a &s;acred and inviolable Sanctuary, as being the profe&s;s'd Enemy of Oblivion. And therefore I can|not but per&s;wade my &s;elf, That all which is here written, is certainly true, &s;ince the Author might have &s;o ea&s;ily enlarg'd him&s;elf upon a Subject &s;o copi|ous, had he &s;o pleas'd him&s;elf. Which argues, that he could not help what he writes, &s;ince he goes about to nimm, and filch from our Champion's Atchievements; tho I mu&s;t tell ye the Theft cannot be much mi&s;s'd, where there is &s;uch a plentiful Heap. And &s;o let us proceed according to our Tran&s;lation.</P>
<P>Such were the terrible A&s;pects, and incens'd Countenances of tho&s;e en|rag'd and fiery Combatants, that with up-lifted Hands, and with remorce|les Glaves, they &s;eem'd to threat'n the Heavens them&s;elves, as well as the Earth, while the Spectators hung in an equal balance between A&s;toni&s;h|ment and Fear. The cholerick <HI>Bi&s;cayner</HI> gave the fir&s;t Blow, and that with &s;uch a willing Heart, and &s;uch a prodigious force, that had not his Sword turn'd in his hand, that funeral Stroke had determin'd the Combat, and put an end to all the re&s;t of this Hi&s;tory. But Fate, that had re&s;erv'd our Champion for a more durable Immortality, &s;o order'd it, that the Sword falling with the flat of the Blade upon his left Shoulder, did no other harm, but only di&s;arm that &s;ide of his Head, carrying away along with it all that &s;ide of his Helmet, and half his Ear. Words cannot expre&s;s the more then Dragon-like Rage and Tran&s;port of <HI>La Mancha</HI>'s Hero, to &s;ee him&s;elf &s;o cour&s;ely handl'd. Immediately therefore rai&s;ing him&s;elf upon his Stirrups, and gra&s;ping his Sword fa&s;t in his Fi&s;t (tremble ye Heavens!) he di&s;charg'd &s;o dreadful and hideous a Thunder-clap &s;o full upon his Ad|ver&s;ary's Noddle, that maugre the defence of his Cu&s;hion, the poor <HI>Bi&s;|cayner</HI> fell a bleeding at the No&s;e, Mouth, and Ears; and tottering in his Saddle, he had certainly fall'n to the Ground had he not caught hold of his Mule's Neck. At what time the dull Bea&s;t, &s;car'd with the Blow, and now Ma&s;ter of his Bridle, took a run as if the Devil had drove him; &s;o that af|ter two or three Frisks he &s;hoke off his Rider, and threw him almo&s;t breath|le&s;s to the Earth, where he lay ga&s;ping for Life, like a Game-cock, that has receiv'd a &s;parring Blow from his Enemy. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> beheld the Di&s;|a&s;ter of his Foe with great content and tranquility of mind; and &s;eeing
<PB N="38" REF="31"> him down, &s;lipp'd from his Saddle, as nimbly as a Taylor from his Shop|board, ran to him, and &s;etting the point of his Sword to the <HI>Bi&s;cayner</HI>'s Throat, bid him ask his life, vowing el&s;e to cut off his Head. But he had &s;poil'd the <HI>Bi&s;cayner</HI> for a Speech-maker, who, in&s;en&s;ible of the danger of his Neck, made no reply; &s;o that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> had a&s;&s;uredly completed his Work, had not the Lady, trembling and &s;creaming for the lo&s;s of her Squire, be&s;ought him to &s;pare his life. But her Atonement having pacify'd the Hero's Fury; <Q>Fair Lady, &s;aid he, with a grave and &s;tately demeanour, I grant your Reque&s;t; but upon Condition, that this &s;ame Knight &s;hall return to <HI>Tobo&s;o,</HI> and there pre&s;ent him&s;elf in my Name before the incomparable <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> to be at her ab&s;olute Di&s;po&s;al.</Q> The di&s;may'd Lady, who at that time would have given him her Maiden-head, if &s;he had had it, for half a words &s;peaking, ne're &s;tood to di&s;pute his Commands, nor to enquire who <HI>Dulcinea</HI> was, but promis'd in her Squire's behalf, im|plicite Obedience to all his Injunctions. <Q>Let him live then, reply'd the Champion, upon your word, and in favour of your Beauty, let him enjoy that Pardon, of which his Arrogance had render'd him unworthy.</Q></P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="2" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. II.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing the plea&s;ant Di&s;cour&s;e between <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho Pancha.</HI></HEAD>
<P>LOng before this, <HI>Sancho Pancha</HI> had recover'd him&s;elf, and was got again upon his Legs, after the rude Kicks and Buffets, which the Varlets be|longing to the <HI>Benedictines,</HI> had &s;o liberally be&s;tow'd upon his No&s;e and Mouth; and then beholding the Combat wherein his Ma&s;ter was engag'd, he went to his Prayers, de&s;iring of God to grant him Victory, and that he might win an I&s;land, in order to his being made a Governour. At length perceiving the Combat to be at an end, and that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was going to re-mount his Cour&s;er, he ran in all ha&s;te to help him; but before he put foot i'the Stirrup, <HI>Sancho</HI> fir&s;t fell at his Knees, and ki&s;&s;ing his hand; My dear Ma&s;ter, &s;aid he, if you think it convenient to be&s;tow upon me the I&s;land which you have won, I find my &s;elf as able to govern it, as the be&s;t <HI>He</HI> that ever govern'd I&s;land in this World. Friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> the&s;e are no Adventures of I&s;lands, the&s;e are only <HI>Praeludium</HI>'s and Trials of Valour, Rancounters upon the High-way, where we win no|thing but crackt Sculls, and brok'n No&s;es, or the lo&s;s of an Ear; have pa|tience therefore, and thou &s;halt &s;ee we &s;hall meet with Opportunities a-now to prefer thee to a Government, if not to be an ab&s;olute Monarch. <HI>Sancho</HI> fail'd not to melt into Tears of Joy and Thanks for his new promi&s;es; and after he had once more ki&s;s'd his Hand, and the skirts of his Coat of Ar|mour, &s;etting his Shoulder to his Ma&s;ter's Buttocks, he heav'd him again into his Saddle; and then mounting his A&s;s, follow'd his Ma&s;ter, who put on a good round Trot, after he had tak'n his leave of the Lady i'the Coach, and rode into the next Wood which he met with upon the Road, there to re|tire and refre&s;h him&s;elf for &s;ome time. But before they got thither, the Knight leading the way, and <HI>Sancho</HI> finding that <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> rid ground &s;o fa&s;t, that he was like to be left behind, he cry'd out to his Ma&s;ter to &s;tay for him. Whereupon the Knight put a &s;top to his Carcer, and changing his
<PB N="39" REF="31"> Gallop into a lei&s;urely walking pace; &s;o &s;oon as <HI>Sancho</HI> overtook him, Ma&s;ter, &s;aid he, me-thinks we &s;hould do well to take Sanctuary. For we left the Per&s;on with whom you fought, but in a &s;curvy dangerous Condi|tion; &s;o that if we &s;hould be apprehended and carry'd before a Ju&s;tice of the Peace, what then? I fear me, before we got rid of his clutches, we &s;hould fairly &s;wing for't. Thou talk'&s;t like a Coxcomb, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> where did&s;t thou ever read or find, that ever any <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> was In|dicted at a Se&s;&s;ion's-hou&s;e for any Homicides that ever he committed? I know not what you mean by your Homicides, cry'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> nor have I ever heard of any &s;uch Pre&s;ident 'tis true; but this I know, that many Men have been hang'd for fighting Duells; as for your <HI>Homicides,</HI> I know not what belongs to 'em. Never di&s;quiet thy &s;elf, Boy, for that, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> he that has re&s;cu'd thee out of the hands of the <HI>Tartars</HI> and <HI>Chal|deans,</HI> can as ea&s;ily protect thee from a Commi&s;&s;ion of <HI>Oyer</HI> and <HI>Terminer,</HI> maugre all the &s;trength and fury of the Giant <HI>Cul-prit</HI> to boot. For tell me now truly; Do&s;t thou believe there is, or ever was a more couragious Champion in any Part or Corner of the whole World, then my &s;elf? Ha&s;t thou at any time read in Hi&s;tory of any one that ever had more Re&s;olution to undertake, more Vigour to attack, better Lungs to hold out, more de|fen&s;ive nimblene&s;s, more offen&s;ive Dexterity, or more Art to unhor&s;e his Adver&s;ary? O' my Con&s;cience, quo <HI>Don Sancho,</HI> 'tis very true; I never read the like i' my life; for I never could Read or Write &s;ince I was born. But this I dare &s;wear upon all the Bibles that ever were printed at <HI>Oxford,</HI> that I never &s;erv'd a more daring and bolder Ma&s;ter then your &s;elf; pray God this Boldne&s;s of yours does not bring us both at length to the Gallows. But, Sir, what if we &s;hould dre&s;s your Ear? It drops like a Bre&s;t of Mutton; and I have by good chance both Lint and the <HI>Apo&s;tle</HI>'s <HI>Ointment</HI> here in my Wal|let. All this trouble might have been &s;av'd, had I remember'd, like a God&s;|head as I was to forget it, to have made but one &s;mall Gally-pot full of the <HI>Bal&s;om</HI> of <HI>Invulnerable;</HI> one drop of which precious Ointment would have &s;av'd us the expence both of Time and Med'cines. What Bal&s;om of <HI>Invul|nerable</HI> d'ye mean, Sir, quo <HI>Don Sancho?</HI> A Bal&s;om, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> which he that po&s;&s;e&s;&s;es may dally with all manner of Wounds, and fart at Death it &s;elf. I have the Receipt of it i' my head; &s;o that when I have made it, I will give thee a Box full; and then if it be thy chance in any Combat to &s;ee me cleft in two i' the middle, do but thou take up the two halves, and joyn 'em exactly together again, before they be cold, and give me but a Spoonful of that Bal&s;om to drink, and thou &s;halt &s;ee me as &s;ound again as ever I was i' my life. If this be true, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I defie all the Preferments and Governments you have promis'd me; I de&s;ire no more then this Receipt to recompence all my pa&s;t and future Services. For I am &s;ure there is no part of the World where this Bal&s;om will not be worth at lea&s;t half a Crown an Ounce; &s;o that a man may get an Alderman's E|&s;tate pre&s;ently. But, Sir, how much will it co&s;t to make this Bal&s;om, quo <HI>Don Sancho?</HI> Why, you may make every day i' the Week three Pints for Eighteen pence, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote.</HI> Heavens ble&s;s me, Sir! why then don't you teach me how to make it immediately? God's-my-life, I'de make three Hog&s;heads a day, rather then fail. Soft and fair, <HI>Sancho,</HI> re|ply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I re&s;erve thee for Secrets of far greater Importance, and more noble Rewards. In the mean time dre&s;s my Ear, for it pains me confoundedly, tho I am unwilling to &s;hew it. Whereupon <HI>Sancho</HI> took his Ointment and his Lint out of his Wallet. But when <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;aw that the Vizor of his Helmet was brok'n, 'twas a thou&s;and pound to a Nut|&s;hell,
<PB N="40" REF="32"> but that he had run &s;tark &s;taring mad. <Q>By the Bowels of my Fa|ther; by my Allegiance to <HI>Dulcinea;</HI> by the whole frame of Nature, cry'd he, here do I &s;wear to lead a life like the <HI>Marque&s;s</HI> of <HI>Mantua,</HI> when he vow'd to revenge the Death of his <HI>Cou&s;in Balduin,</HI> never to eat at Table, nor ki&s;s my Mi&s;tre&s;s, till I have tak'n Vengeance upon him that did me this Injury.</Q> Sir, &s;aid <HI>Sancho,</HI> amaz'd to hear him &s;wear &s;o de&s;pe|rately, moderate your Pa&s;&s;ion; for if the Knight fulfill your Commands, and pre&s;ent him&s;elf at the Feet of the Lady <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> you have giv'n him an Act of Oblivion, unle&s;s he commit a &s;econd Offence. 'Tis well ob&s;erv'd, reply'd the Hero, and therefore as to the point of Revenge, I revoke my Oath. But I confirm and renew it again, and &s;olemnly vow to lead the &s;ame life as before, till I have pluck'd from the Head and Jaws of &s;ome other Knight, a Helmet as good as ever that was. Nor do thou think, <HI>Sancho,</HI> that I make this Prote&s;tation ra&s;hly; I know who it is that I imitate ex|actly: for it was the very ca&s;e of <HI>Mambrino</HI>'s Helmet, which co&s;t <HI>Sacripant</HI> &s;o dear. For Heaven's-&s;ake, Sir, cry'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> re&s;ign all your Oaths to the Devil. We are commanded not to &s;wear, and you damn your &s;elf here for a trifle. For &s;uppo&s;e we &s;hould not meet with an armed Knight this Fort|night, what mu&s;t we do i' the mean time? Will you keep your Oath all the while? will you &s;leep i' your Clothes a Month together? Never eat or drink in a good Town, with a thou&s;and other idle Penances, which that doating old Fool the Marque&s;s of <HI>Mantua</HI> inflicted upon him&s;elf? Be&s;ides, Sir, we may ride the&s;e hundred years upon this Road, before we meet with an armed Knight to pick a quarrel withal; here are none but Carriers and Waggoners, fellows &s;o far from carrying Vizors upon their No&s;es, that they never &s;o much as heard what a Vizor was i' their lives. Go, go, thou art a Fool, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I'le warrant thee we &s;hall meet in time with more Knights with Vizors and Head-pieces, then fought to re&s;cue the fair <HI>Angelica</HI> at the Siege of <HI>Albra&s;a.</HI> A blind Man would be glad to &s;ee it, cry'd <HI>Don Sancho,</HI> I could find i' my heart to fetch a Nap, an 'twere but to ri&s;e wi' my Bumm upward, for luck-&s;ake; for I long to have this I&s;land won, which has co&s;t me &s;o dear, that I might die a Governour. I have bid thee, <HI>Sancho,</HI> not trouble thy head about the&s;e things, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for if we mi&s;s of an I&s;land, there is either the Kingdom of <HI>Denmark,</HI> or the Empire of <HI>What d' ye call it,</HI> both upon the Continent, as fit for thy purpo&s;e, as a Ring to thy Finger. But &s;etting a&s;ide the&s;e &s;oaring Imaginations awhile, prethee what ha&s;t got to eat i' thy Wallet? Let's fill our Stomachs a little, then travel on in &s;earch of &s;ome Ca&s;tle where to re&s;t our &s;elves this Night, and make the Bal&s;om; for the Devil take me, if my Ear be'nt cur&s;ed &s;ore. I have here an <HI>Onion,</HI> a piece of old <HI>Suffolk-Chee&s;e,</HI> and two or three mouldy Cru&s;ts of Bread, reply'd <HI>Sancho;</HI> but this is not a &s;ort of Viands fit for &s;uch a valiant Champion as you are. Thou twattl'&s;t like an <HI>Ignoramus,</HI> cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for 'tis the cu&s;tom of Knights-Errant not to eat &s;ometimes in two or three Months together; and when they do, they fall upon what they meet with fir&s;t, let it be never &s;o home|ly; and this thy Blockhead-&s;hip might have known, had&s;t thou but read half &s;o many Stories as I ha' done. For to deal faithfully with thee, af|ter all my poring and dozing upon Romances, I never could find, that ever <HI>Knights-Errant</HI> did eat, unle&s;s it were by accident, when they were in|vited to great Fea&s;ts and Royal Banquets; at other times they dieted only upon Whimms and <HI>Chimera</HI>'s. However, becau&s;e it cannot be imagin'd, but that they were &s;ubject to Human Exigency, as being no more then mor|tal Men; 'tis very probable, that as they &s;pent their time for the mo&s;t part
<PB N="41" REF="32"> in Fore&s;ts and De&s;arts, where they had no <HI>French</HI> Cooks to make 'em Potages and <HI>Frica&s;ees;</HI> no <HI>Fi&s;h-&s;treet</HI> Dinners to pamper their Appetites, that they were glad to leap at a Cru&s;t, and be content with &s;uch Country fare as they could get. Never then, <HI>Sancho,</HI> perplex thy little Brains about plea&s;ing my Palate, nor think to make a new World, or to change the very Order and ancient Cu&s;toms of <HI>Knight-Errantry.</HI> I beg your Wor&s;hip's Pardon, reply'd <HI>Don Sancho,</HI> for I was never bred a Scholard, nor Book-learn'd, and therefore 'twas not to be expected I &s;hould &s;o exactly under|&s;tand the Laws of Chivalry. However, I &s;hall take care for the future, that my Wallet &s;hall not be &s;o empty, but well furni&s;h'd at one end with dry'd Sweetmeats, and <HI>Naples</HI> Bi&s;cuit, for you that are a Knight; and for my &s;elf that am none, I &s;hall be no le&s;s careful to &s;atisfie <HI>Colon</HI> with more &s;olid and nouri&s;hing Food. I do not &s;ay, <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that a <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> is oblig'd to make a Comfit-maker's Shop of his Belly; for many times he may be glad of a Sallad with|out Meat or hard Eggs, and a good &s;hift too, to tho&s;e that know how to make choice of their Herbs, as I do. Truly, an&s;wer'd <HI>Don Sancho,</HI> 'tis an excellent thing to be a good <HI>Simpler;</HI> and I am plaguily a|fraid we &s;hall have Occa&s;ion for this &s;ort of Knowledge e're it be long, when we may be forc'd, like Bea&s;ts of the Field, to eat our Herbs without Oyl and Vinegar, or the more delicious way of being jumbl'd into a Tan|&s;ey. In the mean time, quo he, here's what God hath &s;ent us; and &s;o em|tying his Wallet, they fell on without Napkin or Table-cloth, Hail-fellow well met. For the Ma&s;ter was in ha&s;te; and therefore as &s;oon as they had &s;napp'd up their Philo&s;ophers Collation, the Champion and his Squire remounted, and away they put on, in &s;earch of a Ca&s;tle. At length, ju&s;t as the Sun was going down, they came to a place where certain Goat-herds had &s;et up their Hutts in the open Field; &s;o that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> per|ceiving no likelihood of finding a Ca&s;tle, re&s;olv'd to abide there that Night, not a little to <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Grief, who was altogether for a good Town, where he might repleni&s;h his Wallet, tho his Ma&s;ter took it for a Ble&s;&s;ing to &s;leep under the Canopy of Heaven, as believing it a thing that highly conduc'd to the Accompli&s;hment of <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> Performances.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="3" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. III.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">What happen'd to <HI>Don Quixote</HI> among the Goat-herds.</HEAD>
<P><HI>DON Quixote</HI> was mo&s;t courteou&s;ly receiv'd by the <HI>Goat-herds;</HI> and as for <HI>Sancho,</HI> after he had accommodated <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> and his <HI>Mule,</HI> in the be&s;t manner that the place could afford, he found his No&s;trils full of a mo&s;t attractive Scent, which drew him to follow his No&s;e where the Shepherds were roa&s;ting certain pieces of Kids fle&s;h 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 &s;tay till the Shepherds had &s;pread three or four Sheep and Goat-skins upon the Gra&s;s in&s;tead of a Ta|ble-cloth. Which done, and the Gue&s;ts invited to take part, the Shepherds whelm'd an old half Tub with the bottom upward for the Knight to &s;it in more State, while they them&s;elves &s;ate round about upon their Heels, like <HI>Turks</HI> or Tailors. <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;tood behind to attend his Ma&s;ter, and give him Drink in a plain <HI>Cuckolds-point</HI> Horn. At what time <HI>Don Quixote</HI> taking
<PB N="42" REF="33"> Compa&s;&s;ion of his Squire; That thou may&s;t under&s;tand the true worth of <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> &s;aid he, and how the meane&s;t Retainers to it, are in the ready Road to Honour and E&s;teem; 'tis my plea&s;ure that thou &s;it thee down here by me in the Company of the&s;e per&s;ons of Quality, that thou be'&s;t hail-fellow well met with thy Lord and Ma&s;ter; that thou eat upon the &s;ame Trencher, and drink in the &s;ame Cup. For, in &s;hort, we may &s;ay of <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> as they &s;ay of <HI>Love,</HI> That it renders all things equal. I humbly thank your Wor&s;hip, reply'd <HI>Don Sancho,</HI> with an ugly Scrape; but if I had any Victuals to eat, I &s;hould rather like to feed by my &s;elf, and &s;tanding upright, then &s;itting by an Emperor; and &s;hould be better con|tented with a piece of Rye-bread and an <HI>Onion,</HI> without Fiddle faddle and Ceremony, then to diet with your great Folks upon Partridges and Tur|kies, where a man mu&s;t &s;it chawing his meat, as if he were champing of Thi&s;tles, drink Thimble-fulls, be always wiping his Fingers, and not dare to &s;neeze or cough, tho his Lungs were ready to bur&s;t; and therefore, my dear Lord and Ma&s;ter, I be&s;eech ye, change me the&s;e Favours for &s;ome others of le&s;s value, that may be more for Stomach-&s;atisfaction; for as for the&s;e airy Grandeurs, I renounce 'em both now and for evermore. Talk no more, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> but &s;it thee down, <HI>Sancho;</HI> for the humble mu&s;t be exalted; and &s;o pulling him by the Arm, he forc'd him to take his place, and to be Sides-man with his Ma&s;ter.</P>
<P>All this while the Shepherds, who under&s;tood not a Tittle of all this <HI>Pedler</HI>'s <HI>French,</HI> of <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> and <HI>Squires,</HI> fed like We&s;t-countrey Barge-men, without &s;peaking a word; and yet they could not but ca&s;t an Eye now and then upon their Gue&s;ts, who &s;hovell'd whole Luncheons down their Throats as big as their Fi&s;ts. At length the Bones being tak'n away, they brought in the &s;econd Cour&s;e, con&s;i&s;ting of Acorns, Nuts, and Chee&s;e, as hard as any Mortar made of Cement. Nor was the Horn idle all this while, for they tippl'd like Go&s;&s;ips at a Chri&s;tning, filling and em|ptying, till one of two great Wine-bags was quite exhau&s;ted. And now <HI>Don Quixote</HI> having &s;atisfy'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 wi&s;tly upon 'em, with a grave and exalted Voice; <Q>O happy Age! cry'd he, which our fir&s;t Parents call'd the Age of Gold; not for that Gold, &s;o highly ador'd in this Iron Age, was then more common, or that they ran&s;ackt then the Bowels of the Earth with le&s;s Labour; but becau&s;e at that time they were ignorant of tho&s;e two de&s;tructive Words <HI>Mine</HI> and <HI>Thine,</HI> which have put all the World into Confu&s;ion. For all things in that holy Age were common; the Trees for Food afforded frank and free their plea&s;ing Fruits; and the delicious Brooks and Fountains quench'd their moderate Thir&s;t; the painful Bees enriching the Clefts of Rocks and hollow Trees with their flow'ry Spoils, fearle&s;s erected their vigilant Common wealths, that men might reap the plea&s;ant Harve&s;t of their fertile Indu&s;try. In&s;tead of lofty Palaces, they liv'd in mean and lowly Huts, which the Barks of Trees &s;helter'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 Dam&s;els, who never needed to conceal the Perfections which Nature had be&s;tow'd upon 'em, more then what the Mode&s;ty of all Ages requir'd. Gar|lands and Flowers were all their Ornaments, and more becoming than all the Pomp of Gold or <HI>Tyrian</HI> Purple, or a <HI>Tire-woman's</HI> Shop, which Luxury has taught &s;ucceeding Pride. Love explain'd it &s;elf in plain and cordial Lan|guage, &s;peaking without Guile or Flattery; and a native Sincerity, free
<PB N="43" REF="33"> from Deceit or Di&s;&s;imulation, govern all the Actions of Men. Ju&s;tice always hood-wink'd, was unacquainted then with <HI>Favour</HI> or <HI>Intere&s;t.</HI> Long after that tho&s;e Mon&s;ters came into the World; at what time a &s;ecret Venome diffu&s;ing it &s;elf into the Hearts of Men, extingui&s;h'd all that natural Equity that regulated the World: Then there were no longer Sanctuaries for Maiden-cha&s;tity, but foul Concupi&s;cence rang'd every where, corrupting the &s;tricte&s;t Watches, and detecting the mo&s;t &s;ecret Labyrinths of Art. So that now that primitive Innocency being lo&s;t, and Oppre&s;&s;ion every Day increa&s;ing, there was a nece&s;&s;ity to with|&s;tand the Torrent of Violence: For which Rea&s;on the Order of <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI> was in&s;tituted, to defend the Honour of Virgins, protect Wi|dows, &s;uccour Orphans, and relieve all the Di&s;tre&s;&s;ed in general. Now, my mo&s;t noble Friends, I my &s;elf am one of this Order, and it is to a <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> and his Squire that you have given this Liberal Entertain|ment. And tho all Per&s;ons whatever are oblig'd to be kind to Per&s;ons of our Profe&s;&s;ion, yet as you have done me this Kindne&s;s barely out of Civility, without under&s;tanding in the lea&s;t who I was, it is but ju&s;t, that I &s;hould acknowledge your Kindne&s;s; of which you may there|fore a&s;&s;ure your &s;elves, that I &s;hall never lo&s;e the Remembrance.</Q></P>
<P>And thus you &s;ee 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 cau&s;ing him to make this learned Oration, to which the Shep|herds li&s;ten'd like &s;o many Sows i' the Beans, tho they under&s;tood not a Word he &s;aid. <HI>Sancho,</HI> indeed, &s;aid as little as they, but he was more prudent to &s;top his Belly, then to fill his Ears with aiery Notions; &s;o that he labour'd at the Nuts and the Chee&s;e, like a Slave at the Oar, not &s;uffering his Grinders to work in vain, and withal, giving frequent Vi&s;its to the &s;econd Bottle.</P>
<P>Supper thus ended, one of the Shepherds addre&s;&s;ing him&s;elf to <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> That you may be a&s;&s;ur'd, &s;aid he, of our real Intentions to omit nothing for your Satisfaction and Diverti&s;ement, we will &s;hew your <HI>Wor|&s;hip,</HI> Sir Knight, one of our Companions, who will be here pre&s;ently, and who is a Per&s;on, who&s;e Humour and Society will afford ye great Delight. He can read and write as well as the be&s;t Schoolma&s;ter; and more then that, he will ravi&s;h your Ears with his Voice and his Bandore. No &s;ooner were the words out of the Shepherd's Mouth, but he heard the &s;ound of the In&s;trument he &s;poke 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 &s;upp'd? to which, when an&s;wer'd, <HI>he had;</HI> Why then, dear <HI>Anthony,</HI> &s;aies the fir&s;t Speaker, prethee do us the Kindne&s;s to &s;ing a Song for the Entertainment of our Gue&s;t; and &s;o let him &s;ee that Fore&s;ters and Mountaineers are not altogether ignorant of Mu&s;ick. We have made the Knight acquainted with thy Abilities, and therefore to confirm what we have &s;aid, good now &s;ing, the Madrigal which thy Uncle the <HI>Curate</HI> made upon thy Amours, &s;o delightful to all the Neighbour|hood. Mo&s;t willingly, reply'd <HI>Anthony;</HI> and &s;o &s;itting down at the foot of an Oak, after he had tun'd his In&s;trument, he &s;ang the following Song.</P>
<Q><TEXT LANG="eng">
<BODY>
<DIV1 TYPE="song">
<PB N="44" REF="34">
<HEAD>The SONG.</HEAD>
<LG>
<L>THY Love, <HI>Olalia,</HI> does &s;urprize,</L>
<L>Though not di&s;cerned from thine Eyes;</L>
<L>The true&s;t Mirrors can di&s;pence</L>
<L>Such hidden My&s;t'ries to my Sen&s;e:</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>For they the Language do impart,</L>
<L>Not of the Tongue, but of the Heart.</L>
<L>Though I know thee a crafty Jilt,</L>
<L>Mak'&s;t me believe what e're thou wilt;</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Yet &s;till I'm happy in this Spell,</L>
<L>To think my Labours taken well.</L>
<L>To trace thee in thy <HI>Holbourn</HI> Tricks,</L>
<L>Requires an Art beyond Old-Nicks.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Since true I find it to my Woe,</L>
<L>Thy Bo&s;ome's Flint, though it &s;eems Snow.</L>
<L>How am I banter'd by thy &s;hifts?</L>
<L>Intreaties move thee not, nor Gifts.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>My Summer's Hopes, I fear, betray'd;</L>
<L>Thy Winter nips them in the Blade.</L>
<L>Yet once my deare&s;t &s;weete&s;t Honey,</L>
<L>(Whom I love more than Mi&s;er's Money)</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Let not thy Faith be at a &s;tand,</L>
<L>And thus by Prejudice trapan'd.</L>
<L>Ob&s;erve my Services, and &s;ee,</L>
<L>By Frowns they can't dimini&s;h'd be;</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Or if they were ten thou&s;and more,</L>
<L>Thy Favours add not to their Score.</L>
<L>Oft do I think, though oft in vain,</L>
<L>In &s;pite the Fancy will remain.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>If Love in't &s;elf has &s;uch a Scope,</L>
<L>Whereon to build a future Hope;</L>
<L>Then mine, though now in &s;uch di&s;tre&s;s,</L>
<L>Will be at la&s;t crown'd with Succe&s;s.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>What things I did for thee collect,</L>
<L>And but &s;ome Thoughts on them reflect;</L>
<L>I dare be hang'd up for a Sign,</L>
<L>If thou con&s;ent'&s;t not to be mine.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>What Eyes but thine, that e're had &s;een</L>
<L>My modi&s;h Garb, and graceful Meen,</L>
<L>But would, tran&s;ported at the Sight,</L>
<L>Have cry'd, Come ki&s;s me, my Delight.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<PB N="45" REF="34">
<L>Nor was I to &s;et-days confin'd</L>
<L>To wear my Clothes, like lab'ring Hind;</L>
<L>But wa&s;t thou willing to appear,</L>
<L>'Twas Holy-day then all the year.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>For Love and Bravery do combine,</L>
<L>And both have &s;till the &s;ame De&s;ign:</L>
<L>How could I then to thee re&s;ort,</L>
<L>And not be &s;pruce, as if at Court.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Needle&s;s 'twill be for to repeat</L>
<L>(Though &s;ome with le&s;s have done the feat)</L>
<L>Tho&s;e active Dances I have &s;tept,</L>
<L>And &s;uch true time to Mu&s;ick kept;</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>No <HI>Mon&s;ieur A-la-mode Paree,</HI></L>
<L>Perform'd e're half &s;o well as me.</L>
<L>Nor need I tell each Serenade,</L>
<L>Which I for thee at Midnight made.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>An <HI>Iri&s;h Evidence</HI> might take</L>
<L>His Oath (if thou wert then awake)</L>
<L>And be believ'd, that in that Vein,</L>
<L>Thou'rt ready for another Strain.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>What of thy Beauty I have &s;aid,</L>
<L>And many large <HI>Encomiums</HI> made,</L>
<L>I &s;hall not at this time renew,</L>
<L>Thy Enviers hate 'em, cau&s;e they'r true.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Such were the Taunts of that Gill-flurt</L>
<L><HI>Tere&s;a,</HI> Pox upon her for't:</L>
<L>Quo &s;he, <HI>my Ears are even tir'd</HI></L>
<L><HI>To hear this Monky thus admir'd;</HI></L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L><HI>Thanks to her Patches, Paint and Shade,</HI></L>
<L><HI>And other Arts of the clo&s;e Trade.</HI></L>
<L><HI>She learns her Face for to be&s;patter</HI></L>
<L><HI>With Pi&s;s, and &s;till'd Puppy-dog Water;</HI></L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L><HI>Did &s;he not wear Perfumes in Flank,</HI></L>
<L><HI>No lu&s;tful Goat would &s;mell more rank:</HI></L>
<L><HI>Yet, Bigott, thou the&s;e Cheats can't &s;ee,</HI></L>
<L><HI>And &s;till a Nickapoop wilt be.</HI></L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Such Language needs no &s;oft Reply,</L>
<L>'Twas Manners then to give the Lye.</L>
<L>Her Cou&s;in heard, with Rage he burn'd,</L>
<L>The &s;ame I gave, the &s;ame return'd.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>You know th' event well of our Swords,</L>
<L>I mad&egrave; that Ra&s;cal eat his Words.</L>
<L>I'm not &s;o ha&s;ty to obtain,</L>
<L>But can my Pa&s;&s;ion &s;o re&s;train,</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<PB N="46" REF="35">
<L>Till nice&s;t Honour thinks it ju&s;t,</L>
<L>And then I'le venture a bold Thru&s;t.</L>
<L>The &s;acred Hymeneal Bands,</L>
<L>Shall tie our Hearts as well as Hands:</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>And when we're yoak'd in <HI>Gordian</HI> Noo&s;e,</L>
<L>I'le be the Gander, thou the Goo&s;e.</L>
<L>But if thou wilt not grant my Sute,</L>
<L>And at Love's Bar do&s;t &s;till &s;tand mute;</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>I'le &s;eek me out &s;ome other Nur&s;e,</L>
<L>Be to thy &s;elf thy Plague and Cur&s;e.</L>
<L>I'le beg no Favour, fear no Frown,</L>
<L>Turn Capuchin and &s;have my Crown:</L>
<L>Be free to range in every Ground,</L>
<L>The Town-Bull n'ere is put i'th' Pound.</L>
</LG>
</DIV1>
</BODY>
</TEXT></Q>
<P>The Shepherd having thus concluded his Song, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> de&s;ir'd him to begin &s;omething el&s;e; but <HI>Sancho Pan&s;a</HI> forbid the Banes, having more de&s;ire to &s;leep, then to hear Ballads; telling his Ma&s;ter withal, that it was high time for him to betake him&s;elf to his Re&s;t; be&s;ides, that he did ill to keep up the Shepherds all Night, with his fidling, who labour'd hard all the day long. I under&s;tand thee, <HI>Sancho,</HI> cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and indeed I thought thy frequent vi&s;iting the Bottle would make thee drowzy. Ble&s;s me, dear Sir! cry'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> I hope you did not grudge me a draught of good Wine. By my Honour, not I, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> therefore go &s;leep where thou wilt, and leave me to my &s;elf; for it better becomes men of my Profe&s;&s;ion to wake, then to lie &s;leeping like a Dog in a Chimney-corner. But &s;tay a little before thou go'&s;t, dre&s;s my Ear; for now I think on't 'tis very &s;ore. Thereupon, while <HI>Sancho</HI> was looking for his Ointment, one of the Shepherds beholding the Wound, de&s;ir'd <HI>Don Quixote</HI> not to trouble him&s;elf, for that he would cure him; and then fetching a few Ro&s;emary-leaves, after he had bruis'd 'em with a little Salt, he laid the Medicine to his Ear, a&s;&s;uring him, that he needed no other Remedy; which in a little time prov'd very true.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="4" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. IV.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Being the Relation of a Story which one of the Goat-herds told to tho&s;e that were with <HI>Don Quixote.</HI></HEAD>
<P>THE next Morning a certain Countryman, that brought 'em Provi&s;ion from the next Village, arriv'd, and addre&s;&s;ing him&s;elf to the Shep|herds; Heark ye Friends, &s;aid he, d' ye hear the News? How is't po&s;&s;ible, reply'd another of the Company? Why then, &s;aid the Countryman, the courtly Shepherd, the Schollard ye call <HI>Chry&s;o&s;tome,</HI> is dead this Morning, and they &s;ay he dy'd for love of that She-Devil, <HI>Marcella,</HI> the Daughter of <HI>William</HI> the rich Hunks, &s;he that haunts the&s;e Hills and Dales in the Habit of a Shepherde&s;s. For <HI>Marcella!</HI> cry'd one of the Shepherds, ye je&s;t &s;ure. I &s;ay, for <HI>Her;</HI> and more then that, 'tis reported, that he has
<PB N="47" REF="35"> order'd it in his Will to be bury'd in the middle of a Field, like a <HI>Maho|metan,</HI> at the Foot of the Rock whence i&s;&s;ues the Fountain of the <HI>Cork-tree,</HI> as being the place where he had the fir&s;t &s;ight of her Beauty. He has al&s;o appointed many other things of the &s;ame nature to be done, which the Church-wardens of the Pari&s;h refu&s;e to perform, as being of ill exam|ple, and &s;avouring of Pagani&s;m. But <HI>Ambro&s;e,</HI> the t'other Scholar, and Friend of the deceas'd, will have the whole Will of the Te&s;tator ful|fill'd to a Tittle. All the Village is in an Uproar, but I believe <HI>Ambro&s;e</HI> and his Friends will carry the Day; and to morrow he is to be bury'd in great State. For my part, I believe it will be a very fine Sight; however, I will not fail to be there. We'll all go, cry'd the Shepherds, and draw Lots who &s;hall &s;tay to look after the Goats. 'Tis very well re&s;olv'd, <HI>Peter,</HI> cry'd one of the Shepherds; nor &s;hall you need to draw Lots, for I'le &s;tay my &s;elf; not &s;o much out of Kindne&s;s to you, or for want of Curio&s;ity, but becau&s;e of the Thorn i'my Toe, that will not permit me to put on my be&s;t Shoes. God-a-mercy, however, quo <HI>Peter,</HI> I'le run a Thorn i'my Foot for thee another time.</P>
<P>Upon tho&s;e Words <HI>Don Quixote</HI> de&s;ir'd <HI>Peter</HI> to tell him who the Per&s;on was that was dead, with a &s;hort account of the Shepherde&s;s. To which <HI>Peter</HI> made an&s;wer, That he knew nothing more of the matter, but only that a young Gentleman, Heir to a fair E&s;tate, was deceas'd, who&s;e Father liv'd not far off at the Foot of the Mountains; that he had been a Student at <HI>Salamanca,</HI> after which, he return'd home again greatly improv'd in his Learning; more e&s;pecially, that he was very exact in A&s;tronomy, and under&s;tood the private Amours and Court&s;hips that pa&s;s'd between the Sun and the Moon; and would often tell 'em &s;trange Stories of the Eclip&s;es of tho&s;e two Planets. He could al&s;o tell when the Year would prove barren, and when fruitful: So that his Parents and Friends following his Advice, in a &s;hort time became very rich. For he would tell 'em when to &s;ow Barley, when Wheat, when to &s;ow Vetches in&s;tead of Oats; and whatever he &s;aid came to pa&s;s. This Art, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote</HI> very gravely, is call'd <HI>A&s;trology.</HI> I know not how ye call it, re|ply'd <HI>Peter,</HI> but I know that he knew this, and much more. For he compos'd all the <HI>Carols</HI> that we &s;ung upon <HI>Chri&s;tmas-day</HI> morning, and made all the Plays that the Children in our Neighbourhood acted upon <HI>Corpus Chri&s;ti</HI> day, and that &s;o wittily, that no body could mend 'em. Some three or four Months after his return from <HI>Salamanca,</HI> we &s;aw him in Shep|herds Weeds, with his Scrip and Sheep-hook following his Flock, at what time his Friend <HI>Ambro&s;e</HI> accompani'd him in the &s;ame Habit, which caus'd a great A&s;toni&s;hment among us. For his Father being dead but a little before, had left him a fair E&s;tate in Cattel of all &s;orts, Hou&s;hold-goods, and ready Money; all which he very well de&s;erv'd, for he was a &s;weet natur'd per&s;on, extreamly belov'd, had a Face like an Angel, and was as charitable as Benediction it &s;elf. At length we found, that this un|wonted Di&s;gui&s;e was all for love of fair <HI>Marcella</HI> a rangeing Dam&s;el, that in the Dre&s;s of a Shepherde&s;s, does nothing but ramble up and down the&s;e &s;hady Mountains: And now I'le tell ye &s;uch a thing that you never heard i'your life, and never perhaps will hear the like, tho you were to live five hundred years.</P>
<P>Know then, there liv'd in our Village, an old <HI>Cinque &amp; Quater,</HI> who&s;e Name was <HI>Gaffer Williams,</HI> more wealthy than <HI>Chry&s;o&s;tome</HI>'s Father, and whom Heaven be&s;ides had ble&s;t with a lovely Daughter, who&s;e Mother dy'd in Child bed after &s;he was born. However, that Mother of hers was as
<PB N="48" REF="36"> good a Woman as ever I knew i' this World. Me-thinks I &s;ee the good Woman yet with her demure Saint-like Face, and her two Eyes like two bright Suns; and then I mu&s;t tell ye, &s;he was an excellent Hou&s;wife be&s;ide, lov'd the Poor, and I dare &s;ay &s;he is at this minute in <HI>Paradi&s;e.</HI> Her Death broke old <HI>Williams</HI>'s Heart, who liv'd not long after her, leaving his Daughter a very young Heire&s;s, to the care of her Uncle, who was Curate of our Pari&s;h. Neverthele&s;s, her Infant-beauty increas'd to that degree, as &s;he grew in years, that when &s;he arriv'd at fourteen, all Men gave God Thanks for &s;ending &s;o beautiful a Creature into the World; and all Men became either enamour'd or di&s;tracted that beheld her. All this while her Uncle kept her as charily, and as clo&s;e as a U&s;erer's Gold; but Fame had made &s;uch a hideous Noi&s;e i' the World of her Beauty, and Report &s;o loudly &s;pread her E&s;tate, that &s;he might have had more Hus|bands then there are Sands i'the Sea: All the young Gallants, Dukes, Marque&s;&s;es, Counts, Squires far and near came in Shoals to demand her in Marriage; nothing but continual Rap, Rap, at her Uncle's Door, that he might as well have &s;lept in St. <HI>Sepulchre</HI>'s <HI>Steeple</HI> upon a <HI>Coronation-day.</HI> For this Rea&s;on her Uncle would have been glad to have been rid of her, but being an hone&s;t true <HI>Trojan</HI> as ever pi&s;s'd, he would not either advi&s;e or force her again&s;t her own Inclination. For I mu&s;t tell ye, Sir <HI>Knight,</HI> bu&s;ie Bodies may prate what they plea&s;e. And &s;ome there are that have &s;candaliz'd her Uncle, as how he &s;hould endeavour to keep her from marrying, to have the Benefit of her E&s;tate. But that's a fal&s;e Lye, Sir <HI>Errant,</HI> as we that are his Pari&s;hioners well know, and are ready to te&s;ti|fie by Certificate under our Hands, when Occa&s;ion &s;hall require. Alas! our Curate's no &s;uch Per&s;on, he's an hone&s;t Man, and a good Bowler, plays at Cards a Sundays, drinks a chirping Cup with his Neighbours; and this he may do without being beholding to his Neece for her Means, I a&s;&s;ure ye, Sir.</P>
<P>I believe all this, <HI>hone&s;t Peter,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and therefore go on; for the Story is plea&s;ant, and thou tell'&s;t it with a Grace. I wi&s;h it were the Grace of God, quo <HI>Peter,</HI> for I want it I'm &s;ure. But for the <HI>Curate,</HI> as I told ye before, he made diligent Enquiry, and then told his Neece the Conditions and Qualities of her Suitors, with all the Fidelity imagi|nable, de&s;iring her to make her own Choice. To which the Dam&s;el made no other Reply, but that <HI>Ha&s;te made Wa&s;te;</HI> and that &s;he was yet too young to have any Thoughts of Matrimony. By means of which rational Excu&s;es, &s;he freed her &s;elf from her Uncle's Importunities, who re&s;olv'd from that time forth to &s;tay till &s;he thought her &s;elf of Age to chu&s;e for her &s;elf. For, &s;aid he, (and he &s;poke like an hone&s;t Man) 'tis not for Pa|rents to put a force upon their Children, where Election ought to be free. And thus the di&s;dainful <HI>Marcella,</HI> finding her &s;elf at Liberty, and beguil|ing even Su&s;picion it &s;elf, put on her Shepherde&s;&s;es Trinkets, and away &s;he went with the re&s;t of the Shepherds, keeping her Flock by her &s;elf.</P>
<P>But then, 'twas the <HI>Devil</HI> upon <HI>Dun,</HI> forty times wor&s;e; for no &s;ooner did her dazling Beauties di&s;play them&s;elves abroad, but all the &s;pruce young Gallants, Gentlemen, and rich Farmers Sons, Elder Brothers, full of Con|fidence; Younger Brothers, full of Hopes, from <HI>Dan</HI> to <HI>Beer&s;heba,</HI> bought 'em Pipes and Whi&s;tles, and follow'd her in green Sutes to the Plains and Fo|re&s;ts, more Shepherds then Sheep, as if <HI>Bedlam</HI> had been broke loo&s;e, to di&s;cover their &s;everal Pa&s;&s;ions and langui&s;hing Amours. Among the re&s;t this poor be&s;otted <HI>Chry&s;o&s;tome</HI> was one, who, as they &s;ay, not only lov'd, but ador'd her. Neverthele&s;s, you are not &s;o much as to imagine, that
<PB N="49" REF="36"> <HI>Marcella,</HI> tho &s;he gave her &s;elf this unwonted Liberty, ever practis'd the lea&s;t Di&s;hone&s;ty, or ever committed any Act that could prejudice her Ver|tue, &s;o much as in Surmi&s;e; but rather &s;he kept &s;uch a Guard upon her &s;elf, and govern'd all her Thoughts with &s;uch an exact Re&s;erv'dne&s;s, that the mo&s;t ob&s;equious could never boa&s;t that &s;he had giv'n 'em the lea&s;t Hopes. Nay, if any were &s;o advent'rous to tell her a Story of their Pa&s;&s;ions in her Ear, tho never &s;o innocent, as tending only to holy Wedlock, &s;he never would give tho&s;e Per&s;ons the Opportunity to do it again. And thus is this Dam&s;el a greater Plague to the Earth, then the Pe&s;tilence it &s;elf; murd'ring with her Rigour and Di&s;dain tho&s;e Thou&s;ands that &s;he gains with her complai&s;ant Humour and Beauty. And all the Remedy which they have, is only to exclaim again&s;t her, to call her Cruel and Ingrate|ful, with a Million of other Reproaches, which the proud <HI>Flebergebit</HI> well de&s;erves. Were you but to &s;tay here, Sir <HI>Knight,</HI> for &s;ome time, you &s;hould hear the Mountains and Valleys re&s;ound with the Groans and Lamenta|tions of the&s;e inamour'd Milk-&s;ops; and in a Grove, not far from this place, where there grow about a hunderd Beeches, there is not one &s;ingle Tree upon the Bark of which there is room left for one more <HI>MARCELLA,</HI> tho it were to be engrav'd with a Pin's Point, from the knitting of the Branches above, to the Root below. Here one Shepherd &s;ighs, there ano|ther is making woful Complaints; here one is venting his Sorrows in a Sonnet, there another is tearing his Hair: Nor can they ever &s;leep, their Sorrows are &s;o re&s;tle&s;s, their Pillows &s;o hard, either the foot of an Oak, or the &s;tump of a Rock, where they lie &s;ighing, and &s;obbing, and howling, and groaning, without Intermi&s;&s;ion. And &s;ome there are that lie rowling and tumbling in the hot burning Sand, filling the Air with their loud Out-cries, and making mo&s;t bitter Lamentations to Heaven. And all this while th' inexorable Marble-hearted <HI>Marcella</HI> laught at their Mi&s;eries, and triumphs over the Misfortunes and Sufferings of the&s;e pitiful Wretches. Nor can we tell where her Cruelty will end, or who &s;hall be the happy Man, that &s;hall at length have the good Fortune to tame this &s;avage Tiger. This is the Truth, the whole Truth, and nothing but the Truth, &s;o help me God, Sir <HI>Knight;</HI> and therefore I would have you &s;tay, and be at the Funeral, where you will be admitted, without a Ticket, to one of the mo&s;t plea&s;ant, lamentable, whim&s;ical, delightful, mournful Sights that ever you &s;aw in your Life. I do intend it, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and in the mean time I return thee a thou&s;and Thanks for the Diverti&s;ement of a Story that plea&s;es me above all that I ever heard in my Life. Alas! Sir <HI>Knight,</HI> reply'd the Shepherd, I have not told ye half the Adventures and Misfortunes of this cur&s;ed <HI>Marcella's</HI> Lovers; but tomorrow I make no Que&s;tion, but we &s;hall meet with &s;ome Shepherd or other that will &s;up|ply the re&s;t. In the mean time it will not be ami&s;s for ye to take a Nap in one of the Huts; for the open Air is not good for your Wound, tho if the Flies get not to it, you need fear nothing &s;o long as that Plai&s;ter is upon it. <HI>Sancho,</HI> who wi&s;h'd the Shepherd, and his Tale of a roa&s;ted Hor&s;e at the Devil, however, &s;econded the Goat-herd in his good Advice to his Ma&s;ter, whom he never left till he had got him into one of the Huts, where <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;pent the remainder of the Night, not in &s;leep|ing, but in bewailing his dear <HI>Dulcinea's</HI> Di&s;dain, in Imitation of <HI>Marcella's</HI> Lovers. While <HI>Sancho,</HI> ne're di&s;turb'd with any &s;uch Heart-breaking Thoughts, laid him&s;elf down between <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> and his A&s;s, and there fell a &s;noring, as &s;afe as a Thief in a Mill.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="5" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="50" REF="37">
<HEAD>CHAP. V.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">A Continuation of the Story of <HI>Marcella.</HI></HEAD>
<P>NO &s;ooner did the bright <HI>Aurora</HI> appear in all her gaudy Pomp, upon the Balconies of the Ea&s;t, when the Shepherds aro&s;e, and coming to <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> ask'd him, If he intended to go to the Funeral, whither they were ready to bear him Company. Thereupon <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who de|&s;ir'd nothing more, pre&s;ently got up, and rouzing <HI>Sancho,</HI> gave him Order forthwith to &s;addle <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> and get ready his A&s;s; which being done with all diligence, they &s;et forward. But they had not rode above a quar|ter of a League, before they &s;aw advancing towards 'em &s;ix other Shep|herds clad in black Jippo's, their Heads crown'd with Garlands of <HI>Cypre&s;s</HI> and <HI>Coa&s;tmary,</HI> with long Holly-&s;taves i' their Hands. After them fol|low'd two Gentlemen a' Hor&s;e-back, with three Lacquies running by their &s;ides; drawing near, they &s;aluted each other very civilly, and after the u|&s;ual Que&s;tion, Which way d' ye travel? they found they had all together the &s;ame De&s;ign of going to the Funeral, &s;o that they all joyn'd Company. At what time, one of the Gentlemen addre&s;&s;ing him&s;elf to the other, Ma|&s;ter <HI>Vivaldo,</HI> &s;aid he, I do not believe we &s;hall think our time mi&s;pent in going to &s;ee this Ceremony; which mu&s;t of nece&s;&s;ity be very remark|able, after &s;o many &s;trange Pa&s;&s;ages, which the Shepherds have recounted to us, concerning the Shepherd deceas'd, and the Shepherde&s;s, that was the Cau&s;e of his Death. I am of the &s;ame Opinion, an&s;wer'd <HI>Vivaldo;</HI> and I am &s;o far from grudging my &s;elf one, that I would rather &s;pend four Days, then mi&s;s the Sight. Upon that, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> de&s;irous to know what they hadheard farther concerning <HI>Chry&s;o&s;tome</HI> and <HI>Marcella,</HI> one of the Gentlemen made him an&s;wer, That having met that Morning with the Shepherds who came in their Company, and &s;eeing 'em in &s;uch deep Mourn|ing, they ask'd 'em the Occa&s;ion of their Funeral-dre&s;s; the Rea&s;on of which the Shepherds &s;oon unfolded, by relating the Story of a certain Shepherde&s;s nam'd <HI>Marcella,,</HI> no le&s;s fanta&s;tical, then beautiful; and no le&s;s beautiful, than fanta&s;tical; who with a remor&s;ele&s;s Di&s;dain trampl'd upon all her Lovers, and had been the Death of that &s;ame <HI>Chry&s;o&s;tome,</HI> to who&s;e Funeral they were going. In a Word, they repeated to <HI>Don Quixote</HI> all that <HI>Peter</HI> had told him before; and after the Rehear&s;al was over, <HI>Vi|valdo</HI> ask'd the <HI>Champion,</HI> wherefore he rode &s;o compleatly arm'd in a Coun|try &s;o quiet and peaceable as that was? 'Tis my Profe&s;&s;ion obliges me to it, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote:</HI> Fine Clothes and Ea&s;e were invented for Cour|tiers; but Labour, Vigilancy, and ponderous Sutes of Armour are the Por|tion of tho&s;e that the World calls <HI>Knight-Errants;</HI> of which Number, I have the Honour to be one, tho the mo&s;t unworthy, and the meane&s;t in the Regi&s;ter. This was enough to &s;atisfie the Gentleman, that our Cham|pion was a Coxcomb; however, that they might the better under&s;tand under what <HI>Genus</HI> to reduce this particular <HI>Species</HI> of Folly, <HI>Vivaldo</HI> de&s;ir'd him to define what a <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> was. <Q>I perceive, reply'd <HI>Don Quix|ote,</HI> that you never have read the Annals of <HI>Britain,</HI> where &s;uch frequent mention is made of the famous King <HI>Arthur,</HI> who, as they &s;ay, never dy'd, but was turn'd into a Crow by Inchantment; and, as the &s;ame Story tells us, &s;hall one day re&s;ume his former Shape, and recover his Kingdom again. In the time of this renowned King it was, that the Order of the Knights
<PB N="51" REF="37"> of the <HI>Round-Table</HI> was fir&s;t in&s;tituted; and that we fir&s;t hear of the A|mours between Sir <HI>Lancelot du Lake,</HI> and Queen <HI>Guinever,</HI> carry'd on by that di&s;creet and honourable Lady, Madam <HI>Quintaniana,</HI> which produc'd that <HI>Romance</HI> &s;o celebrated among us <HI>Ca&s;tillians;</HI> and thus beginning:</Q>
<Q><L>Never was Knight upon the Earth,</L>
<L>By Ladies &s;o care&s;s'd,</L>
<L>As was Sir <HI>Lancelot,</HI> when he fir&s;t</L>
<L>Became a <HI>Spani&s;h</HI> Gue&s;t.</L></Q></P>
<P><Q>After that time the Order of <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI> extreamly multiply'd, and &s;pread it &s;elf into all Parts of the World. Sir <HI>Amadis</HI> made him&s;elf fa|mous by his wonderful Atchievements; and &s;o did his Sons, and his Grand|children to the fifth Generation. The brave <HI>Felixmart</HI> of <HI>Hircania</HI> has highly &s;ignaliz'd him&s;elf in Feats of Arms; and that other Champion, <HI>Tyrant the White,</HI> can never be applauded to his worth. And not long before our time, the renowned <HI>D. Belianis</HI> of <HI>Greece</HI> got him a Name in Hi&s;tory, be&s;ides &s;everal others, matchle&s;s for their Prowe&s;s. And this is that Order of <HI>Chivalry-Errant,</HI> into which, tho a great Sinner, I profe&s;s my &s;elf to be admitted, ob&s;erving punctually the &s;ame Laws to which tho&s;e valiant Knights were oblig'd; and for that Rea&s;on it is, that as they did, I make the&s;e Pilgrimages through De&s;arts and Fore&s;ts, devoting my Per&s;on, and the Strength of my Arm, to the mo&s;t hazardous Perils and dangers that Fortune can &s;tudy to my Damage, for the Relief of the weak and di&s;tre&s;&s;ed.</Q></P>
<P>After this extravagant Bibble-babble, you may be &s;ure the Travellers needed no farther Arguments to convince 'em of <HI>Don Quixote's</HI> Frenzy; and yet they could not chu&s;e but wonder, that &s;o much in&s;ipid Folly &s;hould enter the Brains of a Rational Creature. However, <HI>Vivaldo</HI> being a Per&s;on of a frolick Humour, and lively Wit, had no &s;ooner made the Di&s;|covery, but he re&s;olv'd to make the be&s;t Advantage of it, that the &s;hort|ne&s;s of the way would allow him, and to di&s;po&s;e <HI>Don Quixote</HI> for any Sport that &s;hould happen. Me-thinks, Sir <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> &s;aid he, you have embrac'd one of the mo&s;t happy Profe&s;&s;ions in the World; I would not change it for the Condition of a <HI>Carthu&s;ian.</HI> <Q>Tis true, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> they may live a life more au&s;tere, but nothing &s;o beneficial to the World, as we do. For tho&s;e religious People have nothing to do but to &s;ay their Prayers in peace both of Body and Mind; but we <HI>Knights</HI> and Soldiers perform tho&s;e Duties of Prayer in Action, and procure tho&s;e Benefits to Mankind by our Valour, and the Edge of our Swords, for which they only intercede. We do what we do, expos'd to Summer's &s;corching Heat, and Winter's parching Cold, while they only mumble a few Prayers i' their Cells, and their Chappels, &s;ecure from all the Hard|&s;hips of Weather. So that we may truly call our &s;elves God's Mini&s;ters upon Earth, the In&s;truments of his Ju&s;tice; and therefore as the La|bours of War are always accompany'd with Toil and Sweat, &s;o the religi|ous Soldier mu&s;t of nece&s;&s;ity be preferr'd before the religious Monk, that only &s;ays a few <HI>Litanies</HI> under the Shelter and Accommodation of Ea&s;e and Plenty. However, after all this, God forbid that I &s;hould maintain, that the Profe&s;&s;ion of a <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> is &s;o holy, nor &s;o directly in the Road to Salvation, as that of a <HI>Carthu&s;ian;</HI> but I draw this Con&s;equence from what I &s;uffer, that without Que&s;tion it is more laborious, more &s;ub|ject to Ba&s;tinado's, and the Martyrdom of Hunger and Thir&s;t, and in a
<PB N="52" REF="38"> Word, more wretched and mi&s;erable. Or, if you find, that any of the&s;e <HI>Knights-Errant</HI> have advanc'd them&s;elves to be <HI>Emperors</HI> by the force of their Arms, yet you may be &s;ure it co&s;t 'em dear, if Blood and Sweat be of any value; be&s;ides that, if they had not had the A&s;&s;i&s;tance of Sorcerers, and <HI>Necromancers,</HI> they had fail'd in their Expectations.</Q></P>
<P>For my part, reply'd <HI>Vivaldo,</HI> I am of the &s;ame Opinion; but there is one Omi&s;&s;ion in <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI> that I cannot forgive, which is this; that when they are ju&s;t upon the point to encounter the greate&s;t Dangers in the World, with apparent Hazard of their Per&s;ons, they never apply them|&s;elves to Heaven, nor call upon God, as every good Chri&s;tian is oblig'd to do at &s;uch times, but only recommend them&s;elves to their Mi&s;tre&s;&s;es, and implore their Female-a&s;&s;i&s;tance, as if they wor&s;hipp'd no other Deities; which, in my Judgment, &s;mells &s;trong of the Garlick of Pagani&s;m. <Q>Sir, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> there's no altering that Method, in regard that if a <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> &s;hould do otherwi&s;e, he would be de&s;pis'd and laught at. For 'tis an e&s;tabli&s;h'd and mo&s;t inviolable Cu&s;tom among <HI>Knights-Errant,</HI> that when they are ju&s;t entring the Li&s;ts of fatal Combat, they mu&s;t of nece&s;&s;ity, with their Eyes lifted up to Heav'n, invoke the favourable A&s;&s;i|&s;tance of their Ladies; or at lea&s;t, if time will not otherwi&s;e permit, they are oblig'd to mutter between their Teeth certain Ejaculations to the So|vereigne&s;&s;es of their Affection: Not but that a <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> has lei&s;ure e|nough to recommend him&s;elf o God, and may do it in time of Fight.</Q></P>
<P>Why, that's a Scruple, reply'd <HI>Vivaldo,</HI> that very much troubles my Con&s;cience; for I have ob&s;erv'd in my frequent Readings, that your <HI>Knights-Errant</HI> only fir&s;t di&s;cour&s;e a little together, then that a few hot Words inflame their Choler, which is no &s;ooner heated, but pre&s;ently they turn their Hor&s;e-heads to gain room for the Career, and then flie one at a|nother with that Fury, that immediately one of the two tumbles Top&s;y-turvy to the Earth, &s;pitted through the Heart with a cur&s;ed Lance, while the t'other would &s;hew the &s;ame <HI>Chri&s;tmas-gamble,</HI> but for catching hold of his Hor&s;e's Main. Now I cannot apprehend for my life, how the Per&s;on &s;lain, &s;hould have time to recommend him&s;elf to God, when his Bu&s;ine&s;s is done in a minute. And therefore it would have been much more Chri|&s;tian-like to have employ'd tho&s;e Ejaculations in the mid&s;t of his Career rather to Heaven, then to his Mi&s;tre&s;s. Be&s;ides, I do not find, that all <HI>Knights-Errants</HI> had Mi&s;tre&s;&s;es, nor that they were all in Love. <Q>That's impo&s;&s;ible, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> the Heaven may as well be without Stars, as a <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> without a Mi&s;tre&s;s. 'Tis that which is the very <HI>Being</HI> of Chivalry, without which <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI> cannot &s;ub&s;i&s;t; and therefore &s;hew me any Hi&s;tory that dares affirm the Contrary. More then that, I tell ye, and po&s;itively maintain, That a Knight without a Mi&s;tre&s;s, is no lawful Knight, but a Ba&s;tard, and a Thief of Honour, that got in at the Window of <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> and not at the Fore-door.</Q> What think ye, reply'd <HI>Vivaldo,</HI> of <HI>Don Galaor,</HI> the Brother of <HI>Amadis?</HI> For 'tis well known he was as lecherous as a Mackerel, and would never be ty'd to any certain Mi&s;tre&s;s, yet was he no le&s;s admir'd for his Valour and Atchieve|ments then any of the re&s;t. <HI>One Swallow never makes a Summer,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote.</HI> 'Tis true, I know very well he lov'd a pretty Girl in a Cor|ner; but if he told the &s;ame Tale to all that he met, 'twas out of a natural pronene&s;s which he had to Swan-hopping, which he cou'd not well go|vern; and without Prejudice to the Sovereign Empre&s;s of his Will, to whom he frequently recommended his Per&s;on in private; for he was a Man that always &s;tudied Prudence and Di&s;cretion.</P>
<PB N="53" REF="38">
<P>I &s;ubmit, reply'd <HI>Vivaldo,</HI> and mu&s;t &s;uppo&s;e, that &s;ince it is &s;o much the <HI>Being</HI> of <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI> to be in Love, that your &s;elf, who are of the &s;ame Profe&s;&s;ion, cannot be without a Mi&s;tre&s;s. And therefore, not belie|ving you to be &s;o re&s;erv'd as <HI>Don Galaor,</HI> I be&s;eech ye, Sir, in the Name of all the Company, tell us the Name, the Quality, and Place of your Mi&s;tre&s;s's Birth. For doubtle&s;s all the World mu&s;t needs acknowledge her to be the happie&s;t Woman alive, as being the only Deity to whom a Knight, &s;o ac|compli&s;h'd as your &s;elf, pays all his Devotions.</P>
<P>With that <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> fetching a deep Sigh from the bottom of his Mid|riff, <Q>I know not, &s;aid he, whether this &s;weet Enemy of my Repo&s;e, take it well or ill at my Hands, that the World takes notice of my Familiarity with her; however, that &s;hall never hinder me from giving you a civil An&s;wer to your Que&s;tion. Then li&s;t'n, and know, that her Name is <HI>Dul|cinea,</HI> the Place of her Birth, <HI>Tobo&s;o,</HI> a Village of <HI>La Mancha;</HI> and that &s;he is at lea&s;t a Prince&s;s, as being the Sovereign Lady of my Thoughts. As for her Beauty, it is a Miracle, where all that the Poets have feign'd of <HI>Chimera's</HI> and Impo&s;&s;ibilities, is to be found preci&s;ely writt'n in all the legible Characters of real Perfection. Her di&s;hevel'd Tre&s;&s;es are pure Gold; her Forehead, the <HI>Ely&s;ian Fields;</HI> her Brows are two Cele&s;tial Rain|bows &s;emi-circling her Eyes, that &s;hine like two bright Suns in one Fir|mament: Her Cheeks, two Beds of Ro&s;es; her Lipps, two Coral Portals that guard her Teeth, which are &s;o many Orient Pearls: Her Neck &s;ur|pa&s;&s;es Alabla&s;ter, and her Hands tran&s;cend the polli&s;h'd Ivory, and the new|fall'n Snow is no more then Soot, compar'd with the Whitene&s;s of her Bo|&s;ome. Then for the Parts which Mode&s;ty conceals, you may gue&s;s at their Proportion, and their ine&s;timable Value, by tho&s;e recited Wonders already di&s;play'd to your Admiration.</Q></P>
<P>Here <HI>Vivaldo</HI> making a reverend Bow, for Heaven's-&s;ake, &s;aid he, con|ceal not the Place of this Divine Lady's Nativity, nor her Parentage; for tho&s;e two things made known compleat her Story.</P>
<P>Then <HI>Don Quixote:</HI> She is not de&s;cended from the ancient <HI>Roman Curi|us's, Caius's,</HI> nor <HI>Scipio's;</HI> nor from the more modern <HI>Colonna's,</HI> nor <HI>&V;r&s;ini's;</HI> nor from the <HI>Moncada's,</HI> or <HI>Reque&s;enes</HI> of <HI>Catalonia;</HI> or from the <HI>Rebella's,</HI> or <HI>Villanova's</HI> of <HI>Valencia;</HI> nor from the <HI>Polafones, No&ccedil;a's, Rocaberti's, Corella's, Luna's, Alagone's, &V;trea's, Foze's,</HI> or <HI>Gurrea's</HI> of <HI>Arragon;</HI> nor from the <HI>Cer|da's, Montique's, Mendoza's,</HI> or <HI>Gu&s;mans</HI> of <HI>Ca&s;tile;</HI> nor from the <HI>Alenca|&s;tro's, Palla's,</HI> or <HI>Mene&s;es</HI> of <HI>Portugal:</HI> But &s;he is a Branch of the Family of <HI>Tobo&s;o de la Mancha.</HI> So that altho her Pedigree be modern, yet is it &s;uffi|cient to give a mo&s;t noble Beginning to one of the mo&s;t illu&s;trious Pro|genies that ever flouri&s;h'd in &s;ucceeding Ages. And let no Man pre&s;ume to contradict me in this, unle&s;s it be upon tho&s;e Conditions, which <HI>Zerbin</HI> fixt at the foot of the Trophy which he erected after he had won <HI>Orlan|do's</HI> Armour.</P>
<Q><L>Let no man dare to be &s;o ra&s;h,</L>
<L>The&s;e Arms from hence to pull,</L>
<L>&V;nle&s;s he mean to try a Cra&s;h</L>
<L>With him that crackt <HI>Orlando's</HI> Scull.</L></Q>
<P>I confe&s;s, quo <HI>Vivaldo,</HI> I have heard of the <HI>Trugg-mouldies</HI> of <HI>Wapping,</HI> and the <HI>Pu&s;&s;ocks</HI> of <HI>Lime-hou&s;e,</HI> but dare not make any Compari&s;ons with the <HI>Tobo&s;o's de la Mancha;</HI> tho, to &s;ay Truth, it is a Family that I never read of in any Book of Heraldry before. 'Tis &s;ufficient that you have heard of it now, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote.</HI></P>
<PB N="54" REF="39">
<P>All the re&s;t of the Company li&s;ten'd attentively to this Di&s;cour&s;e, and were fully convinc'd, that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was either a Fool or a Madman. Even <HI>Sancho</HI> him&s;elf, who believ'd every Word that dropp'd from his Ma|&s;ter's Mouth to be <HI>Oracular</HI> Truth, as having known him from his Cradle, to be a Man of Sincerity, had many Scruples and Doubts, as to this Story of <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> for that he had never heard of any &s;uch Name, or of any &s;uch Prince&s;s, tho he had always liv'd in the Village; all which he could not chu&s;e but &s;ignifie to the Travellers.</P>
<P>But as they were arguing upon this Subject <HI>pro</HI> and <HI>con,</HI> upon the hollow Road between the two Mountains, they met &s;ome twenty more Shepherds accoutre'd in black Skins, with Garlands of <HI>Cypre&s;s</HI> and <HI>Lime-Tree.</HI> Of which number &s;ix carry'd a <HI>Bier</HI> cover'd over with &s;everal &s;orts of Boughs and Flowers. When they drew near, &s;aies one of the Company, the&s;e are they that are carrying the Body of <HI>Chry&s;o&s;tome</HI> to his Grave; for it was at the foot of this Mountain, that he order'd his Corps to be interr'd. This caus'd 'em all to quick'n their pace, &s;o that they arriv'd ju&s;t as the Bearers were &s;etting down the Coffin upon the Ground, and that four other men were beginning to op'n the Ground ju&s;t by the &s;ide of the Rock. Where, after they had &s;aluted each other, and in few words condol'd the lo&s;s of their Friend and Acquaintance, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and his Company went to view the Corps, a mournful Spectacle; a young man of about thirty years of Age, in his Pa&s;toral Weeds all &s;trew'd over with Flowers. However, dead as he was, there appear'd the Ruines of a goodly A&s;pect and clever Proportion. With|in the Coffin al&s;o lay &s;ome few Books, and &s;everal Papers, &s;ome open, o|thers folded up. Which &s;ad and mournful Spectacle caus'd a kind of gene|ral mutene&s;s among all the Company, till one of the Bearers breaking &s;i|lence, Look, <HI>Ambro&s;e,</HI> &s;aid he, whether that be the place which <HI>Chry&s;o|&s;tome</HI> made choice of, &s;ince thou ha&s;t undertak'n to have his Will &s;o exact|ly perform'd. <Q>'Tis the very &s;ame, reply'd <HI>Ambro&s;e,</HI> and where I have heard my unfortunate Friend a hundred times repeat the doleful Story of his hard Fate. There it was that he had the fir&s;t &s;ight of that Mortal Enemy of Mankind; there it was that he made the fir&s;t Di&s;covery of his Pa&s;&s;ion, no le&s;s innocent then violent; and there it was that the pitile&s;s <HI>Marcella,</HI> inex|orable in her Di&s;dain, concluded the Tragedy of his Life; and there it was, that he de&s;ir'd to be bury'd, to pre&s;erve the Memory of his many Mis|fortunes.</Q></P>
<P>Afterwards, addre&s;&s;ing him&s;elf to <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and the re&s;t of the Travellers, This Body, &s;aid he, which here you now behold, doubtle&s;s not without Eyes of Sorrow and Compa&s;&s;ion, was once enliven'd by a Soul, which Heaven had adorn'd with the chiefe&s;t part of all its wealthy Graces. For this is the Corps of that <HI>Chry&s;o&s;tome,</HI> who was lately endu'd with a Wit mo&s;t incomparable, with a matchle&s;s Sincerity, and an un&s;hak'n Friend|&s;hip. Liberal and magnificent, without O&s;tentation; prudent and &s;erious, without Pride; mode&s;t without Affectation; plea&s;ing and complai&s;ant, without Flattery or low Submi&s;&s;ion. In a word, the fir&s;t for Goodne&s;s in all the&s;e Parts, and &s;econd to none in Misfortune. He lov'd beyond Mea|&s;ure, and was hated to exce&s;s. He was a Slave to a Tyranne&s;s, made his moans to deaf Marble, wept to the Winds, &s;igh'd to the De&s;arts; he was con&s;tant to Ingratitude, and for the Recompence of his Fidelity, became a Prey to Death in the Flower of his Age, through the Cruelty of a Shep|herde&s;s, that he would have render'd by his Ver&s;e, Immortal to Po&s;terity. The Truth of which the&s;e Papers would a&s;&s;uredly te&s;tifie, had he not com|manded me to &s;acrifice 'em to con&s;uming Flames at the &s;ame time that his Body was committed to the Earth.</P>
<PB N="55" REF="39">
<P>In &s;o doing, you would appear more cruel then the remor&s;ele&s;s Shep|herde&s;s her &s;elf, reply'd <HI>Vivaldo,</HI> &s;ince it is not always ju&s;t, &s;o religiou&s;ly to ob&s;erve the la&s;t Commands of the deceas'd, when their la&s;t Orders are repugnant to Rea&s;on. For how many noble Relicks had been lo&s;t, had the la&s;t Will of the Dead been always punctually ob&s;erv'd? And therefore, Mr. <HI>Ambro&s;e,</HI> I be&s;eech ye, pay &s;uch a &s;mall, tho the la&s;t Kindne&s;s to your Friend, as to pre&s;erve his Works from Oblivion; and what he ordain'd as a Per&s;on injur'd, forbear to accompli&s;h for want of Con&s;ideration; rather &s;uffer tho&s;e Papers to live, as Te&s;timonials of your Friend's Vertue, and <HI>Marcella's</HI> Ingratitude; if for no other Rea&s;on, yet to be a Warning to o|thers, and to pre&s;erve 'em from falling from the &s;ame Precipice. And &s;o &s;aying, without expecting an An&s;wer, he went to the Coffin, and took out a &s;mall parcel of Papers which were next to his Hand. Well, Sir, &s;aid <HI>Ambro&s;e,</HI> to recompence your Kindne&s;s in attending my Friend's Her&s;e, I &s;hall not de&s;ire you to re&s;tore tho&s;e Papers which you have already; and your Will &s;o far &s;hall be my Friend's, provided you will &s;uffer me to burn the re&s;t. <HI>Vivaldo</HI> &s;aid no more, but impatient to &s;ee what one of his re&s;cu'd Papers contain'd, he open'd it immediately, and found it in&s;crib'd, <HI>Chry&s;o&s;tom's Rant,</HI> or, <HI>The De&s;perate Lover,</HI> which he &s;poke out aloud.</P>
<P>That, &s;aid <HI>Ambro&s;e,</HI> was the la&s;t Piece that ever my Friend made; and therefore that all the Company may hear to what a Condition his Mis|fortunes had reduc'd him, read it, I be&s;eech ye, Sir, while the Grave is making. Mo&s;t willingly, reply'd <HI>Vivaldo.</HI> And &s;o the Company being ga|ther'd round about him, he read the following Lines.</P>
<Q><TEXT LANG="eng">
<BODY>
<DIV1 TYPE="poem">
<HEAD><HI>Chry&s;o&s;tom</HI>'s Rant, or, The Amorous De&s;pair.</HEAD>
<LG>
<L>CRuel, and &s;hamele&s;s too to boot!</L>
<L>Do&s;t thou not care, tho all the World &s;hould know't?</L>
<L>Lend me thy Rhetorick, Infernal Hell,</L>
<L>For only Tongues of Devils can expre&s;s</L>
<L>Her cur&s;ed Scorn, and damn'd Hard-heartedne&s;s.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Had &s;he not been on Dung-hill born</L>
<L>Of the World's Riff-raff, &s;ure her Scorn</L>
<L>Would n'ere ha' mounted her &s;o high</L>
<L>To do ami&s;s, and ju&s;tifie.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>But the Corruption of the be&s;t, is wor&s;t,</L>
<L>Woman corrupted is all over Devil;</L>
<L>For el&s;e what Virgin dur&s;t,</L>
<L>(That values Reputation civil)</L>
<L>When I &s;hall threaten to di&s;clo&s;e</L>
<L>A thou&s;and things, would &s;hame her quite,</L>
<L>Have been &s;o bold to tell me to my No&s;e,</L>
<L>I care not what ye tell, go &s;h&mdash;</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Then Owls and Screech-owls hating Light,</L>
<L>And you Death-boding Ravens, Terrors of the Night,</L>
<L>Lend me your mournful di&s;mal Throats;</L>
<L>I know ye n'ere could &s;ing like Madam <HI>Knight,</HI></L>
<L>Yet your Infernal Notes</L>
<L>Will &s;erve to give a Serenade</L>
<L>To a far more Infernal Jade.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<PB N="56" REF="40">
<L>Ye Tigers and ye Lions eke,</L>
<L>I &s;ay with me come roar,</L>
<L>While wretched I deplore</L>
<L>The Rigours of a cur&s;ed Whore,</L>
<L>That more de&s;erves the Toe and Kick,</L>
<L>Then ever any cur&s;ed Witch,</L>
<L>That gave her Paramour the Itch,</L>
<L>That &s;et him deep upon the Surgeons Score.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>How many thou&s;and Sonnets have I writ,</L>
<L>At the expence of Brain and Wit?</L>
<L>How many Pail-fulls have I wept?</L>
<L>How many tedious Nights</L>
<L>Have I con&s;um'd in bitter wo,</L>
<L>Tumbling and to&s;&s;ing to and fro,</L>
<L>With Eyes that never &s;lept?</L>
<L>How many Stockings Silk and Woo&s;ted</L>
<L>Have I worn out at Knees, when kneeling I acco&s;ted</L>
<L>The Flipperous Mynx, that in my Sorrows boa&s;ted?</L>
<L>How have I throbb'd and &s;obb'd,</L>
<L>Lamented, &s;igh'd, and vow'd in vain,</L>
<L>And all to gain</L>
<L>A coy, di&s;dainful, proud, di&s;&s;embling Quean?</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>How many Tarts at Crowns a piece,</L>
<L>With Apricocks, and early Cherries fill'd,</L>
<L>And then perfum'd with Ambergree&s;e,</L>
<L>At <HI>Cupid's</HI> and at dear <HI>Tart-hall,</HI></L>
<L>Has &s;he the one half eat, the other &s;poil'd,</L>
<L>While &s;till my Money paid for all?</L>
<L>How many Bottles of Backragg</L>
<L>Has &s;he pi&s;s'd out, that co&s;t me dear?</L>
<L>Yet then with Rev'rence and with Fear,</L>
<L>If I but offer'd to come near</L>
<L>Her Cherry-Lips, &s;he &s;traightway &s;tops</L>
<L>My daring Boldne&s;s with a Flap o' th' Chops?</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Then home I went,</L>
<L>And pondering well her Slights, and Money &s;pent;</L>
<L>Her Fell Ingratitude quite dampt my Heart.</L>
<L>But Oh! then to ha' &s;een</L>
<L>The Pickle I was in,</L>
<L>Now proud <HI>Marcella's</HI> Martyr,</L>
<L>Would ha' drawn Pity from the bloody <HI>Tartar.</HI></L>
<L>In every Bowel Pain and Smart!</L>
<L>And all at once</L>
<L>The full Ten Per&s;ecutions in my Bones;</L>
<L>My Mind&mdash;plagu'd with a thou&s;and Agonies,</L>
<L>VVill let my fainting Body take no re&s;t.</L>
<L><HI>Imprimis,</HI> Fears and Jealou&s;ies,</L>
<L>Di&s;traction, Anger, Love, and Fury,</L>
<L>My Soul into a thou&s;and Pa&s;&s;ions hurry;</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<PB N="57" REF="40">
<L>Till fainting, pining, langui&s;hing, at la&s;t</L>
<L>I fall into De&s;pair, and with De&s;pair</L>
<L>My Lungs, my Heart, my Spleen and Liver wa&s;t.</L>
<L>Thus feel I my lo&s;t Minutes drawing on,</L>
<L>O pity me, when I am dead and gone!</L>
<L>Let <HI>Guilt-&s;pur Street</HI> and <HI>Smithfield</HI> all be fill'd</L>
<L>With Stories of my Death,</L>
<L>And her di&s;dain that robb'd me of my Breath.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>And thou, my Song, fly &s;wiftly, and proclaim</L>
<L>To every Region proud <HI>Marcella's</HI> Name.</L>
<L>My Sighs to <HI>Tartary</HI> convey;</L>
<L>My Love to <HI>Swedleand, Poland,</HI> and to <HI>Per&s;ia.</HI></L>
<L>Let <HI>Groynland,</HI> cover'd all with Snow,</L>
<L>Th' &V;nju&s;tice of my Sufferings know:</L>
<L>And to the Sun-burnt <HI>Ethiop</HI> tell</L>
<L>The dire and mournful Cau&s;e by which I fell;</L>
<L>That all the World may find</L>
<L>What 'tis to be thus plagu'd by Love and Woman-kind.</L>
</LG>
</DIV1>
</BODY>
</TEXT></Q>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="6" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. VI.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">The Ver&s;es of the de&s;pairing Shepherd repeated, with other unexpected Accidents.</HEAD>
<P>THESE Ver&s;es were well approv'd by all that heard 'em; only <HI>Vi|valdo</HI> did not &s;eem to like, that the <HI>de&s;pairing Shepherd</HI> &s;hould tax <HI>Marcella</HI> with Jealou&s;ies and Su&s;picions, which he &s;aid reflected upon her Honour, contrary to all the Reports he had heard of her untainted Mode&s;ty and Re&s;erv'dne&s;s. But for his better Satisfaction, <HI>Ambro&s;e,</HI> who had been always privy to the mo&s;t &s;ecret Thoughts of his Friend, a&s;&s;ur'd him, That the unfortunate <HI>Chry&s;o&s;tome,</HI> when he wrote tho&s;e Ver&s;es, had ab&s;ented him&s;elf from <HI>Marcella,</HI> in hopes that Ab&s;ence might work its wonted Cure, by cau&s;ing him to forget the Object of his Pa&s;&s;ion. But as there is nothing more frequent, then for ab&s;ent Lovers &s;till to torment them&s;elves with a thou&s;and Fancies and <HI>Chimera's</HI> of their own Brain; &s;o was it <HI>Chry&s;o&s;tom's</HI> mi&s;hap to complain of Jealou&s;ies and Su&s;picions form'd in his own Imagina+tion, as if they had been really true. And therefore whatever he &s;aid in that Condition, could never redound to the lea&s;t Prejudice of <HI>Marcella</HI>'s Vertue. Upon whom, Envy it &s;elf, &s;etting a&s;ide her extream Cruelty, and unrea&s;onable Di&s;dain, could never fix the lea&s;t Reproach.</P>
<P><HI>Vivaldo</HI> being thus convinc'd by <HI>Ambro&s;e,</HI> as they were going to read a|nother Paper, they were of a &s;udden prevented by an unexpected <HI>Appa|rition;</HI> for &s;o it might well be call'd, the Vi&s;ion pop't &s;o unexpectly upon 'em. It was <HI>Marcella</HI> in per&s;on, who &s;hew'd her &s;elf from the top of the Rock, at the foot of which they were digging the Grave; but &s;o amiable, and &s;o beautiful, that they who had never &s;een her, beheld her with Ad|miration; and they that &s;aw her every Day, were no le&s;s &s;urpriz'd then the others. But, notwith&s;tanding all her fair Looks, no &s;ooner did <HI>Ambro&s;e</HI> &s;pie her, but in <HI>Billings-gate</HI> Rhetorick, he cry'd out, What mak'&s;t thou there, cur&s;t Mon&s;ter of Cruelty, and Dragone&s;s of the&s;e Mountains? Come'&s;t
<PB N="63" REF="41"> thou to &s;ee whether the Wounds of this unfortunate Swain will bleed a|fre&s;h at the Appearance of his Murdre&s;s? Or com'&s;t thou to triumph over his Ruines, like flaming <HI>Rome,</HI> or to glory in the Effects of thy Ingratitude? Speak, Tom-boy, Rigg, Vixen, Ramp; &s;peak Mrs. Thirty-Ribs, if thou ha&s;t any thing to &s;ay. <Q>Fair and &s;oftly, good Mr. <HI>Wine-porter,</HI> cry'd the Shepherde&s;s, I come here to prove my &s;elf an hone&s;t Maid, and to &s;hew the Inju&s;tice of tho&s;e <HI>Cow-babies,</HI> that lay their Heart breakings, and their Deaths to my Charge. 'Tis true, I have the good luck to be hand|&s;ome, as they &s;ay: Well! and what then? Am I therefore obli'gd to love every Finical Fop that admires me? For, tho I may plea&s;e him, he may not plea&s;e me &s;o well; nay, he may &s;eem deformed in my Eye. But &s;up|po&s;e the Man were an <HI>Adonis,</HI> yet there is a great difference in the In|clinations both of Men and Women; neither do all &s;orts of Beauty enamour alike, while &s;ome affect the fair, &s;ome the brown, others the black, <HI>&amp;c.</HI> for if all Men &s;hould dote upon one &s;ort of Beauty, Heav'ns ble&s;s us! how &s;hould one poor Woman be able to &s;erve &s;o many Roy&s;ters. Be&s;ides, if Love be to be left at Liberty, and not to be re&s;train'd, as all agree, is it not a great piece of Inju&s;tice to force me to love whether I will or no, when I have no more Inclination to the Sport, then to run my Head again&s;t the Wall? Then again, this Beauty of mine, that &s;o many admire, is the Gift of Heaven, and not a thing of my &s;eeking; if it does any Mi&s;chief, 'tis none of my Fault, no more then it is the Viper's Fault to carry poi&s;on about her, or of the Fire, or a &s;harp Sword, to burn or wound, if you ap|proach too near the one, or cut your &s;elf with the other. Cha&s;tity and Vertue are the Ornaments of the Mind, without which, the Beauties of the Body are but Deformities. If then Cha&s;tity be &s;o great a Vertue, why &s;hould I part with the Beauty of my Soul, to gratifie the heat of one that loves me only for his Plea&s;ure? I was born free, and becau&s;e I will not lo&s;e that Freedom, I have cho&s;en this &s;olitary way of living, where Trees are my Companions, the Chry&s;tal Fountains are my Look|ing Gla&s;&s;es; and where I al&s;o to the Woods and purling Streams com|municate my Thoughts. If you tell me that <HI>Chry&s;o&s;tom's</HI> Intentions were hone&s;t, and that he courted me not for a Mi&s;s, but for a Wife; What's that to the purpo&s;e? For I told him a hundred times I had no mind to marry, and the Fool would n'ere be an&s;wer'd; &s;o that 'twas his own ob|&s;tinate Honing and Puling, not my Beauty that kill'd him; if he would &s;ail again&s;t the Wind, and overturn his Ve&s;&s;el in the Waves of his own De&s;pair, what was that to me? And therefore let them that call me <HI>Murdre&s;s,</HI> and <HI>Dragone&s;s, Vixen,</HI> and <HI>Tigre&s;s, Di&s;dainful, Ingrateful,</HI> and I know not what my &s;elf, keep out of my fight, and come when I &s;end for 'em. In the&s;e Woods I intend to live, and in the&s;e Woods atlength to re&s;ign to Nature again tho&s;e Beauties which &s;he has lent me, without the Rumpling of Fornication, or Embezlement of Wedlock. And therefore for God's &s;ake, all of ye &s;et your Minds at re&s;t, and let me have my Hu|mour; or if you will needs be woing where y' are never like to &s;peed, whine your Hearts-out for me; for I have told ye my Re&s;olutions.</Q></P>
<P>Having &s;o &s;aid, &s;he threw her &s;elf into the thicke&s;t of the adjoyning Wood, without &s;taying for an An&s;wer, leaving all that heard her a&s;to|ni&s;h'd at her Wit, as well as her Beauty.</P>
<P>However, there were &s;ome in the Company, who little regarding her <HI>Nun-&s;hip's</HI> Vows and Prote&s;tations, had a great De&s;ire to follow her. But <HI>Don Quixote</HI> perceiving their De&s;ign, and believing he had now a fit Op|portunity offer'd him to &s;hew his <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> let no man dare, cry'd
<PB N="59" REF="41"> he, of what Quality or Condition &s;oever he be, to follow the fair <HI>Mar|cella,</HI> under the Penalty of incurring my Indignation. She has made it appear by undeniable Rea&s;ons, That &s;he was no way guilty of <HI>Chry&s;o&s;tom's</HI> Death; and moreover, that 'tis her De&s;ire not to be troubl'd with any more Suitors, nor to have a Gang at her Tail; for which Rea&s;on &s;he is to be the more e&s;teem'd and honour'd by all good Men, as being the only Woman, for ought I know i' the World, that ever liv'd with &s;o much Re|&s;erv'dne&s;s. Now, whether it were that the People were terrify'd by the Champion's Friends, or whether that <HI>Ambro&s;e</HI> ha&s;ten'd the Interment of his Friend, not a Man budg'd from the Place till the Body was laid in the Grave, and the Papers were committed to the Fire. After which, they roll'd a great Stone upon the Grave, till the Marble Monument was fini&s;h'd, which <HI>Ambro&s;e</HI> had be&s;poke, and upon which he had order'd the&s;e Ver&s;es to be engrav'd.</P>
<Q><L>HEre lies the Man that dy'd a Maid,</L>
<L>And for a Maid be&s;ide;</L>
<L>He loved her, &s;he lov'd not him,</L>
<L>And &s;o the poor Man dy'd.</L>
<L>Oh! for this Maid how he did roar,</L>
<L>Lament, complain, and weep;</L>
<L>Which &s;he no more regarded, then</L>
<L>The bleating of her Sheep.</L>
<L>His Sighs and Groans they pity'd All</L>
<L>That his loud Sorrows heard;</L>
<L>For with the Lather of his Eyes,</L>
<L>You might have &s;hav'd his Beard.</L>
<L>Him&s;elf to Death thus having cry'd,</L>
<L>Entombed here he lies,</L>
<L>But &s;he &s;till lives, a Thou&s;and more</L>
<L>Such <HI>Ninnies</HI> to de&s;pi&s;e.</L>
<L>Take warning hence, O Young Men all,</L>
<L>How you your &s;elves to Love enthrall;</L>
<L>And have in Mouth this Proverb &s;till,</L>
<L>That <HI>if one w'ont, another will.</HI></L></Q>
<P>The Ceremonies thus over, after mutual Condolements, the Shepherds departed to their &s;everal Stations: <HI>Vivaldo</HI> and his Friends took their leaves; and <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who was not a Per&s;on to forget him&s;elf, was more pro|lix, in regard his Complements were of a higher Strain, and &s;avour'd much of the Grandeur of his Profe&s;&s;ion. <HI>Vivaldo</HI> would fain have importun'd him to have gone to <HI>Seville,</HI> which he a&s;&s;ur'd him was a place the mo&s;t fer|tile in Adventures of any in the World; Where they grew in every Corner of the Streets. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> thank'd <HI>Vivaldo</HI> for his kind Information, but told him withal, That he neither could, nor dur&s;t go to <HI>Seville,</HI> till he had clear'd the Mountains of all the Thieves and Robbers that infe&s;ted the Roads adjoyning. Thereupon the Travellers, unwilling to divert him from &s;o pious a De&s;ign, pur&s;u'd their Journey, while <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was contriving which Way to follow <HI>Marcella,</HI> with a Re&s;olution to offer her his Services; but he was cro&s;s'd in his Purpo&s;es, as you &s;hall hear in the third Book.</P>
</DIV3>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="3" TYPE="book">
<PB REF="42">
<P><FIGURE>
<FIGDESC>Don Quixote and sheep</FIGDESC>
<P>Page 60.</P>
<P>Don Quixots Encounter with the Flock of Sheep.</P>
</FIGURE></P>
<P><FIGURE>
<FIGDESC>Don Quixote and galley slaves</FIGDESC>
<P>Don Quixot relea&s;es the Gally-Slaves.</P>
</FIGURE></P>
<DIV3 N="1" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="61" REF="42">
<HEAD>THE THIRD BOOK Of the mo&s;t Ingenious Don Quixote DE LA MANCHA. PART I. BOOK III.</HEAD>
<HEAD>CHAP. I.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Giving an Account of <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s unfortunate Rencounter with certain <HI>Yangue&s;ian</HI> Carriers</HEAD>
<P>THE Renowned <HI>Cid Hamet Venengeli,</HI> upon who&s;e Authority de|pends the Truth of our Hi&s;tory, relates, That &s;o &s;oon as <HI>Don Quixote</HI> had taken leave of the Shepherds, that had &s;o kindly en|tertain'd him, and of the re&s;t that he met at <HI>Chry&s;o&s;tom</HI>'s Burial, made directly, both him&s;elf and his Squire, to the Wood, where he &s;aw <HI>Marcella</HI> di&s;appear; for the Champion was in Love; he had forgot his dear <HI>Dulcinea;</HI> and the Temptations of frail Mortality had almo&s;t thrown him out of the Saddle of his Con&s;tancy. But after he had &s;ought her in vain for above two Hours together, the Heat of his Impatience cooling his Concupi&s;cence, they came to a mo&s;t delightful Meadow, fre&s;h and green, as being water'd with a clear and plea&s;ant Stream. So that the murmur|ing Noi&s;e of the Rivulet, the Verdure and Beauty of the Place, inviting <HI>Don Quixote</HI> to Repo&s;e and Meditation, during the heat of the Day, they both alighted, and leaving <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> and the <HI>A&s;s</HI> to take their full &s;winge, where they paid nothing for their Ordinary, unty'd the Wallet, and what they found they fed upon lovingly both together, for fear the one &s;hould beguile the other. All this while <HI>Sancho</HI> had forgot to put on <HI>Ro&s;i|nante</HI>'s Fetters, believing him to have been a Hor&s;e of that Mode&s;ty and Cha&s;tity, that all the Mares in the Pa&s;ture-grounds of <HI>Hackney-mar&s;h</HI> could not have rais'd him to think an ill Thought. But either ill Luck, or the Devil who never &s;leeps, &s;o order'd it, That at the &s;ame time a great number
<PB N="62" REF="43"> of <HI>Galician</HI> Mares, that belong'd to &s;everal <HI>Yangue&s;ian</HI> Carriers, were feeding in the &s;ame Valley; it being the Cu&s;tom of tho&s;e <HI>Carriers</HI> to &s;top where they meet with Gra&s;s and Water to refre&s;h their Cattel. <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> was cha&s;t and Mode&s;t, as I &s;aid before, however he was Fle&s;h and Blood; &s;o that he no &s;ooner &s;melt the Mares, but contrary to his natural Gravity and Re&s;erv'dne&s;s, he felt an itching De&s;ire to &s;olace him&s;elf with a <HI>Galician Phillie;</HI> and therefore, without asking his Ma&s;ter's leave, away he trots, but very gently, to impart his Nece&s;&s;ities to his new Kindred. But the hungry Spittles having more mind to their Food, then to Chamb'ring and Wantonne&s;s, receiv'd his Court&s;hip very rudely, or rather kept him off as one that would have ravi&s;h'd Mares of Honour in the op'n Field, drubbing him &s;o &s;everely with their Heels, that they caus'd him to break his Girts; &s;o that naked <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> now di&s;rob'd of all his Furniture, lay expos'd to unmerciful Thumps on every &s;ide. And for an Addition to his Mi&s;ery, the <HI>Carriers</HI> beholding <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI>'s Hor&s;e-play among their Mares, flew to the Relief of their four-footed <HI>Lucretia</HI>'s, and with unmerciful <HI>Battoons</HI> &s;o be-labour'd Bob-tail <HI>Tarquin</HI>'s Chine, that for the Ea&s;e of his Back, now render'd un&s;erviceable, he was forc'd to &s;tretch him&s;elf forth upon the Ground, where he had lei&s;ure enough to reflect upon the Misfortunes of Whoring, e're he could ri&s;e again.</P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> perceiving at a di&s;tance the ill U&s;age of <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> ran in all ha&s;te to his Re&s;cue, and approaching half breathle&s;s to the Place: Friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> as far as I can gue&s;s, the&s;e are no Knights, but paltry, mean Fellows, and therefore it is lawful for thee to a&s;&s;i&s;t me to revenge the Injury they have done me in abu&s;ing my Hor&s;e. What a Devil, d' ye talk of Revenge, quo <HI>Sancho?</HI> We are like to revenge our &s;elves, with a Pox, two again&s;t twenty; if, indeed, we may reck'n our &s;elves above one and a half. I'le deal with a hundred my &s;elf, quo <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> and with|out &s;aying more, he flew with a &s;urprizing Fury upon the <HI>Carriers;</HI> at what time <HI>Sancho</HI> encourag'd by his Ma&s;ter's Example, threw him&s;elf al&s;o into the thicke&s;t of his Enemies, with his Sword in his Hand. The fir&s;t that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> met with, he cut through a thick leathern Doublet, and carry'd away a piece of his Shoulder, and was going to reck his Indigna|tion upon the re&s;t: when the <HI>Carriers,</HI> out of meer Shame to have their Hides &s;o curry'd by two to a Score, recover'd Heart a-Grace, and betook them&s;elves to their Leavers and Pike-&s;taves, and then all at once &s;urround|ing the Knight and his Squire, they laid about him like Anchor-Smiths; and, as many Hands make quick Work, in a Trice there lay <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;prawl|ing in one place, in another lay <HI>Don Quixote</HI> him&s;elf at the Feet of <HI>Ro&s;inante.</HI> Neither his Courage, nor his Skill would avail again&s;t a Multitude. For if <HI>Hercules</HI> him&s;elf could not re&s;i&s;t <HI>Two,</HI> how &s;hould our Champion with|&s;tand <HI>Twenty?</HI> So that the <HI>Carriers</HI> having got a complete Victory, or ra|ther, fearing they had done more then they could an&s;wer, made all the ha&s;te they could to be gone, and were glad when they were got out of Harm's way.</P>
<P>The fir&s;t that recover'd him&s;elf, after this di&s;mal Tempe&s;t of Ba&s;tinado's, was <HI>Sancho Pancha,</HI> who rolling him&s;elf as near as he could to <HI>Don Quixote, Ah Ma&s;ter, Ma&s;ter!</HI> with a &s;ad and langui&s;hing Voice, <HI>Ma&s;ter, dear Ma&s;ter!</HI> quo he; What do&s;t want, Friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd the Knight, in the &s;ame effeminate and mournful Tone? I could wi&s;h, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> that your Wor&s;hip would give me &s;ome two or three good Draughts of your Bal&s;om of <HI>Invulnerable,</HI> if you have any to &s;pare. For if it be good for Cuts i' the Fle&s;h, I know not why it may not be as &s;overain for inward Brui&s;es. Dear
<PB N="58" REF="43"> <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I have not a Drop were it to &s;ave thy life, &s;o preci|ous to me; but by the Faith of a <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> within the&s;e two Days I will make enough to &s;ave an Army, if no farther Di&s;a&s;ters do not prevent me. Two Days! reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> we may be both rotten before that time; I do'nt expect to &s;tir a Leg or an Arm this Fortnight. The Truth on't is, reply'd the pounded Knight, I know not what to think on't, as the Ca&s;e &s;tands; but 'tis no more then I de&s;erve, and I may thank my &s;elf for having un&s;heath'd my Sword again&s;t a Company of Scoundrels that were never dubb'd Knights; therefore has the God of Battel permitted this Puni&s;h|ment to befall me for tran&s;gre&s;&s;ing the Laws of Chivalry. So then, <HI>Sancho,</HI> for the Future, upon the like Occa&s;ions, do thou draw thy Sword, and cha&s;tize &s;uch Riff-raff as this, thy &s;elf, after thy own Method; but if any true Knights come to take their parts, then thou &s;halt &s;ee how I will lay about me in thy Defence; and thou ha&s;t had &s;ufficient Experience of my Courage, and the Strength of this invincible Arm; for the &s;imple Knight was &s;till intoxicated with his Victory over the poor <HI>Bi&s;cayner.</HI> But <HI>Sancho,</HI> by no means pleas'd with his Admonitions, Sir Knight, &s;aid he, I am a Man of Peace, a Coward, God knows, and one that never car'd for &s;o many Quarrels i' my Life, as having a poor Wife to maintain, and Children to bring up; and therefore by way of Advice, I mu&s;t tell your Wor&s;hip (for I dare not pre&s;ume to command your Wor&s;hip) that from henceforth I will never draw my Sword again&s;t Knight or Pea&s;ant; for I forgive all Mankind, as my Prayers in&s;truct me, of what E&s;tate or Condition &s;oever, High and Low, Rich and Poor, Lord and Beggar, all the Injuries they ever did, or ever &s;hall do me, without Exception or mental Re&s;ervation. Which &s;trange Re&s;olution being heard by his Ma&s;ter, <Q>I wi&s;h, &s;aid he, I had Breath enough to an&s;wer thee; for if the Pain which I feel in one of my &s;hort Ribbs, would give me leave to &s;peak, I would &s;oon convince thee of thy Error; for thou talk'&s;t no more Sen&s;e then a <HI>Jack-Daw.</HI> For, &s;uppo&s;e now, &s;illy Sinner as thou art, that Fortune, which has hitherto frown'd upon us, &s;hould fo far favour us at length, as that I &s;hould con|quer one of tho&s;e I&s;lands which I have promis'd thee, and were ready to make thee Governour of it; what will become of thee after thou ha&s;t abjur'd all Knight-hood, all Thoughts of Honour, and all Intention to re|venge Injuries, and defend thy own Dominion? For perhaps thy People will not be &s;o willing to obey thee at fir&s;t, as being impatient of foreign Subjection; but when the I&s;land is once thy own, he's a Fool that will not hold his own; which thou can&s;t never do without Di&s;cretion and Valour; which two Vertues, when thy Subjects behold brightly &s;hining in thee their Prince, they will be afraid of rebelling and caballing again&s;t thee.</Q> I confe&s;s, Sir, I wi&s;h I had had this Di&s;cretion and Valour you talk of, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> to have helpt us in our la&s;t Encounter; but now, Sir, I mu&s;t be free to tell ye, I have more need of a Surgeon, then a Preacher; and of Plai&s;ters, then Remon&s;trances. In the mean time, Sir, &s;ee if you can ri&s;e to help me get up <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> tho he little de&s;erves it; for 'twas his confounded Lechery for which our Bones have &s;uffer'd all this di&s;mal Ma|ceration. For my part, I never &s;u&s;pected &s;uch a Propen&s;ity in <HI>Ro&s;inante;</HI> for I always took him for a &s;ober and peaceable Hor&s;e, and dur&s;t have &s;worn for him, as well as for my &s;elf. Now who is there that a Man can tru&s;t? 'Tis true as the Proverb &s;aies, <HI>A Man mu&s;t eat a Peck of Salt with his Friend, before he knows him.</HI> For who that &s;aw the Wonders which you wrought the other Day again&s;t the <HI>Bi&s;cayner,</HI> would have thought that &s;uch a Tempe&s;t of Ba&s;tinado's could e're have &s;howr'd upon our Bones?</P>
<PB N="64" REF="44">
<P>As for thy Shoulders, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> they were made to endure &s;uch &s;orts of Tempe&s;ts; but mine, that never were accu&s;tom'd to bear a heavier Weight, then a Holland-Shirt, or a Tiffany-Ruff, I fear me, they will be longer &s;en&s;ible of this Misfortune. And were it not, but that I be|lieve; believe, do I &s;ay! nay, were I not certain, that &s;uch Misfortunes as the&s;e, are, as it were, grappl'd to <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> I would never out-live this Di&s;grace, but cut my Throat for Madne&s;s upon this very Spot. But I be&s;eech ye, Sir, cry'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> if the&s;e are the Ble&s;&s;ings of a <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> will they never have an End? Or, is there a prefix'd time when they will cea&s;e? For if we meet with two &s;uch Harve&s;ts more, we &s;hall never be able to reap the third, unle&s;s Miracles a&s;&s;i&s;t us.</P>
<P>The Life of <HI>Knight-Errants,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> is &s;ubject to a Thou|&s;and Incon&s;tancies of Fortune; and &s;ometimes they have good, &s;ometimes bad Luck. <HI>Amadis de Gaul</HI> was bound to a Pillar by the Negromancer <HI>Ar|calaus,</HI> his mortal Enemy, and by him &s;urcingl'd with the Girths of his own Saddle; and that &s;o rudely, that the Sorcerer never left off, till he had given the mi&s;erable Knight a hundred cutting Strappado's at the &s;ame time.</P>
<P>The <HI>Knight</HI> of the <HI>Sun</HI> being tak'n in a Trap in a certain Ca&s;tle, was pre|&s;ently forcibly hurry'd naked into a deep Dungeon, where they gave him a Gly&s;ter of Snow-water and Sand, which had like to have kill'd him, but for a &s;pecial Friend of his, a Negromancer, that both re&s;cu'd and cur'd him. And thus, <HI>Sancho,</HI> thou &s;ee&s;t that Per&s;ons more famous then we, have &s;uffer'd greater Affronts then we have done. Be&s;ides, <HI>Sancho,</HI> thou art to know, That tho&s;e Wounds which are giv'n by the Weapons which a Man has by accident in his Hand, are neither Affronts nor Di&s;graces. For thus you may read expre&s;sly in the Laws of Duels; <HI>That if a Shoe-maker &s;trike another Man with the La&s;t which he held in his Hand, tho it be of Wood like a Cudgel, yet the Shoe-maker &s;hall not for that be &s;aid to have cudgell'd the Man.</HI> I tell thee this, to &s;hew thee, that tho we were &s;o bum-ba&s;ted and bang'd as we were, yet that it was no Affront or Di&s;honour to us; for that the Wea|pons which they made u&s;e of, were no true Cudgels, but Pack-&s;taves, &s;uch as Carriers never go without; nor do I remember that there was &s;o much as a Tuck, or a Sword, or a Dagger, among the whole Company. I con|fe&s;s, &s;aid <HI>Sancho,</HI> they did not give me &s;o much lei&s;ure to take Cognizance of the particular Shape and Name of their Weapons; but no &s;ooner had I drawn my tru&s;ty Steel, but they ble&s;t my Shoulders with &s;uch a wooden Benediction, that I lo&s;t both my Eyes and my Feet at the &s;ame time, and fell, without Sen&s;e or Motion, very near the place where you &s;ee me now. Nor do I perplex my Brains, whether it were an Affront to be cudgell'd with an Oak'n Plant, or a Pack-&s;taff; but let 'em be Pack-&s;taves, or Cudgels, I am &s;orry to feel 'em &s;o heavy upon my Bones: I am &s;ure I &s;hall never for|get 'em as long as I live. However, <HI>Pan&s;a,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> there is no Re&s;entment which time will not deface, nor no Pain that Death will not put an End to. Thank ye for nothing, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> this is heav'nly Comfort indeed: What can wor&s;e befall us? Were it &s;uch a Pain as a Plai|&s;ter or two would cure, a man might have &s;ome Patience, but for ought I &s;ee, all the Plai&s;ter-boxes and Ointments of an Ho&s;pital w'ont &s;uffice us.</P>
<P>Twittle-twattle, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> what a Prating do&s;t thou keep? Prethee try if thou can&s;t get up, and &s;ee how <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> does; poor Bea&s;t, he has had his &s;hare of this Adventure. No wonder at that, reply'd <HI>San|cho,</HI> &s;eeing that he's a <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> as well as the re&s;t; I rather wonder
<PB REF="44"> how my A&s;s has &s;cap'd &s;o well, without the lo&s;s of one Hair. In our great|e&s;t Calamities, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> Fortune always leaves us &s;ome Hole to creep out at; and thus it happ'ns, that this poor Bea&s;t at this time &s;up|plies the Want of <HI>Re&s;inante,</HI> to carry me to &s;ome Ca&s;tle where I may be cur'd. Nor am I a&s;ham'd to ride upon an A&s;s; for I remember, that <HI>Si|lenus</HI> the Father of <HI>Bacchus</HI> rode upon an A&s;s, when he enter'd <HI>Memphis</HI> in Triumph. Ay, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> t'would do well enough, could you &s;it up|right upon your A&s;s, as he did; but alas! you mu&s;t be laid cro&s;s the Pan|nel, like a Sack of Wheat. Wounds receiv'd in Combat are no Di&s;ho|nour, and therefore good <HI>Sancho,</HI> trouble me with no more Replies, but try to get upon thy Legs, and help me up upon thy A&s;s, that we may get out of this place before Night &s;urprize us. Lord, Sir! quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> have I not heard you &s;ay, 'twas the mo&s;t Knight Errant-like Fa&s;hion in the World to &s;leep in the Fields and Fore&s;ts under a Canopy of green Boughs. That is to &s;ay, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> when they can do no better; or el&s;e, when they are in Love. And thus <HI>Amadis de Gaul</HI> took up his Lodging under the poor Rock, all the while he went under the Name of the <HI>Love|ly Ob&s;cure,</HI> which was either eight Years, or eight Months, I cannot well remember which; and all this for only &s;ome little Unkindne&s;s that <HI>Oriana</HI> &s;hew'd him.</P>
<P>But &s;etting the&s;e Di&s;cour&s;es a&s;ide, prethee let us make ha&s;te out of this unfortunate place, le&s;t &s;ome Mi&s;chief befall thy A&s;s, as it has done <HI>Ro&s;i|nante.</HI> That would be the Malice of the Devil indeed, reply'd <HI>Sancho:</HI> and &s;o breathing out Thirty Lamentations, Sixty Sighs, and a Hundred and Twenty Plagues and Poxes upon tho&s;e that betray'd him into that Condition, he made a &s;hift to get up upon his Legs; yet not &s;o, but that he went &s;tooping all the way with his Body bent like a <HI>Tartar</HI>'s Bow, not being able to &s;tand upright. In which crooked Po&s;ture he crept along to catch his A&s;s, that having tak'n advantage of the Liberty which had been giv'n him, was &s;olacing him&s;elf in fat Pa&s;tures, free Co&s;t, at a di&s;tance. The A&s;s being caught, and got ready, <HI>Sancho</HI> return'd to help up <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> which was not done without great Difficulty and Trouble, as well to the Ma&s;ter as the Squire. <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;weat till he dropt again; and could the poor Bea&s;t but ha' &s;poke, he wou'd ha' born a part in the &s;ad Complaints of the Ma&s;ter and the Man. At length, after many bitter <HI>Oh's!</HI> and &s;crew'd Faces, <HI>Sancho</HI> laid <HI>Don Quixote</HI> cro&s;s the A&s;s, ty'd <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> to the A&s;s's Tail, and then leading his A&s;s by the Halter, as if he had been going with his Gri&s;t to the Mill, he took the neare&s;t Way that he could gue&s;s to the high Road. Which, at the end of three quarters of an Hour, they, by good Fortune, di&s;cover'd, together with an Inn, which <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> not|with&s;tanding the lewd Appearance of the Place, would needs have to be a Ca&s;tle. <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;wore bloodily 'twas an Inn; and the <HI>Knight</HI> as ob&s;tinately maintain'd that it was a Ca&s;tle; nor did the Di&s;pute end till they came to the Inn Door, where <HI>Sancho</HI> enter'd with his <HI>Cargo,</HI> never troubling him&s;elf whether he were in the right or the wrong, as to his Argument with his Ma&s;ter.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="2" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="66" REF="45">
<HEAD>CHAP II.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">What befel <HI>Don Quixote</HI> in the Inn, which he took for a Ca&s;tle.</HEAD>
<P>THE Inn keeper &s;eeing <HI>Don Quixote</HI> lying like an <HI>E&s;&s;ex-Calf</HI> quite a|thwart the Pannel, ask'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> What was his Di&s;ea&s;e? To which <HI>Sancho</HI> an&s;wer'd, He had no Di&s;ea&s;e at all; but only that he had fall'n from the top of a Rock, and bruis'd his Ribs a little. The Vintner had a Wife, not like the common &s;ort of Ho&s;te&s;&s;es, as being naturally very charitable, and very compa&s;&s;ionate of her Neighbours Afflictions: So that &s;he no &s;ooner beheld <HI>Don Quixote</HI> in that lamentable Condition, but &s;he re&s;olv'd to &s;et her helping Hand to his Cure; and to that purpo&s;e call'd her Daugh|ter, a good pretty Girl, to a&s;&s;i&s;t her.</P>
<P>There was al&s;o at the &s;ame time in the Inn, an <HI>A&s;turian</HI> Wench, broad-fac'd, flat-noddl'd, one Eye out, and t'other a-&s;quint. However, the Activity of her Body &s;upply'd all Defects. For &s;he was not above three Foot high, the weight of her Shoulders preventing her Growth. This gentile <HI>Gyp&s;ie</HI> likewi&s;e a&s;&s;i&s;ted the Inn-keeper's Wife and Daughter to dre&s;s <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Brui&s;es. To which purpo&s;e they made him a &s;orry Bed, God wot, in an old mu&s;ty Cock loft; at another Corner of which, was al|&s;o lodg'd a Carrier upon a Bed, which, tho made of Hurdles only, and old Hor&s;e-cloths, had much the Advantage however of <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s, which con&s;i&s;ted of no more then two or three Planks laid upon two Tre&s;&s;els, one higher then t'other; and over them a Flock-bed, more like a Quilt, full of Knobs and Bunches, which had they not &s;hewn them&s;elves to be of Wool, through the Holes that the Rats had eat'n, might well have been tak'n for Stones. The Sheets al&s;o were of Leather, made of the Coverings of old Targets; and the Coverlet &s;uch, that you might have number'd the Threads, and not have mi&s;s'd one in the Tale. In this &s;ame cur&s;ed Bed <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was laid to re&s;t his Bones, where the Ho&s;te&s;s and her Daugh|ter hogg's greas'd and plai&s;ter'd him from Head to Foot, by the light of a Candle, which the beautiful <HI>A&s;turian,</HI> who&s;e Name was <HI>Maritornes,</HI> held. The Ho&s;te&s;s &s;eeing him &s;o batter'd; Truly, &s;aid &s;he, the&s;e Bumps in this Man's Fle&s;h look much more like a dry Ba&s;ting, then a Fall. No, I'le a&s;|&s;ure ye, Mi&s;tre&s;s, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> 'twas no dry Ba&s;ting, but only the Rock was full of &s;everal pointed Stones, and craggy Stumps, which did Mi&s;|chief every one i' their turns. By the way, Mi&s;tre&s;s, if you plea&s;e, pray &s;ave a little of the Tow and the Ointment for me too; for I know not what's the matter, but I feel my Back-bone in a di&s;mal Di&s;order. Why, did&s;t thou fall too, reply'd the Ho&s;te&s;s? I did not fall, an&s;wer'd <HI>Sancho;</HI> but the very Fright that I took to &s;ee my Ma&s;ter cap'ring the Gallop-Galliard down the Rock, has loo&s;en'd my Bones in &s;uch a manner, as if I had un|dergon a <HI>Mahometan</HI> Drubbing. That's no wonder, &s;aid the Inn-keeper's Daughter; for I have dream'd many times, that I have been falling from a &s;teep Rock, and when I wak'd, my Bones have been as &s;ore, as if I had fall'n in earne&s;t. 'Tis my very Ca&s;e, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> only with this Difference, that I was not in a Dream, but as broad awake as I am at this In&s;tant.</P>
<P>Then <HI>Maritornes</HI> ask'd him his Ma&s;ter's Name: <HI>Don Quixote de la Man|cha,</HI> reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> by Profe&s;&s;ion, a <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> and one of the brave&s;t and &s;toute&s;t that ever the Sun &s;hin'd on. A <HI>Knight-Errant!</HI> What's that, for the Lord's &s;ake, cry'd the <HI>A&s;turian?</HI> Art thou &s;uch a Novice i' the
<PB N="67" REF="45"> World, reply'd <HI>Sancho?</HI> Why, a <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> is one that's every Minute as near to an Empire, as Four-pence to a Groat, one that you &s;hall &s;ee well cudgell'd this moment, the next a <HI>Soldan.</HI> To day the mo&s;t mi&s;erable Creature upon Earth, to morrow the Ma&s;ter of three or four Kingdoms to be&s;tow upon his Squire. How comes it then to pa&s;s, quo the Ho&s;te&s;s, that thou, being Squire to &s;o great a Per&s;onage, art not an Earl at lea&s;t? Oh! &s;aid <HI>Sancho,</HI> the Bu&s;ine&s;s is not &s;o &s;oon accompli&s;h'd neither. We ha' been but two Months in our Gears, &s;o that we have not met with any Ad|ventures as yet: be&s;ides that, many times we &s;eek for Kingdoms and find a Flap with a Fox-tail. But if ever my Lord <HI>Don Quixote</HI> gets cur'd of his Brui&s;es, and I &s;cape knocking o' the Head, I will not exchange my Hopes for the be&s;t <HI>Conde-&s;hip</HI> in <HI>Spain.</HI></P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> having li&s;ten'd all the while to the&s;e Di&s;cour&s;es with great Attention, could no longer hold; and therefore rai&s;ing him&s;elf up in his Bed, and taking the Ho&s;te&s;s in a mo&s;t obliging manner by the Hand; <Q>Believe me, &s;aid he, fair Lady, 'tis not a Happine&s;s to be de&s;pis'd, that you have here the Opportunity to entertain &s;uch a Gue&s;t as I am, in your Ca&s;tle. I &s;hall &s;ay no more, becau&s;e it ill becomes a Man to be the Prai&s;er of him&s;elf; but my Squire will tell you who I am. Only thus much let me &s;ay more, That I &s;hall never blot out of my Remembrance the Kindne&s;&s;es you have done me, but &s;tudy all Occa&s;ions to te&s;tifie my Gratitude. And I wi&s;h to Heaven, added he, ca&s;ting a Sheep's-eye upon the Ho&s;te&s;s's Daughter, That the God of Love had not already en&s;lav'd me to his Laws, and that the Eyes of that charming, tho di&s;dainful <HI>She,</HI> that po&s;&s;e&s;&s;es all my Thoughts, had not already triumph'd o're my Liberty, which otherwi&s;e I would have &s;acrific'd at the Feet of that Illu&s;trious Dam&s;el.</Q></P>
<P>The Ho&s;te&s;s, her Daughter, and the vertuous <HI>Maritornes,</HI> were a&s;honi&s;h'd to hear &s;uch high-flown Language as this, which they under&s;tood no more then if he had &s;pok'n <HI>Arabick;</HI> yet conceiving they were Words of Court|&s;hip and Complement, they look'd upon him, and admir'd him, as a Man of another World; and after they had made him &s;uch Returns as Inn keepers Breeding would afford, they left him to his Re&s;t. Only <HI>Maritornes</HI> &s;tay'd to rub down <HI>Sancho,</HI> who had no le&s;s need of a good Dre&s;&s;ing and a warm Me&s;h, then <HI>Ro&s;inante.</HI></P>
<P>Now you mu&s;t know, that the <HI>Carrier</HI> and the <HI>A&s;turian</HI> had agreed to have a Love-skirmi&s;h together that Night, and &s;he had pawn'd him her Honour, that as &s;oon as her Ma&s;ter and Mi&s;tre&s;s were a bed, &s;he would not fail to come to him, and be at his Service. And it is reported of that mo|de&s;t Dam&s;el, That whenever &s;he had pa&s;s'd her Word in &s;uch Ca&s;es, &s;he would have ob&s;erv'd her Promi&s;e no le&s;s punctually, then if &s;he had con|firm'd it by the Atte&s;tation of a Publick Notary; nay, tho &s;he had made it in the mid&s;t of a Wood without any Witne&s;s at all.</P>
<P>And here, for your better under&s;tanding, you mu&s;t know, that the wretch|ed, unfortunate, beggarly, &s;canty Bed whereon <HI>Don Quixote</HI> lay, was the fir&s;t in that needy Appartment. Next to that <HI>Sancho</HI> had made up his Ken|nel, containing a Mat of Bulru&s;hes, with a piece of an old Sprit-&s;ail for a Coverlet; and at a little di&s;tance lay the Carrier in his Furniture, &s;uch as has been already de&s;crib'd: Thither the Carrier after he had fed his Cattel, repair'd, in Expectation of the punctual <HI>Maritornes.</HI> In the mean time <HI>San|cho</HI> did all he could to &s;leep, while his macerated Ribs did all they could to prevent him; and <HI>Don Quixote</HI> lay ruminating on his Mi&s;tre&s;s with his Eyes op'n, like a Hare. And now was every Soul in the Inn gone to bed, not &s;o much as a Mou&s;e &s;tirring in the Hou&s;e, nor any Candle to be &s;een.
<PB N="68" REF="46"> Which general Silence, and &s;ilent Darkne&s;s, the Friend of Meditation, &s;et|ting <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Thoughts at work, recall'd to his Remembrance one of the mo&s;t ridiculous Follies that he had read in all the Romantick Authors of his Ruine. For he fancy'd him&s;elf to be in a famous Ca&s;tle, and that the Inn-keeper's Daughter, by Con&s;equence, Daughter to the Lord of the Ca&s;tle, inamour'd of his goodly Pre&s;ence and Deportment, had promis'd him the Plea&s;ure of her Embraces, &s;o &s;oon as her Father and Mother were gone to re&s;t. This <HI>Chimera</HI> di&s;turb'd him, as if it had been a real Truth; &s;o that he was &s;trangely di&s;turb'd to find his Loyalty expos'd to the Hazard of &s;uch a Temptation. But at length he re&s;olv'd an immoveable Con&s;tancy to his dear <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> tho Queen <HI>Guinever,</HI> and the Lady <HI>Quintaniona,</HI> &s;hould &s;ollicit him them&s;elves.</P>
<P>In the mid&s;t of the&s;e wild Imaginations, the exact <HI>A&s;turian,</HI> bare-foot, and in her Smock, &s;teals into the Chamber, and feels about for the Carrier's Bed. On the other &s;ide <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who&s;e Ears lay perdue, perceiving &s;omething to enter the Chamber, rais'd him&s;elf in his Bed, notwith&s;tand|ing his Plai&s;ters, and the &s;orene&s;s of his Chine, and &s;tretching out his Arm to receive his fancy'd Dam&s;el, caught hold of <HI>Maritornes</HI> Wri&s;t, as &s;he was feeling about for the Wall, pull'd her to him, not daring to &s;peak a Word, and made her &s;it down by his Bed-&s;ide. Neither could her Smock that was made of <HI>Sacking,</HI> prevail to undeceive the be&s;otted <HI>Knight.</HI> Her Gla&s;s-Beads about her Wri&s;t, he took for Oriental Pearl; her Hair as cour&s;e as a Mare's Tail, he liken'd to the Gold'n Tre&s;&s;es of <HI>Juno;</HI> and her Breath that &s;melt like &s;tale Salt-fi&s;h, he compar'd to the Odors of <HI>Arabia.</HI> In &s;hort, he fancy'd this beautiful Nymph to be like tho&s;e lovely Dames, which, as he had read in his Hi&s;tories, were wont to vi&s;it <HI>incognito</HI> their inamour'd Champions, when either &s;ick or wounded. For the poor Gentleman was &s;o ob&s;tinately infatuated with his Romantick Gim-cracks, that he was not &s;en&s;ible of the na&s;ty Stinks of a filthy, dirty Pu&s;s, that would have made any but a Carrier, to have &s;pew'd up his Entrails. So that at length the courtly Champion, enamour'd of &s;o many nau&s;eous Charms, and hugging his incomparable <HI>Maritornes,</HI> as the Devil hug'd the Witch; <Q>What would I give, quo he, with a &s;oft and amorous Whi&s;per, What would I give, mo&s;t lovely Lady, that I were in a Condition to acknowledge the Favours you have done me, and that I could acquit my &s;elf of tho&s;e Reproaches of lewd Ingratitude, which you may ju&s;tly throw upon me? It kills me when I think on't; but I have plighted my Faith to the matchle&s;s <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o;</HI> &s;he is the &s;ole Sovereigne&s;s of my Heart, and the &s;ole Mi&s;tre&s;s of my Thoughts, and I dare not purcha&s;e my Happine&s;s with the Price of Perjury.</Q></P>
<P>All this while <HI>Maritornes</HI> &s;weat <HI>A&s;&s;a foetida,</HI> to find her &s;elf lock'd up in the <HI>Knight</HI>'s Embraces, and did her utmo&s;t Endeavour to free her &s;elf from her irk&s;om Fetters. On the other &s;ide, the Carrier, who&s;e Impatience pre|vented him from &s;leeping a Wink, having perceiv'd his <HI>Landacrides,</HI> when &s;he fir&s;t enter'd the <HI>Room,</HI> and with a li&s;tning Ear, wond'ring at her Stay, at length over-heard a kind of whi&s;pering Noi&s;e where the Champion lay, and then &s;u&s;pecting that <HI>Maritornes</HI> de&s;ign'd to be &s;erv'd round, his No&s;e be|gan to &s;well mo&s;t prodigiou&s;ly. Nor was that all, for &s;uch were the Tran|&s;ports of his Jealou&s;ie, that he could not forbear creeping &s;oftly to <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Bed, where, after he had li&s;tn'd a while, like a Sow i' the Beans, perceiving by the &s;truggling of his Loyal <HI>Maritornes,</HI> that it was none of her Fault, as being kept in Durance by the &s;alacious <HI>Knight,</HI> whether &s;he would or no; he up with his brawny Arm, and mea&s;uring the Countenance
<PB N="69" REF="46"> of the di&s;a&s;trous <HI>Knight,</HI> gave him &s;uch a mauling <HI>Si&s;arara</HI> upon the Chaps, that the Blood ran from his Mouth like a little Stream; and <HI>Be|nengeli</HI> a&s;&s;ures us, That at the &s;ame time he leap'd upon his Body, and with his &s;play Feet and Sparables &s;o be trampl'd him, as if he had been treading a Hay-mow. So that the Bed, the Foundations of which were none of the be&s;t, fell down to the Ground, with &s;uch a rattling Noi&s;e, that the Inn keeper wak'd, and &s;u&s;pecting it to be one of <HI>Maritornes</HI> who|ring Pranks, &s;truck a Light, and made to the Place where he heard the Combu&s;tion. The Gyp&s;ie <HI>A&s;turian,</HI> &s;eeing him coming in Cholerick ha&s;te, fled for &s;helter into <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Kennel, who lay &s;noring like a Tap&s;ter, and there hid her &s;elf under his Coverlet, tru&s;s'd up as round as an Egg. Pre&s;ently the Ma&s;ter entring, and &s;wearing like a <HI>Tinker,</HI> Where's this damn'd Whore, cry'd he? for I'm &s;ure 'tis her doing. At the &s;ame time <HI>Sancho</HI> awaking, and feeling an unu&s;ual weight that almo&s;t over-laid him, which he believ'd to be the <HI>Night-Mare,</HI> laid about him with his Fi&s;ts, and pummell'd <HI>Maritornes</HI> &s;o &s;everely, that at la&s;t having lo&s;t all her Patience, and forgetting the Danger &s;he was in, &s;he return'd him his Thumps with &s;uch a plentiful Intere&s;t, that <HI>Sancho</HI>'s <HI>Welch Blood</HI> being mov'd, he bu&s;sl'd up in his Bed, and catching hold of <HI>Maritornes,</HI> began the mo&s;t plea&s;ant Skirmi&s;h in the VVorld: For the Carrier &s;eeing his Mi&s;tre&s;s &s;o abus'd, cuff'd <HI>Sancho; Sancho</HI> maul'd the Maid; the Maid be-labour'd the Squire, in return of his Kindne&s;&s;es; and the Inn-keeper paid off his Servant; following their Blows &s;o fa&s;t, as if they had been afraid of lo&s;ing time. And the be&s;t Je&s;t was, that in the heat of this Hurly-burly, the Candle went out; &s;o that now being all i' the Dark, they lay'd on at a Venture, without any Com|pa&s;&s;ion; &s;o that of all the Combatants, not one that was there carry'd off &s;o much as half a Shirt or a Smock; for Nails and Fi&s;ts were all employ'd, and they took care neither to tear, nor &s;trike in vain.</P>
<P>There was at the &s;ame time a Con&s;table lodg'd in the Inn, who being wak'd with the di&s;mal Confu&s;ion, in a great Rage came poking out his way with his Staff; and being enter'd the Room, cry'd out, <HI>I charge ye i' the King's Name, to keep the Peace here,</HI> vowing el&s;e to &s;end 'em all to the Counter. The fir&s;t he met with, was the mortify'd <HI>Knight,</HI> who lay upon his Back, &s;tretch'd out at his full length, without any feeling, upon the Ruines of his Bed. Him the Con&s;table having caught i' the Dark by the Beard, cry'd out, <HI>Come away before the Ju&s;tice.</HI> But perceiving no &s;ign of Life, and therefore believing him dead, and murder'd by the re&s;t in the the Room, he commanded the Gates of the Inn to be &s;hut; <HI>Here's a Man murder'd,</HI> quo he, <HI>and therefore let no body make their E&s;cape.</HI> Which ala|rum'd the Combatants in &s;uch a manner, that notwith&s;tanding their good Intentions, they were forc'd to leave the Argument undecided. The Inn-keeper &s;tole away into his Chamber; <HI>Maritornes</HI> to her Straw; the Car|rier &s;lunk under his Hor&s;e-cloaths; only the di&s;con&s;olate <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho</HI> remain'd in their places, not able to &s;tir a Limb; while the Con&s;table let go the Champion's Beard, and went for a Candle to &s;earch for the Rio|ters. But the Inn-keeper having prudently put out the Lamp that hung over the Gate, the Con&s;table was above an Hour puffing among the Em|bers i' the Kitchin-chimney, before he could light another.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="3" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="70" REF="47">
<HEAD>CHAP. III.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">A Continuation of the innumerable Hard&s;hips, that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and his Squire &s;u&s;tain'd in the Inn.</HEAD>
<P>BY this time <HI>Don Quixote</HI> being recover'd from his <HI>Paroxi&s;m,</HI> with the &s;ame weak and langui&s;hing Voice, as after he had been <HI>Carrier-drubb'd</HI> in the Meadow, call'd out, Friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> art a &s;leep? art a&s;leep Friend <HI>Sancho?</HI> How the Devil &s;hould I &s;leep, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> foaming with Rage and Pa&s;&s;ion, when all the Infernal Furies have been haunting me this Night? Thou ha&s;t Rea&s;on to &s;ay &s;o, an&s;wer'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for either I know nothing, or this Ca|&s;tle is enchanted. Hear what I &s;ay to thee, but fir&s;t &s;wear to me, that thou wilt not &s;peak a Word of it, till after my Death. By my Wife and Children that now are a &s;tarving, I w'ont, quo <HI>Sancho.</HI> I de&s;ire thee to &s;wear, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> becau&s;e I &s;corn to injure the Reputation of any Per&s;on. Why, I have &s;worn, and I do &s;wear never to &s;peak a Tittle of it, &s;o long as your Wor&s;hip lives; and I wi&s;h I might be at liberty to di&s;cover it to morrow. Have I done thee &s;o much Harm, an&s;wer'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that thou wi&s;he&s;t my Death &s;o &s;oon? 'Tis not for that, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> but becau&s;e I hate to keep a Secret &s;o long, for fear it &s;hould grow mouldy i' my Body. Think what thou wilt, an&s;wer'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> however I confide in thy Prudence and Affection. <Q>Know then, that above two Hours &s;ince, the Daughter of the Lord of this Ca&s;tle, vouch&s;af'd to come to my Bed-&s;ide; one of the mo&s;t lovely and beautiful Ladies that were ever beheld i' the World. I cannot expre&s;s the Charms of her Per&s;on, nor the Vivacity of her Wit; nor will I think more of 'em, that I may not revolt from my Allegiance to the fair <HI>Dulcinea</HI> of <HI>Tobo&s;o.</HI> I will only &s;ay this, That the Heav'ns envy|ing the Happine&s;s, which my fortunate Stars had thrown into my Lap; or rather, becau&s;e this Ca&s;tle is enchanted, it happen'd, That in the mid&s;t of the mo&s;t tender, affectionate, and pa&s;&s;ionate Di&s;cour&s;es that pa&s;s'd be|tween us, a certain Hand that I could not &s;ee, or devi&s;e from whence it came, at the end of a mo&s;t enormous Giant's Arm, gave me &s;uch a down-right Blow upon the Jaws, that my Chaps gu&s;h'd out a Bleeding like a Spout: After which, the Traytor taking Advantage of my Feeblene&s;s, laid on &s;o like a Thre&s;her, that I feel my &s;elf wor&s;e now, then when we &s;uffer'd for <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI>'s Incontinency. And therefore I believe &s;ome damn'd <HI>Negromancer</HI> of a <HI>Moor</HI> defends this Trea&s;ure, allotted for &s;ome other, and not for me.</Q></P>
<P>Nor for me neither, quo <HI>Don Sancho,</HI> interrupting him, for above four hundred <HI>Moors</HI> have been exerci&s;ing their Talents upon my Bones, that I may &s;afely &s;ay, the <HI>Carriers</HI> Ba&s;tinado's were but Flea-bites and Ticklings of the Skin to this. But pray Sir, tell me, d' ye call this &s;uch a plea&s;ing Adventure, for which you pay'd above fourteen i' the hundred in dry Blows? Tho indeed the Po&s;&s;e&s;&s;ion of &s;uch a rare Beauty all the while, might be a kind of Con&s;olation to you; But for my part, that had no &s;uch Creature-Comfort, how d' ye think I was able to bear &s;o many Wherrets and Thumps, and Buffetings, as fell to my &s;hare? Cur&s;e upon me, and my Mother that bore me; for I am no <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> nor ever intend to be, and yet the Elder Brother's Portion of Plagues and Mi&s;chiefs falls &s;till to my Lot. How! and ha&s;t thou been under the Paper-mills too, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote?</HI> Belly o' me, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> What have I been telling ye all this
<PB N="71" REF="47"> while? Never let it trouble thee, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for I'le in&s;tantly go and make the Bal&s;om of <HI>Invulnerable,</HI> which will cure thee i' the Twinkling of an Eye.</P>
<P>By this time the Con&s;table having lighted his Candle, was coming to &s;ee who it was that was murder'd. At what time <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;pying him at a Di&s;tance in his Shirt with his Candle in his Hand, and a na&s;ty Clout about his Head; Sir, quo he to his Ma&s;ter, I am afraid the enchanted <HI>Moor</HI> is coming again to &s;ee if there be any part of our Skins that remains unbrui&s;|ed, for another Exerci&s;e of his Arm. It cannot be the <HI>Moor,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for <HI>Negromancers</HI> never &s;uffer them&s;elves to be &s;een. I know not whether they may be &s;een, or no, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> but I'm &s;ure they may be felt: and tho you tell me a thou&s;and times the contrary, I'le believe my Shoulders before my Eyes in this particular. That my Shoulders can te&s;ti|fie as well as thine, an&s;wer'd <HI>Don Quixote:</HI> However, 'tis no &s;ign that thou &s;ee&s;t the inchanted <HI>Moor.</HI></P>
<P>While they were thus confabulating, the Con&s;table enter'd, a&s;toni&s;h'd to hear men talking &s;o friendly together in a place where he thought Mur|der had been committed. But &s;eeing the mi&s;erable Po&s;ture wherein the Champion lay, &s;tretch'd out like a Corps, and bruis'd into <HI>Mummie; How fares it, hone&s;t Fellow,</HI> quo he, <HI>how d' ye feel your &s;elf?</HI> I would an|&s;wer ye in another &s;ort of Language, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> were I in your Skin. Ye Blockhead you, is that your rude way of approaching <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> in this Country? Upon which, the <HI>Con&s;table,</HI> of a wa&s;pi&s;h and cho|lerick Temper, not enduring &s;uch a Reprimand from a per&s;on that he hard|ly thought to be his Equal, threw the Candle-&s;tick, Candle and all, as hard as he could ding it, at the Champion's Head; and believing that he had not only brok'n the Peace, but the <HI>Knight</HI>'s Scull, he pre&s;ently &s;tole out of the Room, under the Protection of the Night. What think ye now, quo <HI>Sancho?</HI> d' ye think this was not the inchanted <HI>Moor,</HI> that guards the Trea&s;ure you talk of, for others, but re&s;erves nothing for us, be&s;ide Kicks and Cuffs, and Candle &s;tick Batteries? Suppo&s;e I allow thee thy Saying for once, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> yet con&s;idering that <HI>Negromancers</HI> can make them&s;elves invi&s;ible when they plea&s;e, we are not to be offended with En|chantments, &s;ince it is impo&s;&s;ible we &s;hould revenge our &s;elves upon Per|&s;ons we can never find, while they lie &s;culking in the Air, quite out of our Reach. And therefore, <HI>Sancho,</HI> ri&s;e, if thou can&s;t, and de&s;ire the Go|vernour of the Ca&s;tle to &s;end me &s;ome Oil, Salt, Wine, and Ro&s;emary, that I may make my Bal&s;om, which, in truth, I want very much, in re|gard of the great Flux of Blood, that I have lo&s;t, from the Wound which the Apparition gave me.</P>
<P>Thereupon <HI>Sancho</HI> got up, variou&s;ly expre&s;&s;ing his Grief, as he apparell'd him&s;elf; &s;ometimes with a devout <HI>Lord ha' mercy upon me!</HI> &s;ometimes with a prophane and full-mouth'd <HI>Zouns;</HI> byand by Cur&s;ing the enchanted <HI>Moor,</HI> and his Ma&s;ter to boot: and at length creeping along like an Old Alms-man, with an old <HI>Pox upon him,</HI> he went to &s;eek for the Inn-keeper; and meeting with the Con&s;table at the Inn-Gate, in a brown Study, whe|ther he &s;hould go or tarry, con&s;idering the pa&s;&s;ionate Fact he had &s;o lately committed: Sir, &s;aid <HI>Sancho,</HI> pray be &s;o charitable, as to furni&s;h me with a Mea&s;ure of Oil, a Quart of Wine, a Handful of Salt, and two Handfuls of Ro&s;emary, to make a Med'cine to cure one of the mo&s;t renowned <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> that ever were i' the World, who lies here in the Inn, de&s;perately wounded by the enchanted <HI>Moor.</HI> The Con&s;table, tho he took him for a mad Man, was &s;o kind however, as to call for the Inn-keeper, who fur|ni&s;h'd
<PB N="72" REF="48"> him with all his Ingredients in a &s;hort time. All which <HI>Sancho</HI> carry'd forthwith to his Ma&s;ter, whom he found holding his Head, and mi|&s;erably complaining of the Hurt he had receiv'd by the Candle&s;tick, tho by good luck it had done him no more harm, then only the rai&s;ing of two Bunches about the bigne&s;s of two Turky Eggs; for that which he fancy'd to be Blood, was only the Oil of the Lamp, that had bedew'd his Hair and his Beard. So that after he had mixt all the Ingredients together, he &s;et 'em o're a gentle Fire, and let 'em &s;imper for about a full Hour, till he thought they were enough, and then put the whole into a Tin-pot, which the Inn-keeper out of his Liberality freely pre&s;ented him. Then he mut|ter'd over the Pot a hundred <HI>Ave Maries,</HI> as many <HI>Pater No&s;ters, Salve's,</HI> and <HI>Creeds,</HI> and ever and anon making the Sign of the Cro&s;s, by way of Benediction; at which Ceremony the Inn-keeper, the Con&s;table and <HI>Sancho,</HI> were pre&s;ent.</P>
<P>When the Med'cine was cold, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> re&s;olv'd to make an immediate Tryal of it; and to that purpo&s;e, gulp'd down the Quantity of a good Beer gla&s;s brim-full. But no &s;ooner had he tak'n his Do&s;e, but he fell a vomiting, as if he would ha' &s;pew'd up his Lungs; and his violent &s;training put him into &s;uch a Sweat, that he de&s;ir'd to be cover'd up warm, and left to his Repo&s;e. In which Condition he &s;lept three whole Hours, and then waking, found him&s;elf in an excellent Temper, and &s;o well at ea&s;e, that he made no Que&s;tion, but he had found out the true Bal&s;om of <HI>Invulnerable;</HI> and that having &s;uch a Med'cine, he might undertake all the mo&s;t perillous Adventures i'the World, without Fear or Wit. <HI>Sancho</HI> ob&s;erving &s;uch a &s;trange and &s;udden Operation of the Balfom, be&s;ought his Ma&s;ter, that he might drink up the Remainder in the Pot; to which, when <HI>Don Quixote</HI> had con&s;ented, <HI>Pancha</HI> quaff'd off the re&s;t, with &s;uch a <HI>Gu&s;to,</HI> as if it had been a Nuptial Re&s;torative of Tent and Eggs. But it &s;eems that <HI>Pancha</HI>'s Stomach was not &s;o nice as his Ma|&s;ter's; for before he could vomit, he was afflicted with &s;uch terrible Reach|ing, &s;uch faint and painful Sweats and Swoonings, that he verily thought his la&s;t Hour had been come; and in&s;tead of repenting for his Sins, fell a cur&s;ing the Bal&s;om, and the Traitor that had recommended it to him. Friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I am the mo&s;t mi&s;tak'n Man i' the World, if this Mi&s;ery does not befall thee, becau&s;e thou art no Dubb'd Knight; for I fear me, this Bal&s;om will not work kindly upon any but &s;uch as they are. The Devil take you and all your Generation, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> why did ye let me take it, if you knew that before? Is this a Time to tell me of <HI>Dubb'd Knights,</HI> when my Guts are ready to bur&s;t? But at length, Nature being kind, and the Phy&s;ick &s;trong and &s;earching, forc'd its way upward and downward, in&s;omuch that he fell a Squitt'ring and Spewing, as if the Devil had been turn'd <HI>Tom-turd-man</HI> to empty the Jakes of his Carka&s;s; and all the while he &s;train'd &s;o hard before and behind, that the Standers by &s;till expected when his <HI>Soul-Errant</HI> would take a Career out of his Body; till at la&s;t, af|ter the end of two Hours, that this <HI>Hurricane</HI> in his Guts la&s;ted, in&s;tead of finding him&s;elf at ea&s;e, as his Ma&s;ter had done, he felt him&s;elf &s;o feeble, and &s;o far &s;pent, that he was hardly able to breath. But for all that, <HI>D. Quixote</HI> was in ha&s;te, he felt him&s;elf as &s;ound as a Roach, and therefore would needs be jogging after new Adventures. All the while that he lay idle, he thought him&s;elf lo&s;t to the World; and all tho&s;e that needed his Favour and A&s;&s;i|&s;tance, defying Wounds and Danger now, in Confidence of his Bal&s;om.</P>
<P>In the mid&s;t of the&s;e impatient Thoughts, he told <HI>Sancho</HI> he mu&s;t be gone; and with tho&s;e Re&s;olutions he &s;addl'd <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> him&s;elf, putting the Pannel
<PB N="73" REF="48"> upon the A&s;s, and his Squire upon the Pannel, after he had help'd him to get on his Clothes: Then &s;pying a &s;trong Javelin that hung up in the Hall of the <HI>Inn,</HI> he &s;eiz'd it for the u&s;e of the Lord of the Mannor, to &s;erve him in&s;tead of a Lance; and &s;o mounting his Cour&s;er, in the &s;ight of above twenty People that were in the <HI>Inn,</HI> prepar'd to &s;et forward.</P>
<P>Among the re&s;t of the Gazers, the Inn-keeper's Daughter ob&s;erv'd him with a more curious Eye, as having never &s;een &s;uch a &s;ight in her Life be|fore: Which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> perceiving, and making a more favourable In|terpretation of her Glances, beheld her with no le&s;s Admiration, tho of another &s;ort, every foot fetching a deep Sigh from the very Foundations of his Heart, which they who &s;aw him &s;o mortify'd the Night before, a&s;crib'd to the Pain of his Wounds.</P>
<P>But now being ready to depart, he &s;topp'd at the Inn-Door, and call'd for the Ma&s;ter of the Hou&s;e, in a grave and maje&s;tick Tone; <Q>Sir <HI>Con&s;table,</HI> &s;aid he, I &s;hould be the mo&s;t ingrateful Mongrel in the World, &s;hould I forget the Kindne&s;&s;es I have receiv'd in your Ca&s;tle. However, in return of your Favours, if there be a Caitiff under the Sun, on whom you de|&s;ire to be reveng'd for any Injuries or Contumelies committed, know, it is my Profe&s;&s;ion to relieve the Oppre&s;&s;ed, and puni&s;h Traitors. Rub up your Memory therefore, and if you can call any &s;uch to mind, by my Ho|ly Order of Knighthood, I'le drag 'em with a Hor&s;e-pox to your Ca&s;tle, to make you Satisfaction on their bended Knees.</Q> To which the Inn-keeper an&s;wering with the &s;ame Gravity, Sir Knight, &s;aid he, I have no need of your Revenge, for when any body does me an Injury, I can revenge my &s;elf. All the Satisfaction therefore that I de&s;ire, is, That you would pay your Reck'ning for Hor&s;e-meat and Man's-meat: For that is the Cu&s;tom in all Inns. How! cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> is this an Inn? Yes, and one of the be&s;t upon the Road too, quo the Ma&s;ter. Then I beg your Pardon, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for I took it for a Ca&s;tle, and that none of the meane&s;t nei|ther. However, 'tis all one; for tho it be an Inn, you mu&s;t excu&s;e me, Sir, from paying a Farthing; 'tis contrary to the Laws of <HI>Chivalry-Errant,</HI> which I am bound to ob&s;erve, there being no <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> that ever paid in an Inn, that ever I read of. It being the only Recompence that Cu&s;tom has allow'd 'em for their ince&s;&s;ant Labour and Travel Day and Night, Winter and Summer, for the General good of Mankind. This is nothing to my Bu&s;ine&s;s, pay me what ye owe me, and keep your Flim-flams and Stories to your &s;elf; I mu&s;t not give away my Goods. Thou art both a Fool and a Knave of an Inn-keeper, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and &s;o couching his Javelin, and putting Spurs to his Hor&s;e, he rode out of the Inn before any body could &s;top him, never minding whether his Squire follow'd him or no.</P>
<P>The Inn-keeper having thus lo&s;t the <HI>Knight,</HI> demanded his Reck'ning of the Squire. But <HI>Sancho</HI> pleaded his Ma&s;ter's Priviledge, alledging, That the &s;ame Cu&s;tom which exempted the Ma&s;ter, exempted the Squire. Upon this, the Inn-keeper growing into Pa&s;&s;ion, call'd <HI>Sancho</HI> a thou&s;and Pimps and Ra&s;cals, threatning him withal, That if he did not pay him, to have his Reck'ning out of his Bones. On the other &s;ide, <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;wore by his Ma|&s;ter's Knighthood, That he would not pay a Farthing, tho they flea'd him alive; prote&s;ting withal, that he would never give the lea&s;t Occa&s;ion for the Squires in &s;ucceeding Ages, to upbraid him with the Infringement of their ancient Rights. But whether the Devil, or ill Luck ow'd <HI>Sancho</HI> a Spite, &s;o it happen'd, that there were at the &s;ame time in the Inn, certain Clothiers of <HI>Segovia,</HI> and Embroiderers of <HI>Cordovia,</HI> all jolly Fellows, and Men
<PB N="74" REF="49" MS="y"> of good Sub&s;tance, who agreeing all in one De&s;ign, pull'd <HI>Sancho</HI> off his A&s;s, and &s;ent for a Blanket; into which, after they had put the poor con|demn'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> four of the &s;toute&s;t, taking every one his Corner, they made him dance the <HI>Carp-Galliard</HI> i' the Air for &s;everal times together, as your Bulls to&s;s the Dogs at the <HI>Bear-garden.</HI> All the while <HI>Sancho</HI> roar'd, <HI>Sancho</HI> bellow'd, <HI>Sancho</HI> bleated, <HI>Sancho</HI> howl'd, and made &s;uch a doleful Noi&s;e, that at length his Lamentations reach'd his <HI>Knight</HI>'s Ear; who hearing the Out cries of his beloved <HI>Pan&s;a,</HI> gallop'd back to the Inn to relieve the Di&s;tre&s;&s;ed; but finding the Gates &s;hut, all that he could do, was to look over the Wall, where he &s;aw <HI>Sancho</HI> frolicking and frisking in the Air, as if he had been rather a <HI>Squire-volant,</HI> then a <HI>Squire-Errant;</HI> &s;ometimes with his Heels, &s;ometimes with his Head uppermo&s;t, with &s;o much Nimblene&s;s and Agility, as if the Air had been his tumbling Element; in&s;omuch that 'tis thought that the <HI>Knight</HI> could have laugh'd him&s;elf, if his Indignation would have &s;uffer'd him. But in the &s;curvy Humour he was in, he did not like the Sport. He fum'd, he foam'd, he chaf'd, he lookt over the Wall as he &s;tood upon his Stirrups, and with a grim and menacing Coun|tenance, call'd 'em a thou&s;and Sons of Whores and Bitches, Villains, Caitiffs, Rogues, Traitors, Murderers, <HI>&amp;c.</HI> &s;wore <HI>Wal&s;ingham,</HI> bann'd like a Jailor, and threaten'd all the Torments of the Ten Per&s;ecutions. But the more he &s;torm'd, the more they to&s;s'd; nor did they leave off, till meer Wearine&s;s, nothing at all of Mercy, put an end to <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Tribulation: and then it was, that like Men of Charity, they &s;et him upon his A&s;s again, wrapt up in his Coat, as they found him. And the compa&s;&s;ionate <HI>Maritornes,</HI> forget|ing all Injury, was yet more kind; for &s;he brought him a Jugg of cold Water, which as he was going to put to his Mouth, his Ma&s;ter cry'd out to him, Hold&mdash; hold&mdash;drink no Water, Son <HI>Sancho,</HI> drink no Water&mdash; 'twill kill thee&mdash; Son <HI>Sancho</HI>&mdash; Have not I here the precious Liquor of Life, that will cure thee with only &s;melling to it?&mdash; To whom <HI>Sancho</HI> reply'd, I fear me, Sir, you forget your &s;elf, I am not yet a <HI>Dubb'd Knight,</HI> and &s;o 'twill do me no good. Keep your Brewage for the Devil, and let me alone. And &s;o &s;aying, he &s;et the Jugg to his Lips again; but finding it to be Wa|ter, he left off, and de&s;ir'd <HI>Maritornes</HI> to change it for Wine, which &s;he did with a willing Heart, and paid for it out of her own Pocket. For 'twas &s;aid of her, That tho &s;he were a Whore, yet &s;he had &s;omething of Chri|&s;tianity in her.</P>
<P><HI>Sancho</HI> having thus refre&s;h'd him&s;elf, was honourably conducted out of the Inn, and departed very well &s;atisfy'd, that he had bubbl'd the Inn-keeper, tho at the Expence of his Kidneys and Shoulders, that were his u&s;ual Sureties. 'Tis true, that the Inn-keeper kept his Wallet for the Reck|ning; but he was &s;o tran&s;ported with Joy, that he never mi&s;s'd it. And now <HI>Sancho</HI> being thus gone, the Inn-keeper would have lock'd up the Gates again, but the <HI>To&s;&s;ers</HI> that car'd not a ru&s;h for the <HI>Knight,</HI> had he been of the <HI>Round-Table,</HI> would not permit him; perhaps becau&s;e they long'd to have had the &s;ame Sport with the Ma&s;ter, as they had had with the Man.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="4" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="75" REF="49">
<HEAD>CHAP. IV.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Of the Di&s;cour&s;e between <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho Pan&s;a,</HI> with &s;e|veral other remarkable Pa&s;&s;ages.</HEAD>
<P><HI>SAncho</HI> had now over-tak'n his Ma&s;ter, who perceiving him in &s;uch a batter'd and langui&s;hing Condition, that he was hardly able to &s;it his A&s;s; My dear <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;aid he, now I am fully convinc'd, that this Ca&s;tle or Inn is inchanted; for what could they be that made them&s;elves &s;uch cruel Sport with thy Carka&s;s, but Apparitions, and wicked Gho&s;ts of the other World? And farther to confirm it, I mu&s;t tell thee, that when I beheld thy fatal Tragedy, and would have got o're the Wall to thy Relief, I found my &s;elf, as it were, nail'd to my Saddle by Enchantment, &s;o that I could not &s;tir: and 'twas well I took that Cour&s;e. For by my Honour, could I but have come at tho&s;e Caitiffs, and Vagabonds, I would ha' &s;wing'd 'em off &s;o Inhumanly, that they &s;hould have remember'd their playing at Shuttle-cock with Man's Fle&s;h, not only in this, but in the World to come, tho for once I had brok'n the Laws of Chivalry. I would have claw'd 'em off my &s;elf, you may be &s;ure, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> had I been able, whether Knight or no Knight. Tho I mu&s;t tell ye, Sir, you talk like a Widgeon, to &s;ay, the Varlets that Tennis-ball'd my Bones, were Spirits and Appari|tions; for they were Fle&s;h and Blood, as we are, and had their Chri&s;tian Names and Sirnames; but you never heard that Spirits and Hobgoblins were baptiz'd i' this World. And therefore, I be&s;eech ye, never let &s;uch a &s;imple Conceit harbour i' your Brains, that any Inchantment hinder'd your getting over the Wall, or alighting from your Hor&s;e. In &s;hort, Sir, I &s;ee it as plain as the No&s;e i' your Face, that while we run &s;caper-loitring after I know not what fortunate Adventures, we are like to meet with nothing but Sorrow and Di&s;a&s;ter. And therefore may I be pox'd, if I do'nt take it to be our wi&s;e&s;t Cour&s;e to return home again, and look after your Harve&s;t, for here has been nothing hitherto, but <HI>leaping out of the Frying-pan into the Fire.</HI> Why, what a-Devil d' ye think, that we are bound to find Bones for all the Cudgels i' the Kingdom?</P>
<P>Poor <HI>Sancho,</HI> I pity thy vulgar Ignorance in the grand My&s;teries of Chi|valry. Be patient a while, and thou &s;halt &s;ee what an honourable thing it is to follow this Employment. For can there be any thing more glorious, then for a Man to vanqui&s;h and triumph o're his Enemy? Que&s;tionle&s;s, not any thing. It may be &s;o, for ought I know, quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> but I under&s;tand nothing of the matter. However, this I am &s;ure of, That ever &s;ince we have been a <HI>Knight-Erranting</HI> (for I enclude my &s;elf only as an Attendant upon your Wor&s;hip) you have had but one &s;ingle Victory over the <HI>Bi&s;cay|ner,</HI> and that dearly purchas'd too, with the lo&s;s of one Ear, and the Vi|zor of your Helmet; but the Fi&s;ty-cuffs, the Thumps, the Wherrets, the di&s;graceful Kicks o' the Ar&s;e, that we have receiv'd, have been numberle&s;s, like the Sands of the Sea, be&s;ides an additional Over-plus, cur&s;e upon me, that fell to my &s;hare of being to&s;s'd in a Blanket, and by <HI>Hobgoblins</HI> too, upon whom it is impo&s;&s;ible for me to revenge my &s;elf, and &s;o I mu&s;t be de|priv'd of tho&s;e Victories and Plea&s;ures you talk of. I find, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that we are both &s;ick of the &s;ame Di&s;ea&s;e; but within this little while, I will get me a Sword made with &s;o much Art and Magick-skill, that who&s;oever &s;hall wear it, no &s;ort of Enchantment &s;hall hurt him.
<PB N="76" REF="50"> And it may be, good Fortune may put into my hands that of <HI>Amadis de Gaul,</HI> when he call'd him&s;elf <HI>Knight of the burning Sword;</HI> which was one of the be&s;t Weapons that ever Knight-Errant wore i' this World; for it would cut like a Razor, and enter the &s;tronge&s;t Armour that ever was temper'd, like Veni&s;on Cru&s;t. I'le be hang'd, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> when y' have found this Sword, if it will be &s;erviceable to any but your <HI>Dubb'd Knights,</HI> like your Bal&s;om; and &s;o all the mi&s;chief &s;hall fall upon the poor Squire. That can never be, <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> when I ha' got a Sword that will kill the Devil him&s;elf.</P>
<P>This was the Di&s;cour&s;e of the two Adventurers, when <HI>Don Quixote</HI> beheld a thick Cloud of Wind-driven Du&s;t upon his Right Hand; at what time turning to his Squire, <HI>Sancho,</HI> cry'd he, the Day is come, that thou &s;halt &s;ee the favours Fortune has re&s;erv'd for her beloved Darling. This day &s;uch matchle&s;s Performances &s;hall &s;ignalize the &s;trength of my Arm, that &s;hall de&s;erve an eternal Regi&s;ter in the Book of Fame, for the imitation of &s;uc|ceeding Ages. See&s;t thou that Cloud of Du&s;t, <HI>Sancho?</HI> It only hides an innumerable Army, marching this way, and con&s;i&s;ting of &s;everal Nations, that has rais'd it. Why then, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> there mu&s;t be two Armies, for yonder's as great a du&s;t o' the other &s;ide; which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> perceiving, you cannot imagine the tran&s;ports of his Joy, out of a firm belief, that two va&s;t Armies were going to joyn Battel in that Plain. Whereas the du&s;t was only rais'd by two numerous Flocks of Sheep, in continual motion; &s;ome a' one &s;ide, &s;ome a t' other &s;ide the Downs. However, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was &s;o po&s;itive that they were two Armies, that <HI>Sancho</HI> believing his <HI>Ma|&s;ter,</HI> I pray, Sir, then, quo he, what are we two to do? What do&s;t think, good-man Block-head, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> but a&s;&s;i&s;t the weaker &s;ide? <Q>For know, <HI>Sancho,</HI> continu'd he, that the Army which marches towards us, is Commanded by the Great <HI>Alifanfaron,</HI> Emperour of the I&s;le of <HI>Tapro|bana:</HI> The other that advances behind us, is his Enemy, the King of the <HI>Garamants, Pentapolin with the naked Arm;</HI> &s;o call'd, becau&s;e he always fights with his Arm bare.</Q> And what's the Quarrel between the&s;e two Potent Princes, quo <HI>Sancho?</HI> Why, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> the rea&s;on is plain: For <HI>Alifanfaron</HI> is in Love with <HI>Pentapolin</HI>'s Daughter, who, in my Opinion, is one of the mo&s;t lovely Women i' the World, and a Chri&s;tian. But <HI>Ali|fanfaron</HI> being a <HI>Pagan,</HI> her Father will not con&s;ent to the Marriage, unle&s;s her Sweet-heart will renounce <HI>Mahomet,</HI> and embrace the Chri&s;tian Reli|gion. May I never &s;ee <HI>Tobo&s;o</HI> again, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> if I don't believe this <HI>Pen|tapolin</HI> to be a Man of Piety and Vertue; and I'le a&s;&s;i&s;t him to the utmo&s;t of my Power. That thou may'&s;t Lawfully do, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> for upon &s;uch occa&s;ions as the&s;e there is no &s;uch nece&s;&s;ity to be a Dubb'd Knight. 'Slife, and is it &s;o, quo <HI>Sancho?</HI> Then let me alone for one. But where &s;hall I &s;ecure my A&s;s, that I may find him again when the Battel's over? For I ne'r heard of any Man that ever charg'd upon &s;uch a Bea&s;t as this. Let him e'ne go where he plea&s;es, quo <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> for after the Victory's won, we &s;hall have &s;uch choice of Hor&s;es, that even <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> him&s;elf is in great danger of being exchang'd for another.</P>
<P>Then mounting to the top of a Hillock, <Q>Look thee, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> from hence will I &s;hew thee all the Chief Knights that Command the&s;e two va&s;t Armies, that thou may&s;t be able to know 'em again, when thou &s;ee&s;t 'em. He yonder i' the Gilded Arms, bearing in his Shield a Crown'd Lion Couchant at the feet of a young Lady, is the Valiant <HI>Laurca|lin,</HI> the <HI>Knight</HI> of the <HI>Silver Bridge.</HI> He in the Armour tin&s;ell'd with Flowers of Gold, bearing three Silver Crowns in a Field <HI>Azure,</HI> is the Fa|mous
<PB N="77" REF="50"> <HI>Micocolembo,</HI> Grand Duke of <HI>Quirocia.</HI> That other, that marches upon his Right Hand, as big and as tall as a Giant, is the undaunted <HI>Bran|dabarbaran,</HI> of <HI>Boliche,</HI> Lord of the three <HI>Arabia's;</HI> Arm'd with a Serpents Skin, and in&s;tead of a Shield, carrying a huge Gate, which is &s;aid to be one of tho&s;e that belong'd to the Temple that <HI>Samp&s;on</HI> pull'd down, when he reveng'd him&s;elf upon the <HI>Phili&s;tines,</HI> at the expence of his own Life.</Q></P>
<P><Q>Now turn about, and at the Head of t' other Army &s;ee yonder the In|vincible <HI>Timonel</HI> of <HI>Carca&s;&s;on,</HI> Prince of <HI>New Bi&s;cay,</HI> who&s;e Armour is of &s;everal colours, as <HI>Azure, Vert, Or,</HI> and <HI>Argent;</HI> bearing in his Shield a Pu&s;s-Cat <HI>Or,</HI> in a Field <HI>Gules;</HI> with the&s;e four Letters <HI>M. i. e. u.</HI> which compo&s;e the fir&s;t Sillable of his Mi&s;tre&s;&s;es Name, which Report avers to be the matchle&s;s <HI>Mieulina,</HI> Daughter to Duke <HI>Alpheniquen,</HI> of <HI>Algarva.</HI> That other Mon&s;trous Load upon the back of yonder wild Hor&s;e, in white Armour, with a white Shield, without any <HI>Impre&s;s,</HI> is a <HI>French</HI> Knight, call'd <HI>Peter Papin,</HI> Lord of the Barony of <HI>&V;trich.</HI> He that &s;its gal|ling his Cour&s;er's flanks with his heels like a <HI>Sea-man,</HI> is the Potent Duke of <HI>Nervia,</HI> otherwi&s;e call'd the <HI>Pinner of Wakefield;</HI> bearing in his Shield a Field &s;ow'd with <HI>A&s;paragus,</HI> with this <HI>Motto, Fortune rakes me.</HI></Q> And thus he went on, naming a hundred more in the &s;ame manner, in both Ar|mies: And then proceeding; <Q>That va&s;t Multitude which thou &s;ee&s;t yonder, is compos'd of &s;everal Nations. There march they that drink the plea&s;ant Streams of the Famous <HI>Xanthus.</HI> There the Mountaineers, that Till the fertil Fields of <HI>Ma&s;&s;ilia.</HI> Yonder, they that &s;ift the fine Gold of the <HI>Hap|py Arabia.</HI> Yonder, they that inhabit the Renowned Banks of <HI>Thermodon.</HI> They that fi&s;h in the Golden &s;treams of <HI>Pactolus;</HI> The Perfidious <HI>Numi|dians;</HI> The <HI>Per&s;ians,</HI> Famous Archers. The <HI>Medes</HI> and <HI>Parthians,</HI> mo&s;t dangerous when they flye. The wandring <HI>Arabs,</HI> the Savage and Cruel <HI>Scythians,</HI> the <HI>Ethiopians,</HI> that bore their Lips and No&s;trils; with a thou|&s;and other Nations, which I &s;ee, and of which I know the Countenances, tho I have forgot their Names. All the&s;e Nations, I &s;ay, compo&s;e that Army, rang'd under their peculiar En&s;igns.</Q></P>
<P><Q>On the other &s;ide are they that drink the Cry&s;tal &s;treams of <HI>Betis,</HI> &s;ha|ded with Olive-Trees. They that clean&s;e the wealthy Oar of <HI>Tagus.</HI> They that enjoy the enriching Current of the Divine <HI>Genile.</HI> They that mow the <HI>Tarte&s;ian</HI> Meadows. They that live &s;o happily among the delightful Pa&s;tures of <HI>Xeres;</HI> the wealthy <HI>Manchegue&s;ians,</HI> crown'd with Wheat-&s;heaves. The Ancient Off-&s;pring of the <HI>Goths,</HI> that delve for Iron. And they that quiver with <HI>Appennine</HI> Cold, and <HI>Pyrenean</HI> Snow. In a word, all that <HI>Europe</HI> contains within its va&s;t extent.</Q></P>
<P><HI>Sancho</HI> was &s;o a&s;toni&s;h'd to hear &s;uch an Inundation of words, that he had not a word to &s;ay. All that he could do, was to &s;tare with his Gog|gles, and to turn his Jobber-no&s;e as his Ma&s;ter pointed with his finger, to &s;ee if he could di&s;cover the Knights and Giants which his Ma&s;ter &s;hew'd him. But at length, not being able to di&s;cern the lea&s;t &s;ign, or &s;o much as the Tail of a Hor&s;e, of all the long Mu&s;ter-Roll that the Champion had fancy'd in his Imagination. Nouns, quo he, either I am blind, or the De|vil has carry'd away all your Knights and Giants; for as I'm a &s;inner to Heav'n, the Devil a bit of Mortal Man can I &s;ee. I think the fellow's turn'd Fool, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> why, do&s;t not hear their Hor&s;es <HI>Neighie,</HI> the Trumpets &s;ound, and the Drums rattle? May I peri&s;h, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> if I hear any thing but the bleating of a few Sheep. Then I ha' found it out, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for thy fears di&s;turb thy Sen&s;es; thou neither &s;ee&s;t with
<PB N="78" REF="51"> thy Eyes, nor hear'&s;t with thy Ears. But 'tis no matter, I need not the A&s;&s;i&s;tance of a Coward, I'le have the Honour of the Victory my &s;elf. And &s;o &s;aying, he couch'd his Lance, and putting Spurs to <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> flew like Lightning into the Plain. <HI>Sancho</HI> bawl'd after him as loud as he could yaul; call'd Heav'n to witne&s;s, that they were only Sheep; then bann'd him to the bottomle&s;s Pit; Cur&s;e o' my Father that begat me, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> that I &s;hould be &s;o unfortunate to &s;erve &s;uch a Mad-man as this! Sir,&mdash; Sir,&mdash; Ma&s;ter <HI>Don Quixote,</HI>&mdash; Bent out o' your Wits, Sir,&mdash; There are no <HI>Giants,</HI> no <HI>Knights,</HI> no <HI>A&s;paragus</HI> Gardens, no Shields either broke or whole; but only a few Sheep, which you are going to kill before you have Money to pay for them.&mdash; But <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> deaf to all his Squire's Imprecations, with a Voice louder then his Dwarf, crying out to him&s;elf, <HI>Courage, courage,</HI> brave <HI>Knights,</HI> that fight under the Standard of valiant <HI>Pentapolin, with the naked Arm;</HI> Follow but me, and we will &s;oon be aveng'd of that Traitor <HI>Alifanfaron</HI> of <HI>Taprobana,</HI> and pre&s;ently flung him&s;elf and his Hor&s;e among the poor Sheep with that Gallantry and Re&s;olution, that he &s;oon laid &s;ome of his mortal Enemies wallowing in their Blood.</P>
<P>The Shepherds &s;eeing their Sheep go to rack in &s;uch a manner, at fir&s;t call'd out to him, to know what he meant, and what harm the poor Sheep had done him; but finding fair means &s;o little avail'd, they ply'd him with Stones as big as their Fi&s;ts, out of their Slings; and that &s;o nimbly, that one Stone never &s;taid for another. But the Champion di&s;daining that &s;ort of Skirmi&s;hing at a Di&s;tance, n'ere minded the Stones, being altoge|ther for meeting with <HI>Alifanfaron,</HI> crying out, Where art a', Traitor, <HI>Ali|fanfaron?</HI> Appear to him that here expects thee hand to hand, to try the mettle of thy keen <HI>Kilzadog,</HI> and to cha&s;tize thee for making War unju&s;t|ly upon the valiant <HI>Pentapolin.</HI> At length among &s;uch a Showre of Stones as flew about the Champion's Ears, there was one that lit upon his Ribs, and forc'd its way through two of the &s;horte&s;t. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> thought him|&s;elf &s;lain, or at lea&s;t, dangerou&s;ly wounded; but then calling to mind his Bal&s;om, and pulling out his Tin-pot, he began to &s;et the precious Liquor to his Mouth. At what time, before he could fini&s;h his Draught, another Stone, of a &s;udden, &s;truck the Pot out of his Hand, carry'd away three or four of his Teeth, and maim'd almo&s;t all his Fingers. The&s;e two Blows were &s;o violent, that the poor <HI>Knight</HI> falling from his Hor&s;e, lay &s;tretch'd out upon the Ground as quiet as a Lamb. So that the Shepherds believing him &s;lain, took up their dead Sheep, to the number of &s;ix or &s;even, be&s;ides what were wounded; and rallying their di&s;order'd Flocks, made what ha&s;te they could out of the way.</P>
<P>Whil&s;t the Combat la&s;ted, <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;tood upon the Hill, Cur&s;ing and Swear|ing and tearing his Beard for Madne&s;s; but when the Shepherds were gone, down he came to behold the Ruines of his Lord; for only &s;uch he thought 'em to be, when he &s;aw in what a Po&s;ture he lay. However, finding that he had &s;ome Sen&s;e remaining; Ah, Ma&s;ter, Ma&s;ter! quo he, did I not beg you to return? Did I not tell ye, 'twas only a Flock of Sheep, and no Army? <Q><HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> th' art a Cuckow-brains; <HI>Negro|mancers</HI> can change the Shapes of Men and Bea&s;ts as they plea&s;e them|&s;elves: and thus that Theif of a <HI>Negromancer,</HI> who is my mortal Enemy, to deprive me of the Honour of that Victory which I had i' my Hands, immediately turn'd the whole Squadron of the Enemy into Sheep. And now to convince thee, that this is a Truth, do but take thy A&s;s, at my Re|que&s;t, and follow tho&s;e pretended Shepherds at a Di&s;tance; I'le pawn my Knighthood, that before thou ha&s;t rid a Mile, thou &s;halt &s;ee 'em all
<PB N="79" REF="51"> chang'd into Men again, &s;uch as I de&s;crib'd 'em to be.</Q> But before thou go'&s;t, come hither and &s;ee how many Teeth I want; for I feel my Gums, as if I had not one left i' my Mouth. Ill luck again for poor <HI>Sancho;</HI> for as he was gaping to tell his Ma&s;ter's Grinders, with his No&s;e almo&s;t in his Chaps, the Bal&s;om began to work; &s;o that with the &s;ame Swiftne&s;s that the Pow|der flies out of a Pi&s;tol, the Phy&s;ick di&s;charg'd it &s;elf all upon the Beard, Face, and Eyes of the charitable Squire. By the Bowels of St. <HI>Francis,</HI> quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> my Ma&s;ter is a dead Man, for he vomits nothing but clear Blood, tho the Colour, Smell, and Ta&s;te, &s;oon undeceiv'd him; for the two latter turning the Squires quea&s;ie Stomach, caus'd &s;uch a &s;udden Rumbling in his Guizard, that before he could turn his Head, he unladed the whole <HI>Cargo</HI> of his Entrails upon his Ma&s;ter's No&s;e, &s;o that you would have &s;worn there was not a Secret in both their Hearts, which they had not open'd one to another. In this na&s;ty Pickle <HI>Sancho</HI> ran for a Towel to wipe him&s;elf, and his Ma&s;ter; but mi&s;&s;ing his Wallet, he was ready to run quite out of his Wits. He be&s;tow'd a thou&s;and Maledictions more upon him&s;elf, and was &s;ometimes re&s;olving with him&s;elf to let his Ma&s;ter go to the Devil, and return home, tho he lo&s;t all the Recompence of his Service, and the Government of twenty I&s;lands.</P>
<P>It was high time then for <HI>Don Quixote</HI> to get up, which with much ado he did; and then clapping his left Hand before his Mouth, to keep the re&s;t of his loo&s;e Teeth from dropping out, with his right he led <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> by the Bridle (the faithful and good-natur'd <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> that had not &s;tirr'd an Inch from the Place where his Ma&s;ter fell) and in that Po&s;ture he crept along to his Friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> whom he found lolling upon his A&s;s, with his Face in the hollow of both Hands, like a Man bury'd in profound Sorrow. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> perceiving him in that Condition; <Q>Friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;aid he, one man is no more then another, if he do no more then what another does. The&s;e Di&s;a&s;ters are but Arguments of our better Succe&s;s. Calms always follow Storms, and fair Weather, foul. Good and bad Fortune have their Vici&s;&s;itudes. Be&s;ides, 'tis a Maxim, That nothing violent can la&s;t long. And therefore never grieve at the&s;e Misfortunes, of which I have &s;till the greate&s;t Share.</Q> How can that be, quo <HI>Sancho?</HI> Was not he that was to&s;s'd in a Blanket ye&s;terday, the Son of my Father? And was not the Wallet which I have lo&s;t, with all that was in it, his Lo&s;s? How! quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> Ha&s;t lo&s;t the Wallet? I know not whether it be lo&s;t, re|ply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> but I cannot find it, where I us'd to hang it. Why, then I find we mu&s;t fa&s;t to day, quo <HI>Don Quixote.</HI> 'Tis &s;urely &s;o, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> unle&s;s you can meet with &s;uch Herbs, as are wont to &s;upply the Nece&s;&s;ities of &s;uch unfortunate <HI>Knights,</HI> as your &s;elf. For all that, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> at this time, I had rather have a good Luncheon of Bread and two Pilchards Heads, then all the Sallads in <HI>Gerrhard</HI>'s Herbal. And therefore be&s;tride thy A&s;s, and follow me once more. God's Providence, that provides for the Flies i' the Air, and the Worms i' the Earth, will al&s;o provide for us; e&s;pecially if we continue to &s;erve him, as we do in this laborious Pro|fe&s;&s;ion. Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> interrupting him, I believe you would make a better Preacher, then a <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> God pardon me for &s;aying &s;o. <HI>Knight-Errants,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> ought to know all things; and there have been &s;uch in former Ages, that were wont to preach at the Head of an Army, as if they had tak'n their Degrees at <HI>Salamanca,</HI> according to the Proverb, <HI>T&agrave;m Marti, qu&agrave;m Mercurio.</HI> In good Faith, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> it &s;hall be even as you plea&s;e, for me: In the mean time, good now, let us remove from hence, and &s;eek out a Lodging; but let it be &s;uch a one, for
<PB N="80" REF="52"> the Lord's-&s;ake, where there are no Blankets, nor Blanket-heavers; no Ap|paritions, nor inchanted <HI>Moors.</HI> For if I meet with any more of your <HI>Hob|thru&s;hes,</HI> old <HI>Satan</HI> him&s;elf be your Squire, for <HI>Sancho.</HI> Rather pray to God to direct us, <HI>Sancho,</HI> cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and &s;o for once go thine own way; for I leave it wholly to thy Di&s;cretion to provide us a Lodging. But fir&s;t feel here how many Teeth I have i' my upper Jaw, o' the right &s;ide; for there I find my Pain lies mo&s;t. Thereupon <HI>Sancho</HI> feeling with his Finger both above and below; Pray, Sir, quo he, how many Teeth &s;hould ye have i' this place? Four &s;ound entire Teeth, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> be&s;ides the Eye-tooth. Take heed what you &s;ay, quo <HI>Sancho.</HI> I &s;ay four, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> if there ben't five. How &s;trangely you mi&s;take, now, reply'd <HI>Sancho;</HI> you have ju&s;t two and a Stump i' the neither Jaw; but for your upper Jaw, 'tis all as &s;mooth as a Child's Coral. How! &s;aid <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I had rather ha' lo&s;t an Arm, provided it were not my Sword-arm; for a Mouth without Teeth, is like a Mill without a Mill-&s;tone; every Tooth in a Man's Head, is worth a Diamond. But we that profe&s;s the &s;trict Laws of Chivalry, are &s;ubject to the&s;e Di&s;a&s;ters; and therefore &s;ince it can't be help'd, go thine own pace, and I'le follow thee. Thereupon <HI>Sancho</HI> led the way, &s;till keeping the High-road, as mo&s;t like to bring him &s;oone&s;t to a Lodging. Now you mu&s;t know, they rode very &s;oftly, for <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Gums would not &s;uffer him to trot; and therefore <HI>Sancho,</HI> compa&s;&s;ionating his Ma&s;ter's Condition, re&s;olv'd to diverti&s;e him with &s;ome of the merrie&s;t Conceits he had in his Budget, as you &s;hall hear i' the next Chapter.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="5" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. V.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Of the plea&s;ant Di&s;cour&s;e between <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and his Squire; and of the Adventure of the dead Corps.</HEAD>
<P>GOD forgive me for thinking &s;o, &s;aid <HI>Sancho,</HI> but it will not out of my Head, but that all our late Di&s;a&s;ters are the ju&s;t Judgments of Heav'n upon us, for your tran&s;gre&s;&s;ing the known Laws of your Order, and vio|lating the Oath which you made, not to eat at a Table, nor lie in an Inn, till you had won <HI>What-d'-ye-call-him</HI>'s Armour, for I have forgot the Name of the <HI>Moor.</HI> Very well remember'd, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> 'twas quite and clean &s;lid out of my Memory; and I believe too, that thou wer't to&s;s'd in a Blan|ket, becau&s;e thou did&s;t not put me in mind of it&punc; But I can &s;oon make a|mends for my Omi&s;&s;ion; for <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI> is a Profe&s;&s;ion very ready to &s;mother Iniquity. Why, did I ever &s;wear to mind you of your Vow, re|ply'd <HI>Sancho</HI>&mdash;? Whether thou &s;wor'&s;t, or no, an&s;wer'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that's not the Bu&s;ine&s;s, thou art acce&s;&s;ary however, both before and after. Then take notice, that I now fore-warn ye, &s;aid <HI>Sancho,</HI> not to forget your Amendment, as you did your Oath, le&s;t <HI>Robin Good-fellow</HI> plague us again, for being incorrigible.</P>
<P>In the mid&s;t of this Di&s;cour&s;e, Night &s;urpriz'd 'em, not knowing where to &s;helter them&s;elves. And, which was wor&s;e, they were ready to eat one another for Hunger, having lo&s;t the Wallet, where was all their Provant. But to relieve 'em in this Extremity, there happen'd an Adventure, which I &s;hall faithfully relate, without Addition or Diminution of the Matter of Fact; which was thus.</P>
<PB N="81" REF="52">
<P>'Twas now pitch-dark Night; however, they travell'd on, <HI>Sancho</HI> be|lieving that &s;ince they were in &s;uch a beaten Road, it could not be long before they met with an Inn, or a Farrier's Hovel where they &s;old Drink. With the&s;e Hopes jogging on, the Squire half &s;tarv'd, the <HI>Knight</HI> no le&s;s de&s;irous to eat, they &s;aw at a di&s;tance a great number of Lights, that ap|pear'd like &s;o many <HI>Wi&s;p-Williams.</HI> At which &s;udden Apparition <HI>Sancho</HI> was ready to &s;woon, and they &s;ay, the <HI>Knight</HI> him&s;elf began to &s;mell very &s;trong. Thereupon they made a &s;top, and ob&s;erv'd that the Lights ad|vanc'd toward 'em, and the nearer they came, the bigger they &s;eem'd: Which redoubl'd their Fears; <HI>Sancho</HI> let fly, and <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Hair &s;tood an end: but at la&s;t recov'ring his wonted Courage; <Q>Friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;aid he, this certainly mu&s;t be &s;ome prodigious Adventure, that will require the whole &s;tock of my Strength and Courage.</Q> Grant, kind Heav'n, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> that it be not another Adventure of <HI>Goblins;</HI> for if it be, where the Devil &s;hall we find Ribs to endure it? Come all the <HI>Goblins</HI> in Hell, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> they &s;hall not touch a Hair o' thy Head. For tho I could not get over the Wall; we are now i' the op'n Field, where I &s;hall have liberty to make u&s;e of my Sword. Alas! quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> what &s;ignifies the op'n Field, &s;hould they inchant ye as they did before? Puh!&mdash; quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> do but look on, and thou &s;halt &s;ee what I'le do. So I intend, God willing, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> for if I &s;tir a foot, I'le gi'e my Ears. By and by they di&s;cover'd a great num|ber of Men all in White. Nay then, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> quiv'ring and quaking, mercy o' my Soul; What-a-Devil! quo he, no le&s;s then twenty Giants in their Shirts, with every one a Torch in his Hand, and murmur|ing from their Lips the &s;orrowful Complaints of Grief and Di&s;content. After them follow'd a Litter, attended by &s;ix Hor&s;e-men in Mourning down to their Hor&s;es Heels. Which doleful Spectacle at &s;uch at time of Night, and in the mid&s;t of a De&s;art, as they thought them&s;elves, was enough to have &s;hipwrakt the Courage of a &s;touter Squire then <HI>Sancho.</HI> But fearle&s;s <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> full of his Fegaries, fancy'd there mu&s;t be in the Litter the Body of &s;ome Knight either &s;lain or wounded, the Revenge of who&s;e Misfortunes was only re&s;erv'd for him. And &s;o couching his Lance, he po&s;ted him&s;elf ju&s;t in the middle of the Road, where the Company were to pa&s;s. So &s;oon as they drew near, <Q>Stand, quo he, whoever ye be, and tell me in &s;hort, who ye are, whence ye came, whither ye go, and what ye carry i' that Litter? For you &s;eem to be &s;uch as either have done, or receiv'd a great deal of Mi&s;chief; and I mu&s;t have an Account either to puni&s;h the Offenders, or relieve the Di&s;tre&s;&s;ed.</Q> Sir, reply'd one of the Hor&s;e men, we are in ha&s;te, the Inn is a great way off, and we cannot &s;tay to tell ye the Particulars; and &s;o &s;purring his Mule, he pre&s;s'd forward. But <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> di&s;&s;atisfy'd with the An&s;wer, laid hold of the Reins of his Bridle, and with a &s;tern Voice, Sir, &s;aid he, are you weary of your Life? either give me a better Account, or I defie thee to mortal Combat. But &s;o it happen'd, that the Mule being skitti&s;h and frightful, fell a cap'ring and rearing at &s;uch a rate, that &s;he threw her Rider to the Ground. Upon which, one of the Foot-boys calling him a thou&s;and Rogues and Sons o' Whores, put him into &s;uch a Chafe, that he flew like a Dragon upon another of the Per&s;ons in Mourning, and threw him to the Ground with a Prowe&s;s altogether extraordinary; then &s;purr'd away to a &s;econd, and &s;o to a Third, with that Vigour and Activity, that you would have &s;worn <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> had been <HI>Pega&s;us</HI> him&s;elf at that time.</P>
<P>It was not for Men of Peace, that were never accu&s;tom'd to bear Arms, to with&s;tand &s;uch a rapid Fury as this; &s;o that the People in White, fled
<PB N="82" REF="53"> immediately &s;ome one way, &s;ome another, cro&s;&s;ing the Fields with their lighted Torches, that you would have tak'n 'em for Ma&s;queraders upon a Bone-fire Night. As for the Mourners, they were &s;o muffl'd up i' their &s;able Weeds, that not being able to defend them&s;elves, they were forc'd to re|ceive his Ba&s;tinado's, without being able to repay him for his Kindne&s;s: So that the Renowned Champion in a &s;hort time got a complete, ea&s;ie, and cheap Victory; the Mourners and A&s;&s;i&s;tants believing the Devil was come to fetch away the dead Body, before they could bury it.</P>
<P>All this while <HI>Sancho</HI> admir'd the daring Valour of his Heroick Ma&s;ter, and now concluded him what he had always boa&s;ted him&s;elf to be.</P>
<P>And now the Combat being over, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> perceiving by the Light of a Torch, that lay burning in the High-way, the poor Man who was thrown by his Mule, he rode up to him, and &s;etting his Lance to his Throat, commanded him to yield, and beg his Life. For yielding, quo the other, I think I'm &s;afe enough already; for I think I have brok'n one of my Legs. And I be&s;eech ye, Sir, if y' are a Chri&s;tian, not to kill me, for you know 'tis a piece of Sacriledge to kill a Per&s;on in Holy Orders. If y' are in Orders, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> What a-pox brought ye hither? Bad Fortune, Sir, quo the Curate, as you may plainly &s;ee. And wor&s;e it may be yet, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> unle&s;s you an&s;wer me directly to my Que&s;tions. In &s;hort, Sir, then quo the Curate, we were all a Company of Prie&s;ts, and &s;ome few Gentlemen, and &s;ome few Friends of the deceas'd Gentleman that lies in that Litter, going to lay his Bones in <HI>Segovia,</HI> the Place of his Nativity. Well,&mdash; but who kill'd him, quo <HI>Don Quixote?</HI> Death, Sir, quo the Curate, by the means of a pe&s;tilential Feaver. If it be &s;o, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I am di&s;charg'd of revenging his Death, if any other Per&s;on had &s;lain him; but if God-a-mighty has done it, there's no more to be &s;aid; for had he done as much to me, I could not have help'd it. And now know, Mr. Cu|rate, that I am that Renowned <HI>Knight, Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> who&s;e Profe&s;&s;ion it is to vi&s;it all Parts of the World, for the Relief of the Afflicted, and Puni&s;hment of Oppre&s;&s;ors. I wi&s;h, Sir, quo the Curate, I could have had the Honour to have confirm'd your Titles, which now I cannot well do with a &s;afe Con&s;cience, as being beholding to your Charity for nothing but a brok'n Leg: So that I may &s;ay, The <HI>Prowler</HI> about for Adventures to do others good, has done me the greate&s;t Injury i' the World. Why truly, Mr. Curate, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> this World is full of Cro&s;&s;es, and Mi&s;chances, and therefore all that I can &s;ay to ye, is this; That you mu&s;t have a care next time how ye play the Fool i' the Night-time with your Torches, and your white Surplices, like Mummers, or rather Hobgoblins, that went about to fright People out o' their Wits. For I am not to endure &s;uch Fooleries as the&s;e, to the &s;caring of Nur&s;es and Children, and creating of Stories and Fables, of which there are too many i' the World already.</P>
<P>The Curate dur&s;t not contradict him, only de&s;ir'd his A&s;&s;i&s;tance, as a <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> and a Reliever of the Oppre&s;&s;ed; for that his Mule lay &s;o heavy upon him, that he could not get his Foot out of the Stirrup. Why did ye not tell me your Grievance &s;ooner, quo <HI>Don Quixote?</HI> Did ye take me for a Conjurer? With that, he call'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> who made no great ha&s;te, for he was as bu&s;ie as one of St. <HI>Nicholas</HI>'s <HI>Clarks,</HI> rifling a Wallet, and would not &s;tir till he had fill'd one of the Prie&s;ts <HI>Ca&s;&s;ocks,</HI> which he ty'd up like a Sack, and laid upon his A&s;s. And that being &s;ecur'd, away he ran to his Ma&s;ter; to whom, <HI>'Fore</HI> George, <HI>Sir,</HI> quo he, <HI>I can't be at the Oven and the Mill too, both at the &s;ame time.</HI> But <HI>Don Quixote</HI> taking no notice of his Drollery, bid him go help the Curate, which he did; and after he had
<PB N="83" REF="53"> &s;et him upon his Mule, and given him his Taper again, <HI>Don Sancho</HI> bid him follow his Company; and to excu&s;e him for his Mi&s;take, tho as they ap|pear'd, it was not in his power to do otherwi&s;e. And, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> if the Gentlemen ask who 'twas that &s;o well thrum'd their Jackets, tell 'em, 'twas the famous <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> otherwi&s;e the Knight of the <HI>Ill-favour'd Face.</HI></P>
<P>When the Curate was gone, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> ask'd <HI>Sancho</HI> wherefore he call'd him the <HI>Knight</HI> of the <HI>Ill-favour'd Face?</HI> Becau&s;e, &s;aid <HI>Sancho,</HI> I ha' been &s;taring upon it this good while, by the Light of the Prie&s;t's Torch, and i' my Con&s;cience I never beheld &s;uch a Swine's Countenance i' my life. The Cau&s;e of which, I take to be either your extream Wearine&s;s, or the Lo&s;s of your Teeth. No, <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> thou art quite be|&s;ide the Cu&s;hion; 'tis becau&s;e my Hi&s;toriographer thinks <GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="UOM" EXTENT="1 word"> convenient that I &s;hould have a Sir-name, as well as other ancient Knights. For one was call'd <HI>The Knight of the Burning Pe&s;tle,</HI> another of the <HI>&V;nicorn,</HI> a third of the <HI>Phoenix;</HI> who&s;e Employment it was to combat the whole Element of Fire. Another, of the <HI>Damzels;</HI> another, of the <HI>Gryphon;</HI> and another, the <HI>Knight of Death.</HI> By which Additions they were known all over the World. 'Twas this &s;ame learned Scholar therefore that in&s;pir'd thy Noddle with this witty Conceit; for I'm &s;ure thou had&s;t not Brains enough of thy &s;elf to find it out. And therefore I intend to be call'd by this Name, and to have &s;ome &s;trange Device painted i' my Shield, an&s;werable to it. In good faith, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> you may &s;pare that Expence; 'tis but only &s;hewing your own <HI>Death</HI>'s <HI>Head.</HI> For the Grave's i' your Cheeks, your hollow Eyes, and your <HI>Winter John-apple</HI> Skin, have &s;o &s;trangely tran&s;mo|grify'd your Countenance, that I'le forfeit my Stomack, if any Painter of <HI>Saracens Heads</HI> i' the Kingdom can draw a Face &s;o ugly as yours. This made his Wor&s;hip &s;mile; for the <HI>Knight</HI> was &s;uch a <HI>Nick-a-poop,</HI> that he could not chu&s;e but to laugh, to hear him&s;elf &s;o wittily abus'd by his Squire. However, a new Qualm coming over his Con&s;cience, <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;aid he, what &s;hall I do? I have laid violent Hands upon a <HI>Clergy-man,</HI> and I am afraid of being Excommunicated; according to that &s;ame Decree i' the Spiritual Court, <HI>If any one, through the Temptation of the Devil,</HI> &amp;c. Yet now I think on't, I never touch'd him with my Hands, but only with my Lance. Be&s;ides, I do not believe they were Prie&s;ts, or Men that any way belong'd to the Church, but meer Hobgoblings and Gho&s;ts. That's no Bread and Butter o' mine, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> I'm &s;ure I &s;truck no body, nor no body &s;truck me, which makes me believe they were Prie&s;ts, and not Gho&s;ts nor Apparitions. Well&mdash; quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> let the wor&s;t come to the wor&s;t, I remember what befell the valiant <HI>Cid-Ruy-Dias,</HI> who hackt in pieces the Emba&s;&s;ador's Chaire, in the Pre&s;ence of the Pope; for which he was Excommunicated, and thru&s;t into <HI>Hell-Counter;</HI> but upon the paying of fourteen Shillings and a Groat, he was pre&s;ently releas'd again. For in the Spiritual Court there is Law again&s;t Spirits as well as other People.</P>
<P>This &s;aid, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> would have examin'd the Bier, to have &s;een whether the Corps in the Litter were only dead Bones, or dead pieces of Eight. But <HI>Sancho</HI> would not &s;uffer him; for, &s;aid he, Sir, you have accom|pli&s;h'd this Adventure without &s;o much as a cut-Finger; but &s;hould the&s;e Fellows con&s;ider how they had been baffl'd by one &s;ingle Per&s;on, and return in a rally'd Body to revenge them&s;elves, who knows but that you may lo&s;e a whole Hand; and therefore our &s;afe&s;t way will be to get out of this place, as fa&s;t as we can: and &s;o &s;aying, he put on a Dog-trot with his A&s;s; nor
<PB N="84" REF="54"> was it long before <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> finding, after a &s;hort Meditation, that <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;pake Rea&s;on, gallop'd after him.</P>
<P>Now, after they had rid &s;ome three or four Miles, 'twas broad day; and the light of the Sun directing 'em to a Valley, that lay skulking between two Hills, fit for their purpo&s;e; there they alighted: There <HI>Sancho,</HI> open|ing his Ca&s;&s;ock, found that your Men in Orders were not the wor&s;t Stew|ards for their bellies. And therefore &s;preading the Ca&s;&s;ock upon the green Gra&s;s, they fell on, and eat their Break-fa&s;t, Dinner, Afternoon's Lun|cheon, and Supper, all at one time. <HI>Sancho</HI> took the Cru&s;t, and his Ma|&s;ter took the Crum: <HI>Sancho</HI> di&s;patch'd what was hard and tough, and his Ma&s;ter what was delicate and tender: And, as &s;tollen Goods, no doubt but they would have gone down much the &s;weeter, had they not wanted Drink; but Drink they want<GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="UOM" EXTENT="2 letters"> to that degree, that ne'r was <HI>Barnaby</HI> ever dryer in a Morning. For <HI>Sancho</HI> had forgot to plunder the Bottles as well as the Victu|als; nor would the Valley afford a drop of Water that they could find. However, con&s;idering they were in a place where the Gra&s;s was fre&s;h and green, <HI>Sancho</HI> gave his Ma&s;ter that Advice, which &s;eem'd Rational, tho it did not an&s;wer their Expectations, as we &s;hall find i' the next Chapter.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="6" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. VI.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Of the mo&s;t wonderful Adventure that ever happen'd to Knight-Errant, which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> accompli&s;h'd without any danger.</HEAD>
<P><HI>SAncho,</HI> ready to choak for Thir&s;t, as we &s;aid before, and &s;ummoning his Wits together for relief; quo he to his Ma&s;ter, This Gra&s;s looks &s;o fre&s;h and green, that of nece&s;&s;ity there mu&s;t be &s;ome Spring or Rivulet that waters the&s;e Grounds: And therefore my Opinion is, that if we do but make diligent &s;earch, we &s;hall find &s;ome Liquor or other to appea&s;e this intolerable Drowth, which Plagues us more then our Hunger did before. Thereupon <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> leading <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> by the Bridle, and <HI>Sancho</HI> his A&s;s by the Halter, they went feeling about for a Well, or a Fountain, or any thing that had Water in it (for tho I &s;aid before 'twas broad day, I mu&s;t eat my words, it being as yet &s;o dark, they could not &s;ee their Hands;) and therefore I &s;ay they felt their way, be|cau&s;e they could not &s;ee it. Now, they had not gone above two hundred Paces before they heard a noi&s;e that rejoyc'd the Cockles of their Hearts, as being the noi&s;e of a great fall of Waters. But going a little farther, they heard another noi&s;e no le&s;s terrible, of redoubl'd Blows and Ba&s;tinado's, with the rattling of Chains and Fetters, which together with the roaring of the Waters made &s;uch a di&s;mal Din i' the dark, that had <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Break-fa&s;t been Concocted, he had not kept it long in his Belly. Neither could <HI>Don Quixote</HI> him&s;elf tell what to think on't: He had not one Maggot in all his Readings that could compare with it. Be&s;ides that, Fortune at the &s;ame time brought 'em under a great Tuft of Trees, where the ru&s;tling of the Leaves, and the whi&s;tling of the Wind augmented their Di&s;may; e&s;peci|ally not knowing where they were.</P>
<P>But then it was that the undaunted <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> mounting his <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> and &s;houldering his Target, <Q>Know, <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;aid he, that I was born in this Iron Age, to re&s;tore the Age of Gold. 'Tis for me that Heaven has re|&s;erv'd
<PB N="85" REF="54"> the mo&s;t Famous Atchievements, and the accompli&s;hment of the&s;e Tragical Adventures. 'Tis I that mu&s;t deface the Remembrance of the <HI>Knights of the Round Table,</HI> the <HI>Twelve Peers of France,</HI> the <HI>Nine Worthies,</HI> of the <HI>Olivants, Belianis's,</HI> and Knights of the <HI>Sun,</HI> and of all the Knight-Errants of former Ages, by Eclip&s;ing the Renown of all their mo&s;t Glorious Actions. What an a&s;&s;emblage of Terrors is here? Darkne&s;s, rattling of Chains, redoubl'd Stripes, ru&s;tling of Leaves, and the noi&s;e of Cataracts, that &s;eem to fall from the Mountains of the Moon, of which the lea&s;t were enough to make <HI>Mars</HI> him&s;elf creep into an Auger-hole. Neverthele&s;s the&s;e are but Incentives of my Courage, and I feel my Heart leap i' my Belly, when I go to encounter the mo&s;t dreadful dangers i' the World; like a Spaniel when he &s;ee's his Ma&s;ter take down his Fowling-Piece. And therefore take up my Girts three holes higher, and tarry here under Heav'n's Protection; and if I do not return in four days, get thee home, and tell the Matchle&s;s <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> that her <HI>Champion,</HI> and the Slave of her Beauty, fell a Sacrifice to Renown and endle&s;s Immortality for her &s;ake.</Q> When <HI>Sancho</HI> heard the&s;e words, he fell a weeping like a Woman at her Husband's Funeral; and whining out his Grief, Sir, &s;aid he, I do not under&s;tand why you &s;hould undertake this de&s;perate Adventure. 'Tis dark, and no body &s;ees us; we may very well &s;neak away, and avoid the danger, tho we &s;hould not drink the&s;e three days. I have often heard our Curate repeat an Old Proverb, <HI>Harm watch, Harm catch.</HI> And therefore forbear, Sir, to tempt God, by undertaking an Adventure which you cannot accompli&s;h without a Miracle. Is it not &s;ufficient that Heaven pre&s;erv'd ye from being to&s;s'd in a Blanket, and gave you &s;uch a Remarkable Victory over the Gob|lings that attended the dead Corps? But if this will not prevail, con&s;ider when you have left me, in what a condition I &s;hall be; ready to &s;urrender my Soul to the fir&s;t that asks me. I have for&s;ak'n Home, Wife, and Chil|dren, to follow you, in hopes to get, and not to lo&s;e; but, as <HI>Covetou&s;ne&s;s is the Root of all Evil,</HI> &s;o all my Expectations vani&s;h, while I lye gaping after I&s;lands and Ca&s;tles i' the Air. Dear Ma&s;ter, for the love of God, be not &s;o Cruel. Or if you are re&s;olv'd to undertake this damn'd Adventure, &s;tay till you can &s;ee: 'Tis but three hours to Morning; for according to my little Skill, the Muzzle of the Le&s;&s;er Bear is ju&s;t over our Heads. Yee &s;illy Hog, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> how can&s;t thou &s;ee the Muzzle of the Bear, when there is not a Star to be &s;een in the Sky? That's very true, reply'd <HI>Sancho;</HI> but Fear is &s;harp-&s;ighted, and &s;ees farther into a Mill &s;tone then other Peo|ple.</P>
<P>Let Day come, or never come, 'tis all one to me, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> t' &s;hall never be &s;aid, that the tears of a &s;niveling Cow-baby kept me from doing the Duty of a Knight. And therefore thy bu&s;ine&s;s is only to Girt <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> and tarry here for me; no que&s;tion, but in a &s;hort time I &s;hall return either dead or alive.</P>
<P><HI>Sancho</HI> finding his Ma&s;ter &s;o po&s;itively bent; and that neither Tears, nor good Advice could divert him from his determinations, re&s;olv'd to try a trick of Policy, tho it were but to keep him till Morning in &s;pite of his teeth; and to that purpo&s;e, in&s;tead of girting <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> he ty'd the Hor&s;es two hinder Leggs to his A&s;&s;es Halter; &s;o that when <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;purr'd him for|ward, the Spittle did nothing but fall a rearing before. Which <HI>Sancho</HI> ob|&s;erving, Look ye, Sir, &s;aid he, the Heavens are o' my &s;ide, and will not &s;uffer <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> to move; and therefore all your &s;purring the poor Creature is but like &s;triving again&s;t the &s;tream, and for ought I know, may put For|tune out of Humour. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> rag'd like a Mad-man at fir&s;t; but find|ing
<PB N="86" REF="55"> that the more he gall'd his &s;ides, the more <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> bounc'd and caper'd, he re&s;olv'd to tarry till 'twas light. Well&mdash; quo he, &s;ince it &s;o plea&s;es <HI>Ro&s;i|nante,</HI> I mu&s;t tarry till Morning, tho it were upon Life and Death. What matter is it, reply'd <HI>Sancho?</HI> I'le undertake to find ye Stories anow, if your Wor&s;hip will but be pleas'd to alight, and take a Napp upon the green Gra&s;s, after the Cu&s;tom of Knight-Errants. Alight and &s;leep! quo <HI>Don Quixote:</HI> Am I one of tho&s;e that want to &s;leep, when they are to fight? Sleep thou, that wert born to &s;leep, or do what thou wilt; I know what I have to do my &s;elf.</P>
<P>Be not &s;o ha&s;ty, Sir, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> I &s;poke it only in je&s;t: And having &s;o &s;aid, laying one hand upon the Pummel, and the other upon the Crup|per of the Saddle, he &s;tood embracing his Ma&s;ter's knees, not daring to budge an inch for fear of the &s;tripes that &s;ounded continually in his Ears.</P>
<P>And now his Ma&s;ter's Pa&s;&s;ion being allay'd; Come, &s;aid he, <HI>Sancho,</HI> tell us a Tale to pa&s;s away the time till Morning. Troth, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> and may I peri&s;h if I lye, I am afraid at my very Heart; and I ha' no more mind to tell Tales, then to hang my &s;elf. But I'le try what I can do to plea|&s;ure your Wor&s;hip, and thus I begin.</P>
<P>There was&mdash; hold&mdash; I am &s;ure 'tis one of the be&s;t Stories i' the World, if my Fears will let me tell it&mdash; In former times, when it was as it was&mdash; <HI>Good betide us all, and Harm be to them that &s;eek it</HI>&mdash; And here, Sir, you mu&s;t take notice by the by, that the Ancients did not begin their Stories, as we do now, but with a Proverb of a certain wi&s;e Man, whom they call'd <HI>Ca|to;</HI> who &s;aid, That <HI>Evil was for him, that Evil thought;</HI> which is as pat to your purpo&s;e, as a Pudding for a <HI>Frier</HI>'s Mouth; by which you are ad|viz'd not to wake a &s;leeping Lion, and that we ought to take another Road, &s;ince no body forces us to keep this, where all the Devils in Hell &s;eem to tarry for us. Prethee go on with thy Story, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and for the Road, leave that to my Di&s;cretion.</P>
<P>I &s;ay then, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> that in a certain part of <HI>E&s;tremadura,</HI> there liv'd a certain Shepherd, or rather, <HI>Goat-herd,</HI> in regard he kept Goats: Which Shepherd, or rather <HI>Goat-herd,</HI> as the Story goes, was call'd <HI>Lopez Ruyz;</HI> and this Shepherd <HI>Lopez Ruyz</HI> was in love with a fair Shepherde&s;s, who&s;e Name was <HI>La Toralva;</HI> which Shepherde&s;s, who&s;e Name was <HI>La Toralva,</HI> was the Daughter of a certain wealthy Shepherd; which wealthy Shep|herd had a great number of Sheep&mdash; If thou tell'&s;t thy Tale, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> interrupting him, and mak'&s;t &s;o many Repetitions of the &s;ame thing, thou't not ha' done this Fortnight: Prethee tell thy Story like a Man o' Sen&s;e, or let it alone. Why, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> they always tell their Stories o' this Fa&s;hion in our Countrey; nor do I know how to tell it o|therwi&s;e, neither am I willing to introduce new Cu&s;toms. Prethee then tell it how thou wilt, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote.</HI> Know then, my dear Ma&s;ter, continu'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> that this Shepherd was inamour'd of the Shepherde&s;s <HI>Toralva,</HI> who was a young Girl, well tru&s;s'd, wild and froppi&s;h, and par|taking &s;omewhat of the Ma&s;culine Gender, having a kind of a Beard up|on her upper Lip; for me-thinks I &s;ee her now as perfectly, as if &s;he were here before me. Why then it &s;eems thou knew'&s;t her, quo <HI>Don Quixote.</HI> Not &s;o neither, but he that told me the Story, affirm'd it for &s;o great a Truth, that he a&s;&s;ur'd me, when I told it again, I might &s;afely &s;wear I had &s;een her&mdash; Well&mdash; Sir, but you know Days go and come; and &s;o it happen'd, that after &s;everal Days coming and going, the Devil, who never &s;leeps, but will have a Finger in every Pie, &s;o brought it about, that the
<PB N="87" REF="55"> Shepherd fell out with his Sweet-heart, in&s;omuch that he chang'd his Love into mortal Hatred: And the Rea&s;on of it was, by the Relation of certain &s;candalous Tale-bearers, that bare no good Will to either Party, be|cau&s;e the Shepherd thought the Shepherde&s;s no better then &s;he &s;hould be; or as we &s;ay, that is, &s;he was one, that if ye give her an Inch, would take an Ell. Thereupon the Shepherd being immea&s;urably griev'd and di&s;con|tented, re&s;olv'd to abandon his Shepherde&s;s for ever; and that he might by his Ab&s;ence quite extirpate her out of his Memory, he farther determin'd to go into another Countrey, where his Eyes might never &s;ee her more. On the other &s;ide, <HI>Toralva</HI> finding her &s;elf for&s;ak'n by the Shepherd, began to love the Per&s;on, which before &s;he had with &s;o much Cruelty de&s;pis'd, and that with a more then ordinary Pa&s;&s;ion.</P>
<P>That's the Nature of Women, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> interrupting him, to &s;corn tho&s;e that love 'em, and to love tho&s;e that contemn 'em. Proceed, <HI>Sancho</HI>&mdash; With the&s;e Re&s;olutions then, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> the Shepherd driving his Goats before him, directed his Cour&s;e toward the Kingdom of <HI>Portugal. Toralva</HI> having a long No&s;e, &s;melt his De&s;ign, and follow'd him bare-foot and bare-legg'd, with her Shoes in one Hand, a Pilgrim's Staff i' the other, and alittle Wallet at her Back, wherein &s;he carry'd a piece of a Looking gla&s;s, half a Comb, a Box of Paint, and &s;ome other Bawbles to prank up her &s;elf. But let her carry what &s;he pleas'd, that's nothing to me. This is cer|tain, that at length the Shepherd <HI>Lopez Ruyz</HI> arriv'd at the Banks of the River <HI>Guadiana,</HI> when the Waters were up &s;o high that there was no pa&s;|&s;ing: which was &s;o much the greater Vexation to him, becau&s;e he per|ceiv'd <HI>Toralva</HI> at his Heels, and fear'd to be plagu'd with her Tears and Lamentations. At length he de&s;cry'd a Fi&s;her-man in a little Boat, but &s;o little, that it would carry no more then one Man, and one Goat at a time. But Nece&s;&s;ity has no Law, and therefore he was forc'd to give the Fi&s;her-man his own Rates to carry him, and his three-hundred Goats over the River. The Bargain being &s;truck, the Fi&s;her-man came with his Boat, and carry'd over one Goat, there was one; then he came again, and fetch'd another, there was two; then he return'd and fetch'd another, there was three. And now, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho</HI> to his Ma&s;ter, be &s;ure you keep a ju&s;t Accompt how many Goats the Fi&s;her-man carrys over; for unle&s;s you are very exact in your Tale, my Tale will be at an end, and the Devil a word can I &s;ay more. Now the landing-place on the other &s;ide of the River was very &s;lippery and muddy, which was the Rea&s;on that the Fi&s;her-man was a long time before he could go and come. But for all that, he fir&s;t carry'd over one Goat, then another, and then another.</P>
<P>Prethee, <HI>Sancho,</HI> cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> why can&s;t thou not &s;ay in few words, the Fi&s;her-man carry'd 'em all over, and &s;o go on with thy Story?</P>
<P>Pray Sir, let me alone, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> how many has the Fi&s;her-man carry'd over already? Nay, who the Devil knows, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> do&s;t think I took an Accompt? Why there's the Mi&s;chief on't, your Negligence has put an end to my Story, and now you may go hang your &s;elf for the re&s;t. Hey-day, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> is it &s;o e&s;&s;ential to the Story, that you can't go on, if one of the Goats be mi&s;&s;ing? 'Tis very true, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> for be|tween my An&s;wer and your Que&s;tion, the Story &s;lipt quite and clean out of my Memory; and by my Faith 'twas a thou&s;and Pities, for 'twas an incomparable one, if I have any Skill. Why, and mu&s;t the Story end here then, quo <HI>Don Quixote?</HI> No more to be fetch'd to life again, then my Mother, quo <HI>Sancho.</HI> By my troth, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> a mo&s;t learned Story, and as learnedly told. However, 'twas no more then I expected from &s;uch a
<PB N="88" REF="56"> Block-head as thou art. But why do I fret my &s;elf about thy Follies? Let's &s;ee whether <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> be in humour, or no; that's more to our purpo&s;e. With that he gave <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> two Spurrs, and the high-mettl'd Jade an&s;wer'd with one <HI>Bound,</HI> and no more, having his Hind-legs &s;till &s;hackl'd to <HI>Sancho</HI>'s A&s;s.</P>
<P>At the &s;ame time, whether it were the Coolne&s;s of the Night, or that <HI>Sancho</HI> had eat'n any laxative Food at Supper, or whether it were the In|dulgence of Nature, always kind to <HI>Sancho;</HI> a Nece&s;&s;ity encroach'd upon him of doing that which no body could do for him; but &s;uch were his Fears, that he dur&s;t not &s;tir a Straw's breadth from his Ma&s;ter. In this mi&s;erable Exigency he took his right Hand from the Crupper of the Sad|dle, and untying his Codpiece-point, let fall his Breeches, and expos'd his broad Buttocks to the Air; but the main bu&s;ine&s;s was how to do his Bu&s;ine&s;s gently without making a Noi&s;e; to which purpo&s;e he try'd the various Ways of clutching his Teeth clo&s;e, &s;hrinking up his Shoulders, and holding his Breath. But alas! the Air that could not find pa&s;&s;age one way, finding the other op'n, bur&s;t forth with a Thunder-clap, quite diffe|rent from all the Noi&s;es they had yet heard. Hark, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> what more Noi&s;es yet? Some new Adventure I'le warrant ye, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for the Devil has always five Acts to his Play. With that, <HI>Sancho</HI> try'd t'other Strain, which &s;ucceeded &s;o well, that without the lea&s;t rum|bling or grumbling at all, he di&s;charg'd his whole <HI>Cargo,</HI> to the Ea&s;e both of Mind and Body.</P>
<P>'Tis true, <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Hearing was better then his Smelling; be&s;ide that, <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;tood between him and Danger. Neverthele&s;s, certain Fumes that a&s;cended perpendicularly, fail'd not to inform him of <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Un|mannerline&s;s. No &s;ooner were his No&s;trils fill'd, but holding his No&s;e with his Finger, as his Parents had taught him before; <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;aid he, mo&s;t a&s;&s;uredly thou art in great bodily Fears. 'Tis very true, reply'd <HI>Sancho;</HI> but pray, Sir, whence is this Di&s;covery more now, then all this while? Becau&s;e, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> thou did&s;t not &s;mell &s;o &s;trong, as now thou do&s;t. You may thank your &s;elf for it, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> for 'tis my Attendance upon your Wor&s;hip that di&s;orders my Body, and cau&s;es me to catch Cold. Prethee, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> keep a little farther off, three or four Yards at lea&s;t; and for the future take more care, and know your di&s;tance; for I find my too much Liberty has bred Contempt. I warrant, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> your Wor&s;hip believes I ha' done &s;omething, which I ought not to ha' done. I care not what y' have done, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> but I bid thee once more keep at a di&s;tance.</P>
<P>This Di&s;cour&s;e was none of the cleanlie&s;t, you'l &s;ay, however it &s;erv'd i' the Dark, nor did it longer continue; for <HI>Sancho</HI> perceiving the approach of Dawn, pre&s;ently unty'd <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> who finding him&s;elf at liberty&punc; paw'd the Ground with his fore Feet, which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> took for a good <HI>Omen.</HI></P>
<P>And now the bright <HI>Aurora</HI> di&s;playing her purple Mantle o're the Face of the Sky, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> found him&s;elf in a Che&s;t-nut Grove, not able as yet however, to gue&s;s the meaning of that wicked Noi&s;e that &s;till perplex'd his Ears. And therefore being fully determin'd to find it out, he took a &s;e|cond la&s;t leave of his dear <HI>Sancho,</HI> with the &s;ame Orders as before, as well in Reference to him&s;elf, as the matchle&s;s <HI>Dulcinea;</HI> adding withal, that he &s;hould not trouble him&s;elf about the Recompence of his Services, for that, before he left home, he had made his Will, where he &s;hould find him&s;elf proportionably con&s;ider'd with the re&s;t of his Relations; but if he &s;ucceed|ed
<PB N="89" REF="56"> in his Adventure, that then he &s;hould not need to take any farther care for Happine&s;s i' this World.</P>
<P><HI>Sancho</HI> could not refrain blubbering to hear the tender Expre&s;&s;ions of his Ma&s;ter, and at length melting into a &s;hower of Tears, he &s;wore to accom|pany him in the Enterprize, tho he were &s;ure never to return. From which laudable Re&s;olution of his the <HI>Hi&s;torian</HI> gathers, That the Squire was &s;omething of a Gentleman born, or at lea&s;t an old Chri&s;tian: And he wrought wonderfully upon <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s good Nature, tho he dur&s;t not &s;hew it at a time, when it behov'd him to bani&s;h all Thoughts of Tender|ne&s;s and Effeminacy. For now he rode directly where the Noi&s;e of the ter|rible Thumps and Blows led him, while <HI>Sancho</HI> follow'd clo&s;e at his Heels, leading by the Halter the faithful Companion of his bad and good For|tune.</P>
<P>In this po&s;ture they kept on for &s;ome time, under a delightful Co|verture of Che&s;t-nut Trees; till at length they came into a Meadow joining to certain Rocks, from the top of which there was a great fall of Waters, that made out one part of the Di&s;covery. At the foot of tho&s;e Rocks they di&s;cover'd certain old Cottages, or rather, the Ruines of Cottages; and thence it was, that tho&s;e frightful Sounds of <HI>Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump,</HI> were fir&s;t ob&s;erv'd to break the Air. A Noi&s;e &s;o terrible, that it frighted both Man and Bea&s;t. For <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> patient <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> him&s;elf, could not bear it, but began to &s;nort and prick up his Ears, till <HI>Don Quixote</HI> heart|en'd him on by clapping him o' the Neck, and giving him good Words; So, &s;o&mdash; So, &s;o&mdash; <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI>&mdash; So, &s;o&mdash;; and having by that means pacify'd the be&s;t natur'd Hor&s;e i' the World, by degrees he drew nearer and nearer to the Cau&s;e of their Terror, recommending him&s;elf all the way to his matchle&s;s <HI>Dulcinea;</HI> and imploring her Protection in this perillous Adven|ture, with now and then a &s;hort <HI>Lord ha' mercy upon me,</HI> by the bye. When of a &s;udden coming to double the Point of a Rock, he di&s;cover'd the fatal Original of all his own Anxieties, and <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Tribulation that Night; for behold, &s;ix huge Fulling-mill Hammers, interchangeably thumping the the poor Cloth, that it was a lamentable Sight to &s;ee.</P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> at the fir&s;t &s;ight of &s;uch an unexpected Spectacle, &s;ate like a meer Statue, ready to drop from his Hor&s;e. <HI>Sancho</HI> likewi&s;e beheld him hanging his Head lik a Daffa-down-dilly, and drooping like a Man o're|whelm'd with Grief and De&s;pair. On the other &s;ide <HI>Don Quixote</HI> lookt up|on <HI>Sancho,</HI> and ob&s;erving in his Blubber Cheeks, a vehement Inclination to laughter, he could not forbear &s;miling him&s;elf, notwith&s;tanding the Extremity of his Vexation. So that <HI>Sancho,</HI> over-joy'd to find him&s;elf at Li|berty, let loo&s;e the Reins of his Mirth, and exercis'd his Spleen with &s;o much Violence, that he was forc'd to hold his aking Sides, for fear his Kid|neys &s;hould drop out.</P>
<P>But nothing made <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;o mad, as <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Audaciou&s;ne&s;s, who &s;taring him i' the Face, began to repeat with great Formality, the Begin|ning of his Ma&s;ter's Speech, preparative to this Adventure; <HI>Know, Friend</HI> Sancho, <HI>that I was born to re&s;tore the Golden Age,</HI> &amp;c. But <HI>Don Quixote</HI> in a damn'd dogged Humour already, not brooking the Saucine&s;s of his Squire, re&s;olv'd to correct him, and with his Lance gave him two &s;uch Remem|brances upon the Shoulders, that had they litt upon his Pate, they had di&s;charg'd his Ma&s;ter of all his I&s;land-promi&s;es, unle&s;s oblig'd to his Heirs, and Executors. Thereupon <HI>Sancho,</HI> finding his Drollery would not take, beg'd his Ma&s;ter's Pardon, with all Submi&s;&s;ion; adding farther, That what he did, was only to make his Wor&s;hip merry. I like no &s;uch Je&s;ting, reply'd
<PB N="90" REF="57"> <HI>Don Quixote</HI>&mdash; And now pray come hither, good Mr. <HI>Jack-pudding,</HI> I would fain know, whether I did not &s;hew as much Courage upon this fal&s;e Alarum, as if it had been a real Adventure? Am I bound to under&s;tand all the Sounds I hear, or to di&s;tingui&s;h between the Thumps of a Fulling-mill, and the Ju&s;ting of two Knights in Combat? But &s;uppo&s;e the Fulling-mills had been as many Giants, and that they had &s;et upon me either &s;ingle or alto|gether, I had not much valu'd it; if I had not deliver'd 'em all headle&s;s into thy Hands, then I would have given thee leave to have flouted me into a Needle-ca&s;e?</P>
<P>Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I confe&s;s I have been too game&s;ome, and I acknowledge my Offence. But I be&s;eech ye, Sir, &s;ince we are reconcil'd, tell me in &s;o|ber Sadne&s;s, as you hope that Heav'n &s;hall pre&s;erve you in other Adven|tures, as in this; Do you not believe but that the Fright that we were in, I mean that I was in, would be a plea&s;ant Subject for a merry Ballad, or &s;o; or for half a dozen <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> to &s;port with over their Cups? I grant, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that the Accident would make a good Scene of Mirth, but I do not think it fit to be made too publick in Farces and Rhyme-Doggerels; for all People are not &s;o di&s;creet as to make a right u&s;e of things. 'Fore-<HI>George,</HI> Sir, that cannot be &s;aid of you, for you under&s;tand how to make u&s;e of your <HI>Lance</HI> the be&s;t of any Man i' the World, only that when you aim at the Head, you hit the Shoulders; but that was none of your Fault: for had I not duck'd alittle o' one &s;ide, I know what had become of me. But let that pa&s;s: A good Ma&s;ter may be cholerick &s;ome|times, but the next Day after a Ba&s;ting, he always gives his Man an old Pair of ca&s;t Breeches; and I cannot imagine, that a <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> after the cha&s;tizing of a Squire, can give him le&s;s then a Ca&s;t I&s;land, or an Old-fa&s;hion'd Kingdom upon the Continent.</P>
<P>Hark thee, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> Fortune may &s;o bring it to pa&s;s that thou may&s;t have thy De&s;ire. In the mean time, pardon my Severity; for thou know&s;t that a Man is not always Ma&s;ter of his own Pa&s;&s;ions. On the o|ther &s;ide, I advi&s;e thee for the future, not to be &s;aucy, and to allow thy &s;elf that Freedom, which I mu&s;t not, nor cannot endure. I never read in any Romance of any Squire that ever talk'd &s;o impudently to his Ma&s;ter, as thou do&s;t. So that <HI>Gandalin,</HI> who was <HI>Amadis de Gaul</HI>'s Squire, tho Earl of the <HI>Firm-I&s;land,</HI> never &s;poke to his Ma&s;ter, but with his Hat in his Hand, his Chin in his Brea&s;t, and his Body half bent, after the <HI>Turki&s;h</HI> Fa&s;hion. But what &s;hall we &s;ay of <HI>Ga&s;abal, Don Galaor</HI>'s Squire, who was a Man of that Silence, that he gives the Author Occa&s;ion to name him but once in all that long Story. And this I &s;peak, <HI>Sancho,</HI> to let thee know, that there ought to be a Difference between the Ma&s;ter and the Man. As for the Rewards I promis'd thee, they will come in due time; or if they never come, thou ha&s;t no rea&s;on to que&s;tion thy Salary.</P>
<P>'Tis very true what you &s;ay, reply'd <HI>Don Sancho,</HI> and I thank your Wor|&s;hip. But now, Sir, &s;uppo&s;e no Rewards &s;hould come, and that a Squire &s;hould be forc'd to &s;tick to his Salary, pray, Sir, be &s;o kind as to tell me, how much a <HI>Knight-Errant</HI>'s Squire did get in former times? And whether they agreed by the Month or the Day? I do not believe, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that ever they came to any Agreement, but that they &s;tood to their Ma&s;ters Courte&s;ie. And if I have allow'd thee Wages in my Will, 'twas only be|cau&s;e I knew not what Succe&s;s <HI>Chivalry</HI> mght have in the&s;e Times; and I would not have my Soul &s;uffer in <HI>Purgatory</HI> for &s;uch a &s;mall Trifle as thy Wages. For the Life of a <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> is &s;uch as &s;ubjects him to conti|nual Terrors and Dangers. So it &s;eems, quo <HI>Don Sancho,</HI> when the Ham|mers
<PB N="91" REF="57"> of a Fulling mill are &s;ufficient to di&s;turb and di&s;may the Heart of &s;uch a valiant Champion as your &s;elf. But be a&s;&s;ur'd, Sir, for the future, I &s;hall never open my Lips to droll upon your Actions, but always &s;peak honourably and re&s;pectfully of your Per&s;on, as being my Lord and Ma&s;ter. That's the way to live long and happily upon the Earth, reply'd the Cham|pion, for next our Parents, we ought to re&s;pect and obey our Ma&s;ters.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="7" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. VII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Of the winning of <HI>Mambrino's</HI> Helmet.</HEAD>
<P>VVHile they were thus confabulating, there fell a &s;mart Shower of Rain; upon which <HI>Sancho</HI> would fain have retir'd under one of the Fulling-hou&s;es. But <HI>Don Quixote</HI> had conceiv'd &s;uch a mortal Antipathy again&s;t Fulling-mills, for the Shame they had put upon him, that you might as well per&s;wade &s;ome Men to eat Chee&s;e, or handle a Cat, as reconcile <HI>Don Quixote</HI> to a Fulling-mill. And therefore turning into a High-way upon the Right|hand, he had not ridd'n far, before he de&s;cry'd a Hor&s;e-man that wore up|on his Head &s;omething that gli&s;ter'd like Gold. Immediately <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> turning to his Squire, Friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;aid he, do&s;t thou not know, that there is nothing &s;o true, as the Truth of Proverbs; for in&s;tance, that of, <HI>One Door &s;huts, and another opens.</HI> And thus, if we were la&s;t Night deceiv'd by the Noi&s;e of that confounded Fulling-mill, here is now a more certain Adventure offers it &s;elf, the Gaining of which, will be double the Profit, and double the Honour. In a word, in all probability, yonder comes the pre&s;ent Po&s;&s;e&s;&s;or of <HI>Mambrino</HI>'s Helmet; and thou know'&s;t the Vow which I have made. Sir, an&s;wer'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> mind what ye &s;ay, and take heed what ye do: For I would willingly pre&s;erve my Ribs, and the Seat of my Under|&s;tanding from Fulling-hammers. The Devil take thee with thy Fulling-mills, quo <HI>D. Quixote,</HI> as if there were no difference between a Fulling-mill and a Helmet. I do'nt deny it, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> and yet if I dur&s;t &s;peak as freely as I was wont to do, I would undertake to prove your Wor&s;hip under a great Mi&s;take. Scrupulous Traitor, as thou art, How can I be deceiv'd in what I &s;ay? Why, prethee look with thine own Eyes&mdash; Can there be any thing more plain then yonder Knight that comes riding up directly toward us upon a dapple grey Steed, with a gli&s;t'ring Helmet of Gold upon his Head? I &s;ee him over and over, reply'd <HI>Sancho;</HI> and I &s;ee him to be a kind of plain Fellow upon a grey A&s;s, &s;uch another as mine; and it is as true that he carries &s;omething upon his Head that &s;hines, but no more like a Helmet, then a Shoeing-horn. I tell thee, that's <HI>Mambrino</HI>'s Helmet, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> and therefore &s;tand thou at a di&s;tance, thou &s;halt &s;ee, that without trifling away time in vain Di&s;cour&s;e, I'le fini&s;h this Adventure, and win this famous Helmet, e're a Cat can lick her Ear. I am ea&s;ily per&s;waded to &s;tand at a di&s;tance, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> but I wi&s;h to Heaven, you may not meet with another &s;ort of <HI>Fulling-mills.</HI> I have warn'd ye already, Mr. Sauce-box, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> in a confounded Rage, let me hear no more of the <HI>Fulling-mills;</HI> for if I do, may I never pro&s;per, if I do not break thy Pate, and trample thy very Soul out of thy Body. Thereupon, <HI>Sancho,</HI> unwilling his Ma&s;ter &s;hould fulfil his Vows upon his Carka&s;s, put a Padlock upon his Lips.</P>
<PB N="92" REF="58">
<P>Now the Truth of the Story was this: There were two little Villages in that Corner of the Province, of which the one had neither Barber nor Cob|ler in it: So that the Barber of the larger Village, who was al&s;o a Blood-letter, and a Tooth-drawer, &s;upply'd all tho&s;e Parts. Now it happen'd, that in the le&s;&s;er Village there were two Per&s;ons, the one that wanted the breathing of a Vein, and another that had Occa&s;ion to be trimm'd. Thither therefore the Barber was going, and being overtak'n by the Rain, clapp'd his new-&s;cour'd <HI>Ba&s;on</HI> upon his new Hat to pre&s;erve it from the wet; and for ha&s;te al&s;o he rode upon a grey Mule. All which prov'd fatal for the Barber, as having heighten'd <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Fancy to take him for a <HI>Knight</HI> upon a dapple-grey Hor&s;e, with a Helmet of Gold. So &s;oon therefore as the &s;uppos'd <HI>Knight</HI> drew near, away he flew like a Bird, with his Lance couch'd upon his Thigh, re&s;olving to &s;pit the poor Barber through the Heart, Lungs and all; crying out in the mid&s;t of his Career, Caitiff, Wretch, defend thy &s;elf, or yield me that which is &s;o ju&s;tly my Due. The Barber, who &s;aw him come thund'ring upon him at &s;uch a rate, like an Apparition, not knowing why, nor wherefore, had no other way to avoid the fatal Stroke, but by throwing him&s;elf off from his A&s;s to the Ground; and be|ing as &s;oon up as down, away he run o're the Fields as &s;wift as a new-&s;tarted Hare, leaving his A&s;s and his Ba&s;on behind. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> being thus Lord of the Ba&s;on, had his Heart's De&s;ire, and turning about to his Squire, The <HI>Pagan,</HI> quo he, has &s;hew'd him&s;elf to be very di&s;creet, following the Example of the <HI>Beaver,</HI> who finding him&s;elf hotly pur&s;u'd by the Hunters, nips off his Civet-Box, which they &s;eek for, to &s;ave his Life. Alight therefore, and fetch me the Helmet. By my Soul, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> viewing the &s;uppos'd Helmet, this is no incon&s;iderable Ba&s;on, being as well worth a Crown, as four Farthings. And &s;o &s;aying, he gave it to his Ma&s;ter, who immediately put it upon his Head, and turning it round and round to find out the Vizor; By the Ma&s;s, quo he, the <HI>Pagan</HI> that wore this Helmet had a plaguy Jolt-head of his own; and which is wor&s;e, there is one half of it wanting. <HI>Sancho</HI> could not forbear &s;miling to hear his Ma&s;ter call the Barber's Ba&s;on a Helmet, and had laugh'd out-right, but that he was afraid of his Shoulders. What does the Fool twitter at, quo <HI>Don Quixote?</HI> I cannot but &s;mile, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> to &s;ee what a <HI>Saracen's-Head</HI> without <HI>Newgate,</HI> the Owner of that Helmet had, which is as like a Barber's Ba|&s;on, as ever I &s;aw two Drops of Water one like another. My Thoughts are, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that this enchanted Helmet has fall'n into the Hands of &s;ome ignorant Sots, that did not know the value of it; but find|ing it to be of pure Gold, they melted the one half and &s;old it, and of the other half they made this Scull-piece to go a Training upon Artillery-daies. But however it were, to me that know the worth of it, the Alte|ration of it &s;ignifies little; I'le have a Vizor fix'd to it, and then I will not leave it for the Head-piece which <HI>Vulcan</HI> forg'd for the <HI>God of War.</HI> In the mean time I'le wear it as it is, 'tis better then nothing, tho it be only to keep off a &s;hower of Stones. That 'twill certainly, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> if they be not hurl'd out of a Sling, as when your Wor&s;hip lo&s;t your Cheek-teeth, and had your Bal&s;om-pot &s;truck out of your Fi&s;t. That &s;ignifies nothing, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> &s;o long as I have the Receipt: So have I too, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> but if ever I make it, much le&s;s take it again, may my Guts bur&s;t like the Idols of <HI>Bell,</HI> and the <HI>Dragon.</HI> In good troth, I intend henceforward to im|ploy all my five Sen&s;es to prevent my being wounded. As for my being to&s;s'd in a Blanket, 'twas an Accident I could not help; and if it befall me again, I know how to &s;hrink up my Shoulders, hold my Breath, and &s;hut
<PB N="93" REF="58"> my Eyes, and then Happy-be-lucky, let the Blanket and Fortune deal by me as they &s;ee good. Certainly, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> thou art no good <HI>Chri&s;tian,</HI> thou art &s;o apt to remember injuries. 'Tis below a generous Soul to mind &s;uch Trifles. Prethee, where art lame? Which of thy Ribs is brok'n, or where is thy Scull bruis'd, that thou can&s;t never think upon that &s;ame Je&s;t, without Malice? For to &s;ay Truth, 'twas no more then a piece of Pa&s;time; for had I look'd upon it otherwi&s;e, I had return'd and made more bloody Work in revenge of the Abu&s;e, then ever the <HI>Grecians</HI> made before <HI>Troy</HI> for <HI>Helena</HI>'s &s;ake. But alas! quo he, fetching a deep Sigh, &s;he had never had that Reputation for Beauty, had &s;he been alive in this Age, or if my <HI>Dulcinea</HI> had liv'd in hers. Well then, &s;aid <HI>Sancho,</HI> let it pa&s;s for a Je&s;t, &s;ince no body will revenge it in earne&s;t. And now, Sir, alittle of your Directions to know what we &s;hall do with this Dapple-grey Nag, &s;o like an A&s;s, which the di&s;mounted Fugitive has here left behind him, with as little Right, for ought I know, to the Hor&s;e, as he had to the Helmet; and by my Beard, the Grey Hor&s;e is the better A&s;s.</P>
<P>'Tis not my Cu&s;tom, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> to plunder tho&s;e that I van|qui&s;h; nor do the Laws of <HI>Chivalry</HI> permit it, unle&s;s the Victor hath lo&s;t his own Hor&s;e i'the Combat. And therefore, <HI>Sancho,</HI> leave the Hor&s;e, or the A&s;s, which thou wilt; he that has lo&s;t it, will be &s;ure to look after it, when he finds the Coa&s;t clear. But &s;hould I only exchange it for my own, which is not &s;o good, what then, quo <HI>Sancho?</HI> What-a-pox! are the Laws of <HI>Chivalry</HI> &s;o &s;evere, that a Man mu&s;t not exchange one A&s;s for another? or at lea&s;t, let me exchange the Furniture? In that Ca&s;e I will not be &s;o con|fident, an&s;wer'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> and therefore (till I am better inform'd) I give thee leave to change the Furniture, e&s;pecially if thy Wants be very urgent. So urgent, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> that as it is for my own proper Per|&s;on, they cannot be greater. Thus <HI>Sancho,</HI> doubly authoriz'd by his Ma|&s;ter's leave, and the Proverb of <HI>Exchange is no Robbery,</HI> took all the <HI>Bona mobilia</HI> of the Prize-A&s;s <HI>(praeter ip&s;um corpus)</HI> and trimm'd up his own Bea&s;t, that was now grown &s;o fine, that &s;he hardly knew her &s;elf, nor her Ma|&s;ter, &s;o di&s;dainfully &s;he carry'd her &s;elf.</P>
<P>This done, they breakfa&s;ted upon what they left at Supper; and having made quick di&s;patch, up they got again, and like true <HI>Knights-Errant,</HI> ne|ver minding their way, left it to <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI>'s Di&s;cretion to make choice of his own way; who in a &s;hort time brought 'em into the High-road again, where they kept on a &s;low pace at a venture, as having no farther De&s;ign i' their Pates at pre&s;ent.</P>
<P>Being thus at lei&s;ure, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> to his Ma&s;ter, may not you and I have a little Di&s;cour&s;e together? for &s;ince you laid upon me that &s;evere Injun|ction of Silence, I have had three or four excellent Conceits, that have pu|trify'd i' my Stomach, and now I have one at my Tongue's end, that I would fain pre&s;erve from &s;uch an untimely Di&s;a&s;ter. Out with it, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> but in few words, for tedious Hum-drum cloys the Ear.</P>
<P>Why then, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I have been con&s;idering how vainly we &s;pend our time, while we &s;earch up and down through Fore&s;ts and De&s;arts for Adventures, which if it be your fortune &s;ucce&s;sfully to accompli&s;h, you gain neither Honour nor Profit by all your good De&s;igns or valiant Exploits, as being un&s;een and unknown to the World. And therefore I &s;hould think it much better (with Submi&s;&s;ion to your better Judgment) that we &s;hould put our &s;elves into the Service of &s;ome Emperor, or other potent Prince, in War with their Neighbours, where you might meet with publick Op|portunities
<PB N="94" REF="59"> to &s;ignalize your Valour, and your Conduct. So &s;hall we both be rewarded in time according to our Merit, and you &s;hall have a &s;hoal of Hi&s;torians that will ki&s;s your back-&s;ide for leave to tran&s;mit your Renowned Atchievements to Po&s;terity. I &s;peak not of my own Acts; for I know they are not to be mea&s;ur'd with the &s;ame Yard as yours; nor is it for the Snail to creep out of it's &s;hell: Tho I make no que&s;tion, but that my Name will now and then be in&s;erted by the bye, as the Names of other Squires have been.</P>
<P><Q>This is not ill offer'd of thee, quo <HI>Don Quixote:</HI> But fir&s;t of all, it be|hoves us to &s;pend &s;ome time in compa&s;&s;ing the World, as Probationers, in &s;earch of Adventures, thereby to &s;pread abroad the Renown of our In|vincible Atchievements. For then tho&s;e Harbingers of Fame will gain us &s;uch Reputation and Reception in the Courts of Great Princes, that we &s;hall hardly be able to pa&s;s the Streets for the Crouds of Boys and Chil|dren, pointing and crying out, There Rides the <HI>Knight of the Sun,</HI> or the <HI>Serpent,</HI> or the <HI>Ill-favour'd Countenance;</HI> or what ever other Title it be that the Knight takes upon him. This is he, they'l cry, that vanqui&s;h'd in &s;ingle Combat the Giant <HI>Brocambruno,</HI> Sirnam'd the <HI>Invincible.</HI> This is he that freed the great <HI>Mammaluke</HI> of <HI>Per&s;ia</HI> from the Enchantment, which had kept him in durance for Nine hundred Years together. So that upon this Noi&s;e and Tumult in the Street, the King will be &s;ure to look out of his Window, and knowing the Knight by the Colour of his Armour, or the Device upon his Shield, he'l pre&s;ently &s;end the chiefe&s;t of his Nobles to receive the Flower of Chivalry, that is come to wait upon him. Away they go and bring him in, and the King meets him half way the Stairs, where he embraces his valiant Gue&s;t, and ki&s;&s;es his Cheek. Then taking him by the Hand, he leads him directly to the Queens Chamber, where at the &s;ame time he &s;ees the <HI>Infanta</HI> her Daughter; who ought to be the faire&s;t and mo&s;t perfect Creature i' the World. At the &s;ame time it will &s;o fall out (by the inevitable Appointment of Fate, that never loves to &s;poil a good Story) that the Knight and the Prince&s;s &s;hall ca&s;t an Eye one upon the other, admire one another as Per&s;ons rather Divine then Humane; and all of a &s;udden, not knowing any Rea&s;on why or wherefore, &s;hall fall mo&s;t de&s;perately in Love one with another, and be both almo&s;t out of their wits for want of an Opportunity to di&s;cover their Pa&s;&s;ions one to another.</Q></P>
<P><Q>Then they &s;hall attend the Knight to his Chamber, one of the faire&s;t Appartments in all the Palace, and furni&s;h'd with the riche&s;t Furniture the King has: Where after they have help'd him off with his Armour, they will bring him a co&s;tly Ve&s;tment of Scarlet, Embroider'd by the <HI>Infanta's</HI> own Hands; and if he look'd &s;o Maje&s;tick in his Armour, how lovely will he appear in the Habit of a Courtier?</Q></P>
<P><Q>Night being come, he &s;hall Sup with the Family-Royal, and &s;hall al|ways have his Eyes fix'd upon the <HI>Infanta;</HI> yet &s;o, as no body &s;hall take no|tice of it.</Q></P>
<P><Q>After Supper another &s;trange Spectacle &s;hall &s;urprize him. Enter fir&s;t, a little Dwarf, and after him a Lady of matchle&s;s Beauty, between two Giants, with a certain Adventure &s;o contriv'd by an old Sorcerer, and &s;o difficult to be perform'd, that he who carries away the Bell, &s;hall be accounted the be&s;t Knight in the World. Then it is the King's plea&s;ure that all his Cour|tiers &s;hall try their Prowe&s;s: But they had as good throw their Caps again&s;t the Wind; for the Honour is re&s;erv'd for the Valiant Stranger, who does the bu&s;ine&s;s with a jerk. And then the <HI>Infanta</HI> &s;hall be over|joy'd,
<PB N="95" REF="59"> and deem her &s;elf the mo&s;t happy Creature upon Earth, for having &s;o di&s;creetly plac'd her Affections. Then comes the Cream o' the Je&s;t; for this King, or this Emperor is in War with one of his Neighbours, as Powerful as him&s;elf: Which the Knight under&s;tanding, offers to &s;erve him in his Wars; to which the King conde&s;cends with Heart and Good will; and the Knight bows, and ki&s;&s;es his Hand, in acknowledgment of &s;o great a Favour.</Q></P>
<P><Q>That Night the Champion takes leave of the <HI>Infanta</HI> at the Iron Grate before her Chamber Window looking into the Garden, by means of a Confident of the <HI>Infanta's,</HI> that carries on the Intrigue between 'em. The Knight weeps, the Lady &s;woons, the Confident runs for cold Water to da&s;h in her Face. Then &s;he comes to Life again, and gives out her Lilly white Hand for the Knight to ki&s;s, which he does a thou&s;and and a thou|&s;and times over, bathing it all the while in his Tears. Then exchanging Hearts, the Knight &s;hall take hers, and the <HI>Infanta</HI> &s;hall take his; for her Heart &s;hall do well enough in his brea&s;t: But the <HI>Infanta</HI> will want his, con&s;idering the Sorrows and Afflictions which &s;he is to endure for his &s;ake.</Q></P>
<P><Q>Then they &s;hall part in time; for if the meeting &s;hould be known, 'tis as much as the Lady Confident's place is worth, and the forfeiture be&s;ide of the <HI>Infanta</HI> and the Knight's Lives. Then the <HI>Infanta</HI> &s;hall de&s;ire the Knight not to mi&s;s a Po&s;t, but to write to her as often as he can; which the Knight &s;hall &s;wear to perform.</Q></P>
<P><Q>Then the Knight &s;hall retire to his Chamber, and throw him&s;elf upon his Bed, where it &s;hall be impo&s;&s;ible for him to clo&s;e his Eyes. So &s;oon as it is day, he goes to take his leave of the Queen, and de&s;ires to ki&s;s the <HI>In|fanta's</HI> Hands too; but &s;he &s;ends him word that &s;he is indi&s;pos'd: However, the Knight and &s;he under&s;tand one another, and &s;o that pa&s;&s;es for nothing.</Q></P>
<P><Q>And now the Knight being ab&s;ent for &s;ome time, Challenges the Kings Enemies; fights, vanqui&s;hes, &s;ubdues, takes I know not how many Cities, wins I know not how many Battels, returns to Court, and appears before his Mi&s;tre&s;s laden with Honour. He vi&s;its her at the window-Grate, as be|fore; and there they agree together that the Knight &s;hall demand her in Marriage, as the Recompence of his Service. The King will by no means hear with that Ear, not knowing but that the Knight may be the Son of a Co&s;termonger, for ought he knows. However, whether the Knight &s;teal her, or how he comes by her, I know not, the <HI>Infanta</HI> and he go to <HI>Dukes Place,</HI> and are there privately marry'd. The King fumes; the King is pleas'd; for by and by he di&s;covers him to be the Son of as great a Prince, no Di&s;paragement to him, as him&s;elf. Then Fea&s;tings and Triumphs, Tour|naments and Tiltings, and the new-marry'd Knight carries the day from all the re&s;t. Sometime after, the King dies, the <HI>Infanta</HI> is Heire&s;s; and thus the Knight comes to be a King. Then the Knight begins to think of re|warding his <HI>Squire,</HI> by Marrying him to the <HI>Infanta's</HI> Confident, who had been privy to his Amours, and proves the Daughter of one of the mo&s;t con&s;iderable Dukes i' the Kingdom.</Q></P>
<P><HI>God&s;niggers,</HI> quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> that's the thing I ha' been looking for all this while &mdash; Give me but the <HI>Infanta's</HI> Gentlewoman, and let the World go which way it will. O' my Soul, Sir, you have read your own De&s;tiny; every thing will happen to ye &s;tep by &s;tep, as you have &s;tated the matter, would you but take upon ye the Name of the <HI>Knight of the Ill-favour'd Countenance.</HI></P>
<PB N="96" REF="60">
<P>No que&s;tion of it, Boy, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> for this is the direct Road of Knight-Errantry, as &s;traight as ye can lay a line, to Empires and King|doms. And therefore we have nothing more to do, but to find out &s;ome Potent Prince, that is at War with his Neighbours, and has a fair Daugh|ter. But there is one thing that troubles me more then that, which is a Secret between thee and me; that is to &s;ay, when I have found out a Prince and an <HI>Infanta,</HI> how the Devil I &s;hall make my &s;elf out to be of an Illu&s;trious De&s;cent, if it were but the <HI>Natural</HI> Son of &s;ome Emperor. For unle&s;s I make out one of the&s;e two things, the King will as &s;oon give me a Halter, as his Daughter, tho I &s;hould out-do <HI>Hercules</HI> him&s;elf; and is it not great pity a man &s;hould lo&s;e &s;uch va&s;t Advantages for &s;uch a Trifle as this? That I am a Gentleman, and of an Ancient Pedigree, is well known; and there are Heralds, if a Man could meet with 'em, that for a &s;mall Sum of Money would &s;oon make me the fifth or &s;ixth at lea&s;t in De&s;cent from a King. For, <HI>Sancho,</HI> there are two &s;orts of Originals. Some there are who De|&s;cended at fir&s;t from the Loyns of Princes, who&s;e Families by Conque&s;t, lo&s;s of their Territories, and other Malignities of Fortune, became ob&s;cure, till at la&s;t they end in a point like a Pyramid. Others there are, who from mean and low De&s;cents, &s;till mount and mount, till at length they come to &s;it upon the highe&s;t Pinacles of Grandeur. That is to &s;ay, &s;ome were what they are not; and others are not what they were. And thus, tho I am not what I was, yet if I am what I was not, it might be &s;ufficient to content any Father-in-law i' the World. And what if I were the Son of a <HI>Tankard-Bearer,</HI> if the <HI>Infanta</HI> be &s;o de&s;perately in Love with me, that &s;he Marries me in &s;pight of her Fathers teeth? Or if &s;he &s;tand upon her Punctilio's, 'tis but hurrying away in a Coach and Six, and carrying her out of reach, till Time or Death &s;hall put an end to the Per&s;ecutions of my Father-in-law.</P>
<P>In good &s;ooth, Sir, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> you &s;peak like a Man of Sen&s;e; Po&s;|&s;e&s;&s;ion is nine Points o' the Law: And it is a Proverb among your Bully-Rocks, <HI>Never &s;eek that by fair means, which thou can&s;t get by foul.</HI> Nor is it Prudence for a Man to &s;tay, till <HI>his Breech lies upon the ground between two Stools.</HI> So that if the King your Father-in-law refu&s;e to let ye have his Daughter with free con&s;ent, as your Lord&s;hip ob&s;erves very well, you ought in plain <HI>Engli&s;h</HI> to run away with her. All the mi&s;chief that I fear is only this, that while you are making your Peace with your Father-in-law, or expecting his death, the poor Squire &s;hall be at a lo&s;s how to &s;et his <HI>Grinders</HI> at work; and perhaps &s;hall be forc'd to &s;tarve in the mid&s;t of his va&s;t Ex|pectations. And yet, if the Lady-Confident will but be &s;o kind as to run away with the <HI>Infanta,</HI> I know no rea&s;on but the Knight may make up the Match without any more ado. There's no doubt on't, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote.</HI> Why then let the Bowl run, who knows but that it may hit the Jack, quo <HI>Sancho.</HI> Why then, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> let me ha' my wi&s;hes, and thou thy de&s;ires, and hang up all tender Con&s;ciences. Why truly, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I am a wet Chri&s;tian, and is not that enough for a Lord? And more then enough too, quo <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> for &s;uppo&s;e thou wert no Chri&s;tian at all, being a King, I could make thee a Lord when I plea&s;e; and then Men mu&s;t call thee <HI>Right Honourable</HI> with their Lips, what ere they think i' their Hearts. Well, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> then I be&s;eech ye get you to be a King, and make me a Lord, and you &s;hall &s;ee I'le &s;have my Beard, and become my Place as well as the proude&s;t Up&s;tart of 'em all.</P>
<PB N="97" REF="60">
<P>At the end of this Di&s;cour&s;e, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> ca&s;ting up his Eyes, beheld a &s;ight, which produced the following Adventure.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="8" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. VIII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">How <HI>Don Quixote</HI> releas'd a great number of mi&s;erable Wretches which their Ma&s;ters were driving to a place again&s;t their wills.</HEAD>
<P>THE Great <HI>Cid Hamet Benengeli,</HI> the Famous <HI>Arabian</HI> and <HI>Manchegan</HI> Author, reports in his grave, lofty, plea&s;ant, merry-conceited Story, that after the long and learned Di&s;cour&s;e between <HI>Sancho</HI> and his Ma&s;ter, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> lifting up his Eyes, &s;aw to the number of about twen|ty Per&s;ons, all in a row one behind another, like Beads upon a &s;tring, who being link't together, with every one a Sau&s;age of Iron about his Neck, and manacl'd to boot, came &s;aunter, &s;aunter along, till they met each other full butt. They were al&s;o guarded by two Harquebu&s;iers a Hor&s;e-back, and two Men armed with Swords and Javelins. So &s;oon as <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;py'd 'em, What have we got here, quo he? o' my Life, a company of Rogues condemn'd and forc'd to the Gallies. How, forc'd, quo <HI>Don Quixote?</HI> Can the King offer violence to any Man? I mean, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> Fellows Condemn'd for their Crimes to &s;erve the King in his Gallies. However, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> in that &s;ence they are forc'd, becau&s;e they do not go of their own free-Will. That, I dare &s;wear they don't, quo <HI>Sancho.</HI> If it be &s;o, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> then they come within the Verge of my Profe&s;&s;ion, which is, to prevent Violence, and &s;uccour the Mi&s;erable. What then, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> you cannot reckon the&s;e Fellows to be Oppre&s;s'd, that are Condemn'd by the Law and Ju&s;tice.</P>
<P>By that time the Chain drew near, and then <HI>Don Quixote</HI> in very civil Language de&s;ir'd the Guards to inform him, why the poor People were &s;o &s;everely Chain'd and Fetter'd? Sir, an&s;wer'd one of the Hor&s;e-men, the&s;e are Criminals going to &s;erve the King in his Gallies; which is all I know, nor do I think it proper for you to know any more. However, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I think you will highly oblige me, to let me inform my &s;elf from every particular Per&s;on, of the cau&s;e of his Misfortune. Why, Sir, quo t' other Hor&s;e-man, if you think fit to Examine 'em your &s;elf, you'l find they'l give ye Satisfaction; for they are &s;uch hone&s;t People, they are not a&s;hamed to boa&s;t of their Rogueries.</P>
<P>With this good leave, which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> would have taken of him&s;elf, had they deny'd him, he rode up to the Chain, and ask'd the fir&s;t, Where|fore he was &s;o &s;everely loaded? To whom the Fellow made an&s;wer, 'twas for being in Love. In Love! quo <HI>Don Quixote</HI>&mdash;and is that all? Bodikins! if all that were in Love, were to be thus puni&s;h'd, I had row'd i' the Gal|lies long before this. I do not mean, quo the Pris'ner, as you mean. 'Twas for being in love with a Hamper of Linnen; with which I was &s;o in love, that had not the Judges of the Se&s;&s;ions tak'n it from me, I had hugg'd it i' my Embraces to this hour. In &s;hort, I was tak'n in the Fact; there was no need of Proofs: I was Condemn'd, had my &s;houlders powder'd with
<PB N="98" REF="61"> Whip-cord Spots, and when I have <HI>mow'd the great Meadow</HI> for three Years together, then my Work's done What d' ye mean by <HI>mowing the great Meadow?</HI> Why, that's rowing i' the Gallies, reply'd the Slave, who was a young Rogue of about four and twenty Years of Age.</P>
<P>Then <HI>Don Quixote</HI> put the &s;ame Que&s;tion to the Second, who was &s;o melancholly, that he would not make any An&s;wer. But the fir&s;t Slip-&s;tring undertaking to be his Spoke&s;man, to &s;pare him a Labour; This, &s;aid he, is a <HI>Canary-Mere-maid,</HI> that goes to the Gallies for having &s;ung too much. How! quo <HI>Don Quixote</HI>&mdash;What do they &s;end Mu&s;icians to the Gallies too? Yes, Sir, an&s;wer'd the Slave, becau&s;e there is nothing more dangerous, then to &s;ing in Affliction. How! quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that's contrary to the Proverb, <HI>And &s;ome for Sorrow &s;ing.</HI> Oh, Sir! quo the Slave, 'tis quite other|wi&s;e with us; he that &s;ings, &s;hall weep all his life-time afterwards. I profe&s;s, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I do not under&s;tand ye. Sir, &s;aid one of the Guards, &s;inging among the&s;e <HI>Newgate-birds,</HI> is tak'n for confe&s;&s;ing at the Rack. This fellow was put to the Rack, and confe&s;s'd his Crime, which was nothing but Hor&s;e &s;tealing; and becau&s;e he &s;ung, that is confe&s;s'd, he is condemn'd to the Gallies for &s;ix years, be&s;ides a hundred La&s;hes paid him down upon the Nail in ready Ca&s;h. And the rea&s;on why you &s;ee that Fel|low &s;o melancholly, and ca&s;t down, is only becau&s;e his Companions will never let him be at re&s;t, but jeer and laugh at him continually for his want of Re&s;olution to &s;uffer and deny; as if it had not been as ea&s;ie for him to have &s;aid <HI>No,</HI> as <HI>Yes:</HI> Or, as if a Criminal were not a happy Man that could depend upon his own Tongue to &s;ave his Life, without being be|holding to Counter-proofs and Witne&s;&s;es for the Pri&s;oner.</P>
<P>Thence <HI>Don Quixote</HI> pa&s;&s;ing to the Third; and You, &s;aid he, What have you done? Who, without much Entreaty, and no le&s;s merry in his An&s;wer; I, Sir, go to the Gallies for want of ten Guinies. I would give twenty with all my Heart, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> to &s;ee thee well di&s;charg'd. 'Tis too late, Gaffer, quo the Slave, 'tis ju&s;t like the Proverb, <HI>After Meat comes Mu&s;tard.</HI> Had I had the twenty Guinies you offer me, when I was in Pri|&s;on, to have greas'd the Keeper of <HI>Newgate</HI>'s Fi&s;t, I might have been walk|ing now upon the <HI>Change</HI> as free as a <HI>Turky-Merchant,</HI> and ne're ha' come to have been led along in a String like an <HI>Iri&s;h</HI>-Grey-hound. But Patience; every thing has its Sea&s;on.</P>
<P>From him <HI>Don Quixote</HI> turn'd to the Fourth, and put him the &s;ame In|terrogatory. But he was &s;ullen, and would give him no An&s;wer; &s;o that the next behind him was forc'd to lend him his Tongue. This vene|rable Mon&s;ieur <HI>Grey-beard,</HI> &s;aid he, is condemn'd to the Gallies for four Years, having already &s;tood at <HI>We&s;tmin&s;ter, Temple-bar,</HI> and <HI>Cheap&s;ide,</HI> with a wooden Ruff about his Neck. He was the chief Ranger of <HI>Whet&s;ton</HI>'s-<HI>Park;</HI> be&s;ides that, he had a &s;mack of Conjuring and Fortune-telling, which he abus'd to the lo&s;s of many a Maiden-head. For that I have nothing to &s;ay, quo <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> but had he been only a private Conveyer of <HI>Billet-Doux</HI>'s, he ought not to go to the Gallies, unle&s;s it were to be General of the Fleet. For to be a Me&s;&s;enger of <HI>Billet-Doux</HI>'s requires a great deal of Prudence and Sagacity; o' my word, 'tis a weighty Employment, not to be commit|ted to idle Hu&s;wives, Lacquies, and ra&s;cally People; as being an Employment of Tru&s;t and Weight, then which there can be nothing more nece&s;&s;ary in a well-regulated Common-wealth. So that I &s;hould have been heartily &s;orry to &s;ee this venerable Seer in &s;uch Di&s;tre&s;s, for being a Pimp only, had it not been for criminal Additions of Conjurer, and Fortune-teller; tho I do not believe that Charms and Spells have any Power to alter the <HI>Will,</HI>
<PB N="99" REF="61"> whatever a Company of &s;illy ignorant People think; for Man has a Liberty of Determination, no way to be controul'd by the force of Herbs or Enchantments.</P>
<P>'Tis very true, reply'd the Old Man, and as to my Charge of being a Witch or Sorcerer, I am as innocent as the Child unborn; but as for the Bu&s;ine&s;s of <HI>Pimping,</HI> I do not deny it; but I never took it to be a Crime, for my Intention was, that People &s;hould enjoy each other's Society, and live in Friend&s;hip one with another. But my harmle&s;s De&s;ign has &s;erv'd me to no other Purpo&s;e, then to &s;end me to a Place from whence I &s;hall never return, con&s;idering my Age; be&s;ides that, I am tormented with the Strangury to boot. And having &s;o &s;aid, the poor Old Man fell o' weeping; which melted <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Heart in &s;uch a manner, that he out with his Pouch, and gave him a <HI>Harry-Groat.</HI></P>
<P>Then <HI>Don Quixote</HI> examin'd the Fifth, who &s;eem'd to be nothing at all concern'd. I go to &s;erve his Maje&s;ty, &s;aid he, for my Kindne&s;s only to two of my Cou&s;in-germans, and two other Maidens that were both Si&s;ters. By which means I have encreas'd my Stock, and &s;o intrigu'd my I&s;&s;ue, that I have puzl'd all the Ca&s;ui&s;ts about the Town. The Fact was prov'd upon me, and therefore having neither Friends nor Money, I am condemn'd to the Gallies for &s;ix Years. If your Wor&s;hip plea&s;es to be&s;tow &s;omething upon poor Sinners, the Lord, we hope, will reward ye in Heav'n; be&s;ides that, when do pray, we &s;hall be &s;ure to pray for your long Life and Health.</P>
<P>Behind there came a young Fellow of about thirty Years of Age, well proportion'd, and well-favour'd, only that he &s;quinted with one Eye. He was cruelly hamper'd with Fetters upon his Feet, Manacles about his Wri&s;ts, and a Collar, but not of <HI>SS</HI>'s, about his Neck. This was a Rogue, that no Goal, no Fetters would hold. For a Wager he would anoint his Heel with a Candle's End, and &s;lip off his Shackles with as much ea&s;e as Par&s;on <HI>Slip-&s;tockin's</HI> Boy pull'd off his Father's Ho&s;e; and be&s;ides that, he goes by more Names, then the Great <HI>Turk</HI> has Titles. What's his Crime all this while, quo <HI>Don Quixote?</HI> Sir <HI>Knight,</HI> quo the young Rogue, if you have any mind to give us any thing, do it quickly, and God have ye in his Protection; for this Curio&s;ity of yours does but hinder us. Prethee, Friend, What's thy Name, quo <HI>Don Quixote?</HI> Name, Sir! why, don't they tell you I have twenty? Sometimes <HI>Dangerfield,</HI> &s;ometimes <HI>Willough|by,</HI> &s;ometimes <HI>Monmouth,</HI> as the De&s;ign will bear. If you de&s;ire to know more, you may read my Life, 'tis printed legible enough to be read; and I think it out-does <HI>Lazarillo de Tormes,</HI> or <HI>Gu&s;man</HI> either. Thou &s;eem'&s;t to be a witty Rogue, quo <HI>Don Quixote:</HI> You &s;hould have &s;aid, unfortunate al&s;o, reply'd the Slave; for Misfortune always per&s;ecutes the Ingenious. You mean &s;uch Rogues as your &s;elf, quo the Jailor. Fair and &s;oftly, quo the Slave to the Jailor, the Law did not give you Authority over us to abu&s;e us, but only to guard us where the King has occa&s;ion for us. Come, come, be not &s;o <HI>haughty;</HI> for by the Life of <HI>Pharaoh,</HI> the time may come, when your Pranks may come to light, that&mdash; you know what I mean. Upon which the Jailor held up his Cane to have thra&s;h'd the Slave, but <HI>Don Quixote</HI> interpo&s;ing, would by no means permit him; telling the Jailor, that he could not blame the Slave for making u&s;e of his Tongue, &s;ince he had ne're another Member at liberty. And then addre&s;&s;ing him&s;elf to all the Slaves in general:</P>
<P><Q>Dearly beloved Brethren, &s;aid he, by what I gather from your own Words, I clearly find, that tho you are ju&s;tly condemn'd to de&s;erv'd Pu|ni&s;hment
<PB N="100" REF="62"> for the &s;everal Crimes you have committed; however that you &s;uffer Execution of the Sentence by Con&s;traint, and becau&s;e you cannot help it: That is to &s;ay, by your good Wills you had rather eat Partridges, drink Pontack, lie warm, and ki&s;s a hand&s;om Girl in a Corner, then row i' the Gallies; why, then know, That you fall under my Protection; for as I am a profe&s;s'd <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> it is my Duty to relieve the Di&s;tre&s;&s;ed, and &s;et at Liberty the Oppre&s;&s;ed. But becau&s;e it is the part of a prudent Man to &s;hun Violence, where things may be carry'd by fair means, I de|&s;ire ye, good Mr. <HI>Jailor,</HI> and you Gentlemen o' the Guard, to relea&s;e the&s;e poor Creatures, there being enow to &s;erve his Maje&s;ty in their Rooms; for I mu&s;t tell ye, my Ma&s;ters, 'tis a hard ca&s;e to make Slaves of Men that were born free. And I the rather de&s;ire this Courte&s;ie of ye, Mr. <HI>Bumms,</HI> in the behalf of the&s;e poor Fellows, becau&s;e they are &s;uch as I dare &s;ay, never did you any wrong i' their lives. And therefore let 'em go and do Penance them&s;elves for their own Sins. 'Tis &s;ufficient that Heav'n takes care to puni&s;h the Wicked; and therefore, be&s;ides that it is needle&s;s, it is unchri&s;tian-like for Men to be the Butchers and Tormentors one of ano|ther. Gentlemen, you &s;ee I make you this Reque&s;t with all the mildne&s;s and Lenity i' the World, and I &s;hall acknowledge your Kindne&s;s, if you will grant it. But if you provoke me by Refu&s;al, this Lance, this Sword, and this Arm of mine, &s;hall force ye to a Compliance.</Q></P>
<P>Hoh, hoh, hoh, a very good Je&s;t y' faith, quo the Jailor, as if we had Power to &s;et at liberty the King's Pri&s;oners, when the King's Ju&s;tice commands 'em to condign Puni&s;hment! March on, Sir, about your Bu&s;ine&s;s, and &s;et your Ba&s;on right upon your empty Pate; 'tis no Bu&s;ine&s;s of yours to mind whether the Cat has three Feet or no.</P>
<P>Y'e are a Cat, and a Rat, and a Dog to boot, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and at the &s;ame time attack'd the Jailor with &s;uch a &s;udden, and unlook'd-for Impetuo&s;ity, before he had any time to put him&s;elf into a Po&s;ture of De|fence, that he over-threw him to the Ground, dangerou&s;ly wounded with his Lance.</P>
<P>The Guards, a&s;toni&s;h'd at an Action &s;o &s;mart and unexpected, fell all in a Clu&s;ter upon <HI>D. Quixote,</HI> with their Swords and their Javelins; which might have prov'd &s;omewhat fatal to him, had not the Slaves, finding &s;o fit an Op|portunity to regain their liberty, re&s;olv'd to make u&s;e of it. This put the Guards into a dreadful Confu&s;ion, being ferreted o' th' one &s;ide, without Intermi&s;&s;ion, by <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and no le&s;s perplex'd o' t' other Hand, to prevent the Pri&s;o|ners from getting loo&s;e. In the mid&s;t of this Hurly-burly, the Ma&s;ter-<HI>Crack-rope</HI> having knockt off his Gives by <HI>Sancho</HI>'s A&s;&s;i&s;tance, &s;eiz'd upon the Jailor's Sword, and his Harquebu&s;e, and laid about him &s;o cou|ragiou&s;ly, that the re&s;t, di&s;daining to be meer Spectators, let flie &s;uch Vollies of Stone-&s;hot at the Heads of their Convoy, as forc'd 'em at length to be take them&s;elves to their Heels, not liking the Honour of a Brick-bat Monument. True it is, that <HI>Sancho</HI> was right-glad of the Victory, but having more Wit in his Anger, then his Ma&s;ter, and fearing le&s;t the Bailiffs &s;hould rai&s;e a <HI>Po&s;&s;e Com.</HI> upon the victorious Champion, his Joy turn'd into Melancholy, and his Melancholy in&s;piring him with Prudence, he advis'd his Ma&s;ter to get out of the way as fa&s;t as he could, and hide him&s;elf in the Mountains adjoining&mdash; For, &s;aid he, as &s;ure as we live, tho&s;e Sons o' Whores, Bailiffs, will be at our Tails again in a &s;hort time, with a Hue and Cry, and then our next Adventure will be to hold up our Hands at the Bar, and be &s;ent to the Gallies our &s;elves. Thy Advice is whole&s;ome, quo <HI>Don Quixote.</HI> But for the pre&s;ent, Bu&s;ine&s;s of Con&s;equence is fir&s;t to
<PB N="101" REF="62"> be di&s;patch'd; and at the &s;ame in&s;tant, calling to him all the Slaves, who by this time had &s;tripp'd the Jailor to his Skin, and now made a Ring about the <HI>Knight</HI> to know his Plea&s;ure,</P>
<P><Q>It is the part of Per&s;ons well bred, and endu'd with Vertue, quo he, to ac|knowledge the Benefits they receive; Ingratitude being the blacke&s;t of all Vi|ces. You &s;ee how far I have hazarded my Per&s;on for your Sakes; and you can|not but under&s;tand how much you are beholding to me for what I have done. The thing therefore that I require from you, in return of my Kind|ne&s;s, is only this, That you take that &s;ame Chain, from which I have &s;et your Heels at liberty, and carry it upon your Shoulders to the City of <HI>Tobo&s;o;</HI> where you mu&s;t in that Po&s;ture pre&s;ent your &s;elves before the matchle&s;s Madam <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> and tell her, That her Slave, the <HI>Knight</HI> of the <HI>Ill-favour'd Countenance</HI> pre&s;ents her his mo&s;t humble Service; and re|count to her, word for word, the whole Story of this famous Atchieve|ment, by which you have, through my Valour, obtain'd your Free|dom.</Q></P>
<P>To which the Ma&s;ter-Rogue, as Spoke&s;man for all the re&s;t, returning An&s;wer; Sir <HI>Knight,</HI> and Soveraign Deliverer, &s;aid he, it is a thing im|po&s;&s;ible for us to obey your Commands. For we dare not appear in that Condition, as you require us, All-together, for fear of being known again; rather we mu&s;t part &s;everal Ways, and &s;tudy to di&s;gui&s;e our &s;elves, with all the Ingenuity that may be, to avoid the Pur&s;uit of <HI>Hue and Cries,</HI> well knowing the Danger of being re-tak'n. And therefore it would be more ju&s;t and &s;afe in you, to change the Form of the Tribute, which we owe to the Lady <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> into an Impo&s;ition upon our Con&s;ciences of &s;o many <HI>Ave Maries, Creeds,</HI> and other Prayers, which we &s;hall be ready mo&s;t wil|lingly, and with Ea&s;e to di&s;charge, in return of the Obligation you have laid upon us. And this may be done by Night or by Day, &s;leeping or wak|ing, in Flight, or out of Danger, in Peace, or in War. But to think we will return to <HI>Egyptian</HI> Diet, and carry our Chains to <HI>Tobo&s;o,</HI> you may as well believe, that we can gather Pears from an Elm-Tree. By the Beauty of my Mother, Sir Son of a Whore, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> you &s;hall go alone and carry that Chain upon your noble Shoulders, with all the Shackles and Furniture belonging to it, or el&s;e I'le make ye eat the Chain.</P>
<P>The Slave, who had not learnt much Chri&s;tian Patience by his Suffer|ings, and began to &s;mell <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s want of Wit, could not chu&s;e but &s;mile at the Champion's idle Threats; and therefore tipping the Wink upon his Companions, pre&s;ently, like Men that under&s;tood Signs, they hurl'd whole Quarries at a time at <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Pate, and pelted him &s;o &s;evere|ly, that he could neither &s;ecure him&s;elf with his Shield, nor intreat <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> &s;o much as to wag a Limb, no more then if he had been only the Statue of a Hor&s;e; in&s;omuch that about five or &s;ix hard Flints, lighting upon his Reins, threw him out of his Saddle to the Ground. At what time one of the ingrateful Slaves among the re&s;t, took off the Ba&s;on from his Head, knockt him with it about the Shoulders, and then gave it &s;o many Knocks again&s;t the Stones, that he almo&s;t broke it in pieces. This done, they &s;tripp'd the poor <HI>Knight</HI> of the Coat which he wore over his Armour, and had robb'd him of his Breeches, had not his Greaves and Pully-pieces pre|vented 'em. And to the end they might not do their bu&s;ine&s;s by halves, they eas'd <HI>Sancho</HI> of his Par&s;on's Ca&s;&s;ock, which he had turn'd into a Wal|let, and uncas'd him to his Shirt. Which done, and the Spoils all ju&s;tly and hone&s;tly divided, they &s;hifted every one for him&s;elf, more careful to avoid the Con&s;table's Clutches, then of their Duty to Madam <HI>Dulcinea.</HI></P>
<PB N="102" REF="63">
<P>As for the <HI>A&s;s, Ro&s;inante, Sancho,</HI> and <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> 'tis true, they remain'd Ma&s;ters of the Field, but in an ill Condition; the A&s;s hanging his head, and &s;haking his Ears, as if Brick-bats had &s;till buzz'd about his Noddle: <HI>Ro|&s;inante</HI> lying at his full length i' the Du&s;t, and ready to make his Will: <HI>Sancho</HI> in deadly fear of pur&s;uing Black-bills and Pitch-forks: and <HI>Don Quixote</HI> biting his Nails to &s;ee him&s;elf &s;o villainou&s;ly abus'd by Rogues and Thieves, for whom he had &s;o villainou&s;ly ventur'd his Neck.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="9" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. IX.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">What befell the famous <HI>Don Quixote</HI> in the Mountain of <HI>Sierra Mo|rena,</HI> which was one of the &s;trange&s;t Adventures in all this Real Hi&s;tory.</HEAD>
<P><HI>DOn Quixote</HI> finding him&s;elf &s;o ill repay'd, quo he to his Squire, I have often heard &s;ay, <HI>Sancho,</HI> Save a Thief from the Gallows, and he'l be the fir&s;t that &s;hall hang his Benefactor, if he can. Had I follow'd thy Ad|vice, I had avoided this Misfortune; but 'tis done, and there's no Remedy but Patience, and let's be wi&s;er for the future. That is to &s;ay, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> when I turn <HI>Turk</HI>&mdash; But &s;ince you repent for not following my Coun&s;el, pray believe me once more; for in one word as well as in a thou&s;and, I mu&s;t tell ye, your <HI>Quorum</HI> Ju&s;tices care no more for all the <HI>Knights-Errant</HI> i' the World, then for a dead Sprat. Hark&mdash; me-thinks I hear the Halberdeers, and the Crewel-fring'd Pike-&s;taves at my heels already. Thou art a Cow|ard by Nature, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> however, becau&s;e thou &s;halt not &s;ay I am always ob&s;tinate, I will avoid this terrible <HI>Hue and Cry</HI> for once; but upon this Condition, That thou never tell any per&s;on, that I avoided Danger, out of Fear, but only at thy Reque&s;t, and meerly to do thee a Kindne&s;s. If thou &s;ay'&s;t otherwi&s;e, thou ly'&s;t; and from this time forth to that time forth, and from that time forth to the World's end, I give thee the Lye, and thou ly'&s;t and &s;halt lye i' thy Throat, if ever thou &s;ay'&s;t the Contrary. For did I believe thou thought'&s;t that I withdrew my &s;elf out of Danger, or fearing the Fraternity of the <HI>Quorum Ju&s;tices,</HI> as thou call'&s;t 'em, I would abide here till the Day of Judgment, in Defiance, not only of them, but of the Twelve Heads of the Tribes of <HI>I&s;rael,</HI> the Seven <HI>Macchabees, Ca&s;tor</HI> and <HI>Pollux,</HI> and all the Brotherhoods and Fraternities i' the World.</P>
<P>Having &s;o &s;aid, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> remounted his <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> (who had always that good Faculty, that he was not long before he came to him&s;elf, what|ever Misfortune befell him) and <HI>Sancho</HI> be&s;triding his A&s;s, lead the way to the Black Mountain, call'd <HI>Sierra Morena,</HI> through the Crafty Squire's De|&s;ign, to lurk in the craggy, and inacce&s;&s;ible Retreats of that Mountain, till the heat of Pur&s;uit were over; which he was the rather enclin'd to do, as finding all his Belly-timber &s;afe; a Miracle to be admir'd, con&s;idering how exact tho&s;e Caitiffs were in their privy Searches.</P>
<P>By Midnight our Advecturers got to the middle, and mo&s;t de&s;art part of <HI>Sierra Morena,</HI> where <HI>Sancho</HI> advis'd his Ma&s;ter to &s;tay for &s;ome time, at lea&s;t, &s;o long as their Provi&s;ions la&s;ted; and &s;o that Night they took up their Lodging between two Rocks over-&s;pread with Cork-trees. But <HI>Fatal</HI> For|tune, who, according to the Opinion of tho&s;e that walk not according to
<PB N="103" REF="63"> to the light within 'em, governs all things by their own Humour, &s;o or|der'd it, That that &s;ame Ma&s;ter-Thief, Ring-leader to all the re&s;t, who had been &s;o grateful to the <HI>Knight</HI> for their Liberty, having made choice of tho&s;e Covertures to e&s;cape the Hands of Ju&s;tice, happen'd ju&s;t into the place where <HI>Sancho</HI> and his Ma&s;ter had tak'n up their Lodgings; and know|ing 'em by their Tongues, was &s;o civil as not to di&s;turb their re&s;t by no means: But finding <HI>Sancho</HI>'s A&s;s opportunely pannell'd and halter'd for his Convenience, ill Nature, a Rogui&s;h Di&s;po&s;ition, and Nece&s;&s;ity together, &s;o wrought upon him, that he very hone&s;tly &s;pirited away the A&s;s, and made &s;uch ha&s;te, that before day he was got quite out of the Reach of <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI>'s Pur&s;uit.</P>
<P>But no &s;ooner had the fair <HI>Aurora</HI> begun to &s;mile upon the Hills, and with her refre&s;hing Beams to ble&s;s the Surface of the Earth, when <HI>Sancho,</HI> to his un&s;peakable grief, mi&s;s'd the Delight of his Soul, and Comfort of his Life, his beloved A&s;s. He made &s;uch doleful Complaints, and &s;uch pi|tiful Moans, that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> waking, heard him thus expre&s;&s;ing his un|&s;upportable Woes.</P>
<P>Dear Off &s;pring of my Bowels! quo he, born and bred under my Roof, my Childrens only Play-fellow, the Delight of my Wife, the Envy of my Neighbours, and the Staff of my laborious Life! In a word, the Maintainer of half my Family; for with Ten-pence which thou earned'&s;t me every day, did&s;t thou defray the half of my Expences. <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> divining by his Lamentations at the Cau&s;e of <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Sorrow, endeavour'd to comfort him with &s;oft and tender Expre&s;&s;ions, and learned Di&s;cour&s;es upon the Misfor|tunes of this World. But nothing wrought &s;o kindly with <HI>Sancho,</HI> as a Bill of Exchange, which his Ma&s;ter promis'd him, for his Wife to take three A&s;&s;es out of five, which he had at home. <HI>Sancho</HI> not being able to with&s;tand an Argument &s;o powerful, dry'd up his Tears, put a Stop to his Sighs and Sobbs, and return'd his Ma&s;ter a thou&s;and Thanks for &s;o generous a Favour.</P>
<P>On the other &s;ide, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> being not a little refre&s;h'd with the Sleep he had got, and calling to mind the &s;trange Adventures which <HI>Knights-Errants</HI> had met with in De&s;arts and Solitudes, was over joy'd to find him|&s;elf in the mid&s;t of tho&s;e Mountains, believing they would afford him &s;uf|ficient Occa&s;ions to exerci&s;e his Prowe&s;s. But <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Thoughts were otherwi&s;e employ'd; for now believing him&s;elf quite out of Danger, made frequent Vi&s;its to the Wallet, which <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> now was forc'd to carry, and following his Ma&s;ter, &s;et his Grinders a walking much fa&s;ter then his Feet.</P>
<P>As thus they lei&s;urely pac'd it along, <HI>Sancho</HI> ob&s;erv'd that his Ma&s;ter &s;toop'd in his Saddle to take up &s;omething with the end of his Javelin; which he not being able readily to do in his Saddle, <HI>Sancho</HI> ran with great Dili|gence to help him. Upon which, his Ma&s;ter commanding him to take it up, they found it to be a Portmanteau, in a very ill plight by rea&s;on of the Weather, but &s;omewhat weighty withal. Having open'd it, they found within it four Holland-Shirts, with other Linen, clean and fa&s;hionable, and in another Handkerchief, a con&s;iderable quantity of Gold. Ble&s;s'd by the whole Frame of Heav'n, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> for &s;ending us &s;ome good Luck once in our Lives. Searching farther, they found a Table-book richly bound; pre&s;ently, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> this is my &s;hare, take thee the Gold, <HI>Sancho,</HI> for thy &s;elf. The Lord reward ye, dear Ma&s;ter, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> at the &s;ame time cramming all his Booty into his Wallet. Certainly, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> it cannot be, but that &s;ome per&s;on, having lo&s;t his way in the&s;e
<PB N="104" REF="64"> Mountains, has been here murder'd, and thrown into &s;ome hole among the&s;e Rocks. That cannot be, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> for had they been High|way Men, they would ne're ha' left &s;o much Booty behind. Thou &s;peak'&s;t Rea&s;on, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and therefore mu&s;t &s;ee if we can di&s;cover any thing out of the&s;e Papers. Thereupon, after a &s;mall Search, he found the following Ver&s;es, which he read aloud for <HI>Sancho</HI> to hear.</P>
<Q><L>OR Love's a Blockhead, or a cruel <HI>Jew;</HI></L>
<L>Or el&s;e I feel le&s;s pain then is my Due;</L>
<L>For if my Pains were equal to the Cau&s;e,</L>
<L>They would be wor&s;e then Tooth-ach in the Jaws.</L>
<L>But if Love be a God, I dare to &s;wear,</L>
<L>He then can be no Fool, and 'tis as clear,</L>
<L>No God can cruel be; then would I know</L>
<L>What Devil &s;ends the&s;e Pains that plague me &s;o?</L>
<L>Ah <HI>Phillis!</HI> Is it thee? No, no, dear <HI>Phillis,</HI></L>
<L>A noble Cau&s;e ne're breeds Effect, that ill is.</L>
<L>'Tis not from Heav'n or Thee the&s;e Plagues proceed,</L>
<L>But I mu&s;t die, for &s;o has Fate decreed.</L>
<L>Nay, I mu&s;t die for Love too like a Sot,</L>
<L>And yet that's neither Love's, nor yet thy Fault.</L>
<L>Hard Luck of mine! to die of &s;uch a Wound,</L>
<L>For which &s;o many Med'cines may be found.</L></Q>
<P>I under&s;tand nothing by this, quo <HI>Sancho.</HI> That's &s;trange, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> for 'tis plain, that the Author of this <HI>Sonnet,</HI> is, or was in love; and that his Lady's Name was <HI>Phillis.</HI> Puh!&mdash; then I warrant ye, Sir, 'tis your old Friend <HI>Corydon,</HI> and this <HI>Corydon</HI> is run mad for that <HI>Phillis,</HI> and has lo&s;t his Cloak-bag. Pray, Sir, read another Paper, you'l find it as I &s;ay. Why, here's a Letter, and a Love-letter too, as I think, quo <HI>Don Quixote.</HI> Oh, good Sir! read it out, cry'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> for I'm a great Admirer of Love-Letters.</P>
<LETTER LANG="eng">
<P>The Fal&s;hood of your Promi&s;es, and my Misfortune, of which I have now no more Rea&s;on to doubt, have carry'd me to a place, from whence thou &s;halt &s;ooner hear the News of my Death, then of the Cau&s;e of my Complaints. Thou ha&s;t for&s;ak'n me, ungrateful as thou art, for one more wealthy, not more ver|tuous then thy &s;elf. Tho if Vertue were a Trea&s;ure to be e&s;teem'd, I &s;hould have no rea&s;on to bewail my own Misfortunes, nor envy the Happine&s;s of other Men. What thy Actions rais'd, thy Beauty has pull'd down; I took thee for an Angel, but find thee a Woman. Farewel, Di&s;turber of Peace, and may the Perfidy of thy Husband never come to light, le&s;t living to repent the Inju&s;tice thou ha&s;t done me, I &s;hould be con&s;train'd to a Revenge that I never de&s;ign.</P>
</LETTER>
<P>The Per&s;on that wrote this Letter, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> was a <HI>betray'd Lover,</HI> and that's all that I under&s;tand; which made him the more in|qui&s;itive after the re&s;t. And turning over the remainder of the Leaves, he found &s;everal other Letters and Ver&s;es, wherein he could meet with no|thing, however, but Accu&s;ations, Complaints, Di&s;tru&s;ts, and Jealou&s;ies, Sorrow and De&s;pair, Favours and Di&s;dain; and thence he concluded, That the Man had been in love, and might be out of his Wits. And all the while he was poring in the Table-book, <HI>Sancho</HI> was romaging the <HI>Mail,</HI> and the Seat of the Saddle; which he did with that Exactne&s;s, that he left
<PB N="105" REF="64"> not a Seam unripp'd, nor a Lock of Wool which he did not pull to pieces with his Nails: Yet &s;uch was his Moderation, that tho he found no more, yet he was &s;o well pleas'd with his hundred Crowns in Gold, already in &s;afe Cu&s;tody, that he forgot his being to&s;s d in a Blanket, his painful &s;trainings, and Gripes of the Bal&s;om; the Benedictions of the Pack &s;taves, the Thumps of the Mule-driver, the Lo&s;s of his Wallet and A&s;s, as believing him&s;elf well paid for all the Hunger and Thir&s;t, which he had endur'd in his Ma|&s;ter's Service.</P>
<P>On the other &s;ide, the Champion was in a heavy to&s;s to know who was the owner of the Portmantle; gue&s;&s;ing by the value of the things, that he was a Per&s;on of worth, whom the di&s;dain and &s;corn of his Mi&s;tre&s;s had driv'n to de&s;pair. At length, as he rode along, wholly tak'n up with the&s;e Con&s;iderations, and follow'd by <HI>Sancho</HI> over Bryars and Thorns, he e&s;py'd upon the top of a &s;tony Cragg that was before him, a Man that skipp'd from Rock to Rock, o're the Bu&s;hes and Thorns, as nimbly as a Cat-a-Mountain: He &s;eem'd to be almo&s;t naked, with a thick black Beard, his Hair clotted like a Water-Spaniels, without Ho&s;e or Shoes; having only a pair of Breeches upon his Hipps, that &s;eem'd to have been once of a Purple kind of Velvet, but &s;o tatter'd and torn, that they di&s;cover'd his skin in &s;everal places. All which particulars the Champion ob&s;erv'd, notwith|&s;tanding the &s;wiftne&s;s of his motion, and endeavour d to the utmo&s;t that lay in his Power to overtake him; firmly believing him to be the owner of the Saddle and Portmantle. But <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> was too weak to run Races with Apparitions in &s;uch Ground as that was, being naturally of a &s;lothful and phlegmatick di&s;po&s;ition. However, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was re&s;olv'd to &s;peak with him, tho it co&s;t him a whole years time. And to that purpo&s;e, he order'd <HI>Sancho</HI> to beat one &s;ide of the Mountain, while he beat the other. I beg your Wor&s;hips Pardon, quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> for alas, Sir, &s;hould I move but a hairs breadth out of your &s;ight, my fears would immediately congeal me into a Statue, that I &s;hould never be able to &s;tir farther: And therefore for the future I give ye warning never to lay &s;uch impo&s;&s;ible Injunctions upon me.</P>
<P>In good time, quo the Knight of the Ill-favour'd Countenance, I am glad thou ha&s;t &s;uch a confidence i' my Courage: I'le a&s;&s;ure thee I &s;hall never fail thee, tho thy Soul were &s;car'd out o' thy Body. Follow me therefore fair and &s;oftly, and let us &s;earch every hole and corner of this Rock, 'tis a thou&s;and pound to a Nut-&s;hell, but we may meet with the owner of this &s;ame Portmanteau: For o' my Con&s;cience that's the very Man that appear'd &s;o lately to us like a Vi&s;ion. 'Slife, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I don't like your Pro|ject; for &s;hould we meet him, and he challenge the Cloak-bag, I mu&s;t be forc'd to re&s;tore him his Money. And therefore, Sir, I think 'twould be much better to forbear this Curio&s;ity of yours, and to keep the Money, till we meet him by &s;ome other more lucky chance, when we may have &s;pent the Gold, and worn out the Linnen, and then we are acquitted from making Re&s;titution by the Law. Thou art mi&s;tak'n, <HI>Sancho;</HI> for &s;ince we have &s;uch pregnant Rea&s;ons to believe him the owner, we are bound to find him out, and re&s;tore him his Goods; by which means we &s;hall be di&s;charg'd in <HI>Foro Con&s;cientiae.</HI> And &s;o &s;aying, he &s;purr'd <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> forward, well know|ing that <HI>Sancho</HI> would not dare to tarry behind. Nor was it long before they came to a little Brook, where they found lying a dead Mule, Saddl'd and Bridl'd, and half eat'n by the Crows and Kites; which confirm'd the Knight in his belief, that the Wild-man he had &s;een was the Ma&s;ter of the Cloak-bag. Now, while they were con&s;idering the Mule, and making
<PB N="106" REF="65"> their Ob&s;ervations upon the Accident, they heard a whi&s;tling, like the whi&s;tling of &s;ome Shepherd that kept his Flock not far off; and at the &s;ame time, upon their Left Hand, they &s;py'd a great number of Goats, and a little beyond 'em an Ancient Man, that &s;eem'd to be their Guardian; to whom <HI>Don Quixote</HI> call'd out, and de&s;ir'd him to come down. The Goat-herd ask'd 'em how they came thither, into a De&s;art place, frequented by none but Goats and Wolves, and other Wild Bea&s;ts? And &s;eeing 'em &s;tand gazing upon the dead Mule, That Mule, &s;aid he, has lain there this &s;ix Months. But pray tell me, Gentlemen, did ye not meet his Ma&s;ter, com|ing hither? We met no body, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> only we found a Sad|dle and a Cloak-bag not far from this place. I have often &s;een it too, &s;aid the Goat-herd, but I dur&s;t not meddle with it, fearing it might be laid there for a Bait, and a purpo&s;e to lay Felony to my charge. For the Devil is very &s;ubtle, and many times tempts us with a Fool's Paradi&s;e, to draw us into a Halter. This is ju&s;t as I &s;aid, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> for I &s;aw the Cloak-bag too, but dur&s;t not adventure within a &s;tones-throw of it; and there let it lye, for me; for I'le be none of tho&s;e that &s;hall hang the Bell about the Cats Neck. Well &mdash; but hone&s;t Friend, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> do&s;t thou know who was the owner of that Mule?</P>
<P>All that I know, reply'd the Goat-herd, is this; That about &s;ix Months ago, there was a young Gentleman, proper, hand&s;om, well clad, and mounted upon the Mule which you &s;ee there (only that it was then alive) with the &s;ame Cloak bag behind him, came one day to a Shepherd's Cot|tage, about three Leagues from this place, and enquir'd which was the mo&s;t de&s;art and unfrequented part of all this Mountain? Who directed him to that part where we are now: And 'tis very true; for &s;hould ye go but half a League farther, you would be hardly able to get back again.</P>
<P>Now, this Gentleman having receiv'd our An&s;wer, turn'd about his Mule, and follow'd his Directions exactly, leaving us in admiration of his goodly A&s;pect, and the great ha&s;t which he made toward the Mountain. After that, we heard of him no more, till meeting with one of our Shepherds, without &s;aying a word, he fell upon him, and beat the poor fellow mo&s;t unmercifully; and then going to the A&s;s that carry'd our Provi&s;ions, after he had tak'n away all the Bread and Chee&s;e, he tripp'd back again to the Mountain as nimbly as a wild Buck.</P>
<P>Hearing this, a good number of us together &s;pent two whole days &s;eek|ing for him in the mo&s;t remote and private Retirements of the Mountains, where at length we di&s;cover'd him in the hollow of a large Cork-Tree, from whence he came forth to us with all the mildne&s;s and courte&s;ie that could be, but with a Countenance &s;o disfigur'd and Sun-burnt, that in his raggs and tatters we hardly knew him again. After a kind Salutation, he told us in few words, but well compos'd together, that we were not to wonder to &s;ee him in that po&s;ture, for that it was only to acquit him&s;elf of a Penitential Vow, that he had oblig'd him&s;elf to perform. We de&s;ir'd him to let us know his Stations, that we might bring him Victuals, which we were ready to do as often as he &s;hould de&s;ire us, &s;o that he needed not to take it by force. He thank'd us for our kind offers, and begg'd Pardon for the Injury he had done; a&s;&s;uring us he would never commit the &s;ame Violence again. We ask'd him al&s;o, where was his mo&s;t u&s;ual Retirement? To which he an&s;wer'd, No where certain, but where ever Night &s;urpriz'd him; concluding his Speech with &s;uch bitter and lamentable Complaints, that would have mov'd a Heart of Bra&s;s to compa&s;&s;ion, e&s;pecially in us that beheld him &s;o &s;trangely alter'd from what we had &s;een him before. At
<PB N="107" REF="65"> length, he made a pau&s;e, and &s;tanding like one that had been &s;trick'n dumb, with his Eyes &s;tedfa&s;tly fix'd upon the ground: He continu'd in that po|&s;ture for &s;ome time; but then of a &s;udden, as if &s;ome fit of Madne&s;s had &s;eiz'd him, &s;taring with his Eyes, knitting his Brows, biting his Lips, and clutching his Fi&s;ts, he flew upon the foremo&s;t of us, with &s;o much fury and rage, that had we not pull'd him off by main force, he had beaten out the Eyes of the &s;urpriz'd Shepherd, and torn his fle&s;h from his Cheeks with his Teeth; crying out in the height of his Frenzie, Ah! Traytor, <HI>Ferdinand,</HI> here, here it is, that thou &s;halt repay me for the Injury thou ha&s;t done me; the&s;e hands of mine &s;hall rend from thy Brea&s;t that treacherous Heart, which harbours only Villany and Perfidy; lading at the &s;ame time the &s;uppo|&s;ed <HI>Ferdinand</HI> with a thou&s;and more Reproaches of Treachery and Ba&s;ene&s;s. Which done, he flung from us, and threw him&s;elf into the thicke&s;t part of all the Woods, leaping over the Bu&s;hes and Brambles with that nimblene&s;s, that it was impo&s;&s;ible for us to follow him. Which caus'd us to believe, that his Madne&s;s &s;eiz'd him by fits; and that &s;ome one, who&s;e Name was <HI>Ferdi|nand,</HI> had done him tho&s;e irreparable Injuries, which he &s;ought to revenge with &s;o much Violence. Since that, it has come into our Minds &s;everal times to find him out, and to carry him by force to the Mad-Hou&s;e, about eight Leagues di&s;tant from hence, that &s;o a more particular Care might be tak'n for his Recovery; or at lea&s;t, that he might be &s;ent back to his Rela|tions.</P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> was wonderfully concern'd, when he had heard the Goat-herd's &s;tory, and re&s;olv'd to make it his bu&s;ine&s;s, what e're it co&s;t him, to find this unfortunate Lover out; &s;o much the rather, becau&s;e he extreamly pity'd his Condition, as believing him to be a Per&s;on of Quality, and one that &s;uffer'd unju&s;tly. But Fortune, ob&s;erving his good Nature, re&s;olv'd to &s;ave him the labour; for ju&s;t as they were &s;peaking, the young Man ap|pear'd, and from the cleft of a Rock, right again&s;t the place where they &s;tood, advanc'd towards 'em, muttering certain words between his Teeth, which they could not well have under&s;tood, had they been clo&s;e by him. When he drew near, he &s;aluted the Company very civilly, but with a hoar&s;e and whea&s;ing Voice. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> return'd his Civilities; for alighting from <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> and acco&s;ting him with a Maje&s;tick Grace, he embrac'd him as if he had been one of his old Acquaintance: Nor could the other forbear, &s;o &s;oon as he got loo&s;e, to &s;tep back &s;ome two or three yards; where laying his Hand upon his Brea&s;t, he &s;tood &s;taring in <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s face, as if he had been calling to mind &s;ome Per&s;on whom he had known before; no le&s;s a&s;toni&s;h'd que&s;tionle&s;s to behold <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Countenance, Armour, &amp; lofty Pre&s;ence, then <HI>Don Quixote</HI> to &s;ee the forlorn and tatter'd condition of the Forre&s;ter. But the fir&s;t that open'd his Mouth was the Ragged Knight, as you &s;hall hear i' the next Chapter.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="10" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="108" REF="66">
<HEAD>CHAP. X.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">The Continuation of the Adventure in the Black Mountain.</HEAD>
<P>THE Hi&s;tory relates, That the <HI>Knight of the Ill-favour'd Countenance</HI> li&s;tn'd with great Attention to the di&s;a&s;trous <HI>Knight of the Rock,</HI> who pur&s;uing his Di&s;cour&s;e; In good Truth, Sir, &s;aid he, whoe're you are, for I know you not, you have extreamly oblig'd me by your Genero&s;ity and Civility; and I could wi&s;h I were in a Condition to te&s;tifie my Acknow|ledgement otherwi&s;e then in words. But my bad Fortune ob&s;tructs my good Intentions, &s;o that I have nothing to return for &s;o many Kindne&s;&s;es, but unprofitable Wi&s;hes.</P>
<P>Sir, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> &s;o great have been my De&s;ires to &s;erve you, that I re&s;olv'd not to depart from the&s;e Solitudes, till I had found ye out; to the end I might know from your &s;elf, whether there were any Remedy to be found for the Di&s;contents that occa&s;ion this your di&s;con&s;olate Cour&s;e of Life, tho it were to be purchas'd with the Hazard of my own Life; or, if your Misfortunes would admit of no Relief, that I might a&s;&s;i&s;t ye to bear the Burthen of your Woes, by &s;haring with you in your Sorrows, and intermixing my Tears with yours: For you cannot but know the Proverb, Sir, <HI>Solamen mi&s;eris &s;ocios habui&s;&s;e doloris.</HI> 'Tis all the <HI>Latin</HI> I have, but I cannot u&s;e it upon a better Occa&s;ion. If then good Intentions may plead Merit, I conjure ye by the fir&s;t Object of your early Affections, to tell me who you are, and the Cau&s;e of your Retirement to this &s;olitary De|&s;art, &s;o remote from the Conver&s;e of Men.</P>
<P>The <HI>Knight of the Rock,</HI> having attentively li&s;tn'd to the&s;e kind Expre&s;|&s;ions of the <HI>Knight of the Ill-favour'd Countenance,</HI> he view'd and re|view'd him from top to toe; and when he had &s;o done: Sir, &s;aid he, if you have any thing to eat, for the love of God, give it me; and when I have fill'd my Belly, I will fulfil your De&s;ires. Thereupon <HI>Sancho</HI> having di&s;|furni&s;h'd his Wallet, and the Goat-herd his Scrip, they brought him fir&s;t and &s;econd Cour&s;e. Immediately the Ragged <HI>Knight</HI> fell on, without &s;aying Grace, like a Man half fami&s;h'd, with that greedy ha&s;te, that he &s;eem'd rather to devour, then feed. And having thus fill'd his Belly, he beckon'd to <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and the re&s;t to follow him; and after he had brought 'em to a Meadow adjoining to a Rock, he laid him&s;elf at his ea&s;e upon the Gra&s;s, where the re&s;t of the Company &s;itting down by him, he thus be|gan.</P>
<P>Sir, &s;aid he, if you intend that I &s;hould make a full Recital of my &s;ad Misfortune, you mu&s;t promi&s;e me before-hand, not to interrupt me with any Que&s;tions, or Comments upon my Words; for if any body &s;peaks a Syllable, I &s;hall pre&s;ently conclude my Story. And this I the rather de&s;ire, as intending to be quick in the Relation of my Di&s;a&s;ters, of which the very Remembrance is a Torment to me; tho you may be a&s;&s;ur'd, I &s;hall omit nothing of Con&s;equence that may tend to your Satisfaction. Thereupon <HI>Don Quixote</HI> undertaking for all the re&s;t, the <HI>Knight of the Rock</HI> thus began.</P>
<P>My Name is <HI>Cardenio;</HI> the Place of my Birth, one of the be&s;t Cities of <HI>Andaluzia;</HI> my De&s;cent is Noble, and my Parents wealthy. But my Mi&s;|fortunes are &s;o great, that neither Wealth, nor the Pro&s;perity of my Pa|rents can remedy. In the &s;ame Place was born the matchle&s;s <HI>Lucinda,</HI>
<PB N="109" REF="66"> incomparable for her Beauty, nobly de&s;cended, and equal in her Fortune to my &s;elf, but wanting a Con&s;tancy &s;ufficient to an&s;wer the Sincerity of my Intentions. This <HI>Lucinda</HI> I lov'd from her tender Years, and ador'd her in her Infancy; and &s;he al&s;o lov'd me with a harmle&s;s Affection and Free|dom, which the Innocence of Childhood never &s;cruples. Nor did our Pa|rents oppo&s;e this innocent Liberty, well knowing, that the Equality of our Fortunes was &s;uch, that there could be no di&s;like of our matching toge|ther. Afterwards our Affections increa&s;ing as we grew in Years, <HI>Lucinda</HI>'s Father judging our u&s;ual Familiarity prejudicial to his Daughter's Honour, forbid my frequent Vi&s;its to his Hou&s;e. But that Re&s;traint did but the more augment our Affections and inflame our De&s;ires. So that altho we were debarr'd the Freedom of Conver&s;e, yet by the means of tru&s;ty Me&s;&s;engers, we &s;till maintain'd a private Intercour&s;e in Writing; which, like Fewel to Fire, &s;till fed our amorous Flames. Heav'ns! how many Letters have I wrote her? How many Sonnets have I &s;ent her? How many tender and obliging Returns have I receiv'd from her? The mutual Pledges of our pri|vate Amours, and mutual Con&s;olations of a violent Pa&s;&s;ion? At length impatient to re-behold the Comfort of my life, I re&s;olv'd to demand her of her Father in Marriage. He thank'd me for the Honour I did him, but told me withal, That I had likewi&s;e a Father alive, who&s;e con&s;ent was to be ob|tain'd, as well as his. Thereupon going to my Father, with a De&s;ign to beg his Approbation and A&s;&s;i&s;tance, I found him in his Chamber with a Letter open'd in his Hand, which he gave me to read, before I could &s;peak a Word to him about my own Bu&s;ine&s;s. Thou wilt find there, &s;aid he, the more then ordinary Kindne&s;s that <HI>D. Richard</HI> has for thee. Now you mu&s;t know, Gentlemen, that this <HI>D. Richard</HI> was a <HI>Grandee</HI> of <HI>Spain;</HI> the chief|e&s;t part of who&s;e E&s;tate lies in the mo&s;t fertile part of <HI>Andaluzia.</HI> I read the Letter, and found therein an obliging Reque&s;t of <HI>D. Richard</HI> to &s;end me to him with all &s;peed, that I might be the Companion of his elde&s;t Son; and promi&s;ing withal, to advance me to a Fortune an&s;werable to the good Opinion which he had of me. The latter part of this Letter &s;truck me dumb; but I was ready to hang my &s;elf, when my Father bid me prepare to be gone in two Days. Farther, &s;aid he, give God Thanks, that Fortune has thus open'd thee a way to that Advancement, which I know thou de|&s;erv'&s;t. Neverthele&s;s, the Evening before the Day of my Departure, I gave <HI>Lucinda</HI> a Vi&s;it, and told her what had happen'd: I al&s;o be&s;ought her Father to pre&s;erve his good Opinion of me, and to defer the be&s;towing of his Daughter, till I had been with <HI>D. Richard.</HI> Which he faithfully pro|mis'd me to doe; and &s;he confirm'd with all the Vows and Prote&s;tations imaginable.</P>
<P>Thus between Satisfaction and Di&s;&s;atisfaction, I arriv'd at <HI>D. Richard</HI>'s Court; where I was receiv'd and entertain'd with that extraordinary Kind|ne&s;s and Civility, that I became the Envy of all his ancient Servants But he that mo&s;t endearingly care&s;s'd me, was <HI>Ferdinand,</HI> the Duke's younge&s;t Son, generous, comely, and of an excellent Humour. He receiv'd me into his Bo&s;om-Friend&s;hip, and gave me &s;uch continual and ample Te&s;timonies of his Affection, that tho I was highly both belov'd and e&s;teem'd by his Brother, yet could I ea&s;ily di&s;tingui&s;h between their Favours.</P>
<P>And as it is the Property of true Friends to keep nothing &s;ecret, <HI>D. Fer|dinand</HI> believing him&s;elf &s;ecure of my Fidelity, imparted to me all his Thoughts; and among the re&s;t, di&s;clos'd to me his being in love with a hand&s;om Country Girl, the Daughter of a Farmer, that was one of his Fa|ther's Tenants. Such was the Vertue, the Prudence, the Di&s;cretion of this
<PB N="110" REF="67"> Dam&s;el, that &s;he was the Admiration of all that were acquainted with her; and tho&s;e her rare Endowments had &s;o charm'd the Soul of <HI>D. Ferdinand,</HI> that finding it impo&s;&s;ible to win her for his Mi&s;tre&s;s, he re&s;olv'd to make her his Wife. Now being &s;o engag'd, as I was, to <HI>D. Ferdinand,</HI> I thought it my Duty to divert him from a Re&s;olution &s;o prejudicial to his Honour and Quality; but finding all my Arguments were &s;catter'd in the Wind, I re&s;olv'd to inform the Duke, his Father, of his Intentions. But <HI>D. Ferdi|nand,</HI> who&s;e <HI>Politicks</HI> were refin'd and piercing, believing my Honour would engage me to di&s;cover a De&s;ign &s;o prejudicial to the Honour of his Family, endeavour'd to per&s;wade me, that his Heat was over; and to com|pleat the Cure, that he was re&s;olv'd to ab&s;ent him&s;elf from the Object of his Pa&s;&s;ion; to which purpo&s;e, he would take a Journey to my Father's Hou&s;e, pretending to buy Hor&s;es, of which there are the be&s;t of all that Province, bred in our Village. Pre&s;ently, &s;way'd by the Intere&s;t of my own Love, I approv'd his De&s;ign, and pre&s;s'd him to make ha&s;te, out of a De&s;ign to re-vi&s;it my dear <HI>Lucinda.</HI> But alas! as afterwards I under&s;tood, he had already reap'd the la&s;t enjoiments of his amorous Court&s;hip to his Country-Mi&s;tre&s;s, with the Sickle of promis'd Marriage; tho he dur&s;t not di&s;|cover it, for fear of the Duke his Father's Di&s;plea&s;ure.</P>
<P>But as the Love of young People is only an irregular Pa&s;&s;ion, and boiling De&s;ire, that has no other Object then Plea&s;ure, and which Enjoyment di&s;&s;i|pates; no &s;ooner had he obtain'd the la&s;t Favours of his Mi&s;tre&s;s, but his vehement Affection &s;lacken'd, and his ardent Love grew cold: So that if his De&s;ire of Ab&s;ence were fain'd before, there was nothing now which he more really coveted. And therefore having obtain'd his Father's leave, away we came to my Father's Hou&s;e, where <HI>Don Ferdinand</HI> was entertain'd with a Welcome befitting his Quality; and I went to vi&s;it my <HI>Lucinda,</HI> who re|ceiv'd me as a mo&s;t dear and con&s;tant Lover.</P>
<P>Some few Days after, to diverti&s;e <HI>Ferdinand,</HI> I thought it my Duty, like a Nick-a-poop as I was, to put the &s;ame Confidence in his Friend&s;hip, with which he had entru&s;ted mine. And to that purpo&s;e (cur&s;e o' my babbling Tongue!) I made <HI>Lucinda</HI>'s Beauty, Wit, and Prudence, the Subject of my Di&s;cour&s;e, till I had inflam'd him with a De&s;ire to &s;ee &s;o wonderful a Per|&s;on; and to &s;atisfie his Impatience, &s;hew'd her to him at a low Window, where we were wont to conver&s;e together. And that which added to my Ruine, was, That &s;he was richly dre&s;s'd that Day, and &s;eem'd &s;o lovely to <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI>'s Eyes, that he forgat all other Beauties in the World be&s;ide, and became a doating Lover of my Mi&s;tre&s;s only. Nay, the more to en|flame him (for when the Devil owes a man a Spite, he never pays a man by halves) he met with a Letter of her's, wherein &s;he had de&s;ir'd me to demand her of her Father, and to ha&s;t'n our Marriage; which was writ|ten with that Mode&s;ty and Di&s;cretion, that <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI> cry'd out, That in <HI>Lucinda</HI> were all tho&s;e Perfections, both of Body and Mind, met together, as it were, by con&s;ent, which in other Women &s;eparately appear'd. But as de&s;erv'd as they were, I did not like the&s;e <HI>Encomiums</HI> from <HI>D. Ferdi|nand</HI>'s Lips; I began to &s;mell a Rat, and therefore carry'd my &s;elf more re&s;ervedly: But the more I forbore to &s;peak of her, the more He made her &s;till the Subject of his Di&s;cour&s;e. And this was that which waken'd my Jealou&s;ie, tho I could &s;ay nothing again&s;t <HI>Lucinda,</HI> of who&s;e Fidelity I thought my &s;elf &s;o fully a&s;&s;ur'd, that I dur&s;t have pawn'd my Soul to a bra&s;s Thimble, for her Sincerity.</P>
<P>It happen'd one day, that <HI>Lucinda,</HI> who was much addicted to read Books of <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> de&s;ir'd me to lend her the Hi&s;tory of <HI>Amadis de Gaul</HI>&mdash;
<PB N="111" REF="67"> Scarce were the words, <HI>Amadis de Gaul,</HI> drop'd out of <HI>Cardenio</HI>'s Mouth, but <HI>Don Quixote</HI> interrupting him; Had you but told me, that your Lady was addicted to read Romances, you need have &s;aid no more to confirm me in the Belief of what you have utter'd concerning her Beauty and her Wit. For if &s;he be a Reader of Romances, I am &s;ure &s;he mu&s;t be ten times fairer, and ten thou&s;and times more witty then you have expre&s;s'd her to be: and more then that, I do uphold and maintain her to be the wittie&s;t Woman alive. I wi&s;h, Sir, that, together with <HI>Amadis de Gaul,</HI> you had &s;ent her the brave <HI>Duke Roger of Greece.</HI> Madam <HI>Lucinda,</HI> que&s;tionle&s;s, would have been highly tak'n with <HI>Dorayda,</HI> and <HI>Geraya,</HI> and the plea&s;ant Shepherd <HI>Darinel,</HI> with his <HI>Bucolicks,</HI> which he &s;ung with &s;o much Di|&s;cretion, and with &s;uch a &s;weet and debonnair Behaviour. But time may repair this Defect; and if you plea&s;e to come to my Hou&s;e, I will &s;hew you above three hundred Volumes, which are all the Delight and Content I have in this World; and yet they are all at your Service, if the damn'd <HI>Negromancers</HI> have not robb'd me of 'em. Pardon me, I be&s;eech ye, Sir, for giving you this Interruption, contrary to my Promi&s;e; but I can as well be hang'd, and the Sun may as well forbear to &s;hine, as I forbear &s;peaking, when I hear the lea&s;t mention made of <HI>Knight-Errantry.</HI> Now therefore, pray Sir, go on.</P>
<P>All the time of this Digre&s;&s;ion <HI>Cardenio</HI> hung down his Head in his Brea&s;t, like one that had been mu&s;ing &s;ome new Point i' the Mathematicks. Nor could <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> with all his Entreaties, per&s;wade him to look up, or give him a Word of An&s;wer. But at length, elevating his Chin, with his Eyes &s;taring in his Head; I'le never believe otherwi&s;e, nor &s;hall any Man beat it out of my Brains, quo he, and he's a Ra&s;cal, and a Son of a Whore, who denies, that that &s;ame Scoundrel of a Stallion Barber, <HI>Tom Thumb,</HI> never lay with the <HI>Queen</HI> of <HI>Trumps.</HI></P>
<P>By all that's vertuous in <HI>Tobo&s;o,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that cannot be: 'tis a Scandal and a Calumny. The Queen of <HI>Trumps</HI> was a mo&s;t cha&s;t and mode&s;t Lady; and there is no probability, that a Prince&s;s of her Quality would make love to a <HI>Tooth-drawer:</HI> Whoever affirms it, lyes in his Throat, and I'le make him to acknowledge it, either a-foot, or a hor&s;e-back, arm'd, or unarm'd, by Day, or by Night, or how he plea&s;es. <HI>Cardenio,</HI> upon this, fa&s;ten'd his Eyes upon <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> without &s;peaking a word; and being thus provok'd into one of his mad Fits, to hear him&s;elf call'd Lyar, and in&s;olent Fellow, took up a great Stone that lay ju&s;t at his Feet, and threw it with &s;uch a force at <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that hitting him full i' the Brea&s;t, it beat the Champion backward upon his Rump. <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;eeing his Ma|&s;ter abus'd, fell upon <HI>Cardenio</HI> with both his Fi&s;ts clutch'd, whom <HI>Cardenio</HI> with one &s;ound Wherret, laid at his Feet, and then fell a trampling his Guts, like a Baker in a Dough-trough. Nor did the Goat-herd, going to take <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Part, &s;peed much better. And thus the <HI>Ragged Knight</HI> ha|ving vanqui&s;h'd the <HI>Knight of the Ill-favour'd Face,</HI> and both his Champions, retir'd back to the Mountain.</P>
<P><HI>Sancho</HI> was no &s;ooner got upon his Legs again, but he began to quarrel with the <HI>Goat-herd,</HI> calling him Bumkin and Logger-head, for not telling 'em before, that the <HI>Ragged Knight</HI> was frantick, that &s;o they might ha' had more care of them&s;elves. The <HI>Goat-herd</HI> reply'd, that he had giv'n 'em Warning at fir&s;t, and if he could not hear, he was not bound to find him Ears. To this <HI>Sancho</HI> reply'd, and the <HI>Goat-herd</HI> reply'd again; till from <HI>Pro's</HI> and <HI>Con's</HI> they fell to &s;eizing one another by the Beards, tugging and haling each other in &s;uch a cruel manner, that if <HI>Don Quixote</HI> had not
<PB N="112" REF="68"> parted 'em, they had pull'd one anothers Chins from their Heads. How|ever, <HI>Sancho</HI> keeping his hold, in great Wrath, Let me alone, Sir <HI>Knight of the Ill-favour'd Face,</HI> quo he: this Fellow is no more a Dubb'd Knight then my &s;elf, and therefore I hope I may fight hand to hand, like a Man of Ho|nour, and revenge the Injury he has done me. 'Tis true, <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> but I know no Injury we have receiv'd: And &s;o &s;aying, made 'em &s;hake hands, and be Friends. And then addre&s;&s;ing him&s;elf to the <HI>Goat-herd,</HI> ask'd him, Whether there were no way to find out <HI>Cardenio</HI> again, in regard he had a great mind to hear the end of his Story? To whom the <HI>Goat-herd</HI> made An&s;wer, That the <HI>Ragged Knight</HI> had no con|&s;tant Re&s;idence, but that if he tarri'd thereabouts, it might not be long be|fore he met with him, mad or &s;ober.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="11" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XI.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Of the &s;trange Accidents that befell the valiant Knight of <HI>Mancha</HI> in the Black Mountain; and of his imitating the Penance perform'd by the <HI>Lovely-Ob&s;cure.</HI></HEAD>
<P><HI>DOn Quixote</HI> bid the <HI>Goat-herd</HI> farewell, and remounting <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> com|manded <HI>Sancho</HI> to follow him a-foot, which he did, but in a damn'd &s;ullen, peevi&s;h Humour; for his Ma&s;ter led him into the roughe&s;t, and mo&s;t craggy part of all the Mountain. Thus they travell'd for a while, without &s;peaking a word one to another; till <HI>Sancho,</HI> almo&s;t dead for want of a little Chat, Sir, &s;aid he, I de&s;ire your Wor&s;hip to give me your Ble&s;|&s;ing, and leave to depart, that I may return home to my Wife and Children, where no body can hinder me from Scolding and Maundring, as I plea&s;e my &s;elf. For I had rather be bury'd alive, then to ramble after your Heels through Mountains and De&s;arts, Day and Night, without being admitted to &s;peak. Could the Bea&s;ts &s;peak, as they did in <HI>Ae&s;op</HI>'s time, <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> and I might Chat together, like two Midwives, and my Conceits would never putrifie i' my Body, as they do. Upon my Faith, Sir, 'tis a thing not to be endur'd to trot o' this Fa&s;hion after Adventures, and meet with nothing but <HI>Thumps</HI> and <HI>Ba&s;tinado's;</HI> and after all, for&s;ooth, to have a Man's Mouth &s;ow'd up, as if his Tongue had been made for no u&s;e. I under&s;tand thee, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> thou do&s;t not love to keep thy Tongue a Pri&s;oner long: why then, <HI>Sancho,</HI> I'le relea&s;e it for once, upon Condition, that it &s;hall be only for the time we continue i' the Mountains. Speak therefore what thou ha&s;t a mind.</P>
<P>Content, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> let us talk while we may, God knows what may befall us hereafter: And &s;o beginning to make u&s;e of his Priviledge; I won|der, Sir, &s;aid he, what Rea&s;on you had to be &s;o cholerick for the Queen of <HI>Trumps,</HI> what d'ye call her, for I care not a Straw what her Name is? Or What was it to the Purpo&s;e, whether <HI>Tom Thumb</HI> were her Paramour, or no? For had you not meddl'd with what y' had nothing to do with, the Mad-man would ha' gone on with his Story, you had mi&s;s'd a good Thump o' the Brea&s;t, and I had &s;cap'd the bur&s;ting the Cawl of my Belly.</P>
<P>Friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> did&s;t thou but know what a vertu|ous Lady the Queen of <HI>Trumps</HI> was, thou'd&s;t &s;ay, I had a great deal
<PB N="113" REF="68"> of Patience in that I did not tear that Fellows Tongue from the bottom of of his Throat, for uttering &s;o many Bla&s;phemies again&s;t her. For, in &s;hort, 'twas a mo&s;t execrable piece of Bla&s;phemy to &s;ay, That a Queen had lain with a Barber-Surgeon. For the Truth of the Story is this, That this Mr. <HI>Tom Thumb</HI> was both Coun&s;ellor, and Phy&s;ician in Ordinary to the Queen; but to &s;ay he was her Paramour or Gallant, was an in&s;olent Scandal, and fit to be cha&s;tiz'd. Neither can it be thought, that <HI>Cardenio</HI> knew what he &s;aid; for thou &s;wor'&s;t he was in one of his mad Fits, when he &s;poke it. And what need you then ha' minded what a Mad-man &s;aid, quo <HI>Sancho?</HI> Suppo&s;e the Stone that hit ye o' the Brea&s;t, had beat out your Brains, we had been finely &s;erv'd for taking the part of a <HI>Si&s;ly-Bum-Trinket;</HI> the Devil confound her.</P>
<P><HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> a <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> is oblig'd to defend the Honour of all Ladies again&s;t <HI>Lunaticks,</HI> as well as Men i' their Wits; much more, being &s;uch Queens and Prince&s;&s;es as the Queen of <HI>Trumps,</HI> for whom I have a particular Veneration, becau&s;e of her Vertue, and other admirable Qualities; for be&s;ides that, &s;he was very beautiful, &s;he was very prudent, And behav'd her &s;elf with an incomparable Patience in all her Misfortunes: and then it was that it was, that &s;he &s;tood in need of the whole&s;om Coun|&s;els of Mr. <HI>Tom Thumb;</HI> which gave Occa&s;ion to that fal&s;e and &s;candalous Report, that they lay together. But I &s;ay again, they lye, and lye a thou|&s;and times over, whoever they be, that &s;hall either report, or &s;o much as think &s;uch a Calumny again&s;t the Queen of <HI>Trumps.</HI></P>
<P>Why, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I neither &s;ay, nor think one way or t' other; let them that affirm it eat the Lye, and &s;wallow it when they ha' done. If they lay together, th' have an&s;wer'd for it before now. I come from plough, I know nothing; I never thru&s;t my No&s;e into other mens Porridge; my Name's <HI>Twyford,</HI> I neither meddle nor make. He that buys and &s;ells, &s;hall find his Gains in his Pur&s;e. Naked I came into the World, and naked I mu&s;t go out. I neither take, nor give; I neither lo&s;e, nor gain: if they lay together 'tis no Bread and Butter o' mine. Who can make a Silk Pur&s;e of a Sow's Ear? But if ye catch me i' your Corn, put me i' your Pound.</P>
<P>The Devil go wi' thee, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> what a Company of Proverbs ha&s;t thou threaded together? What are all the&s;e mu&s;ty Adages to my Pur|po&s;e? Prethee mind thy A&s;s, that's thy Bu&s;ine&s;s; and remember this, That what I do, I have done, and &s;hall do, is no more then what is conform|able to the Laws of Chivalry, which I under&s;tand better then all the <HI>Knights-Errant</HI> that ever were i' the World. Troth, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> 'tis no more then ye de&s;erve; for in my Opinion, ye pay dear for your Knowledge. But I pray Sir, give me leave, Do your Laws con&s;train us to live and die in this Mountain? Patience alittle, good <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for now I think on't, I have &s;omething to do in this Mountain, that &s;hall immortal|lize my Name, eternize my Fame, and give me a Reputation above all the <HI>Knights-Errant</HI> that ever were i' the World, or ever &s;hall be. Well, but what's the Danger we mu&s;t run, quo <HI>Sancho?</HI> for I would willingly know before-hand, if I might. That's as it happ'ns, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for we may perhaps meet with a Bru&s;h, or &s;o; but the main matter con&s;i&s;ts in thy Diligence. In my Diligence! Heav'ns ble&s;s us, quo <HI>Sancho.</HI> <Q>'Tis very true, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> for if thou return'&s;t with &s;peed from the place whither I think to &s;end thee, my Pain will be &s;oon at an end, and my Glory will begin&mdash; But why in &s;uch a brown Study, man? For thou art to know, mo&s;t faithful Squire, that <HI>Amadis de Gaul</HI> was one of the compleat|e&s;t <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> that ever were i' the World; nay, the very Chief and
<PB N="114" REF="69"> Prince of all the re&s;t. Moreover, 'tis the part of a Painter, that &s;tudies to render him&s;elf famous in his Art, to imitate the be&s;t Originals; which ought to be the Rule in all other Arts and Sciences, that &s;erve for the Ornament of Common-wealths. Thus <HI>Homer</HI> makes his <HI>&V;ly&s;&s;es</HI> a Pat|tern of Wi&s;dom and Patience; and <HI>Virgil</HI> his <HI>Aeneas</HI> a rare Example of fi|lial Duty, and of a valiant Captain; repre&s;enting 'em not what they were, but what it behov'd 'em to have been. In like manner was <HI>Amadis</HI> the North-Star, and Sun of all <HI>Knight-Errants,</HI> truly Couragious and Amo|rous; and for that Rea&s;on only, him alone ought all <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> to imitate, that march under the Banner of Love and Chivalry. Now then I find, that among all other things that render <HI>Amadis</HI> &s;o famous for Wi&s;dom and Valour, his Con&s;tancy and Love, his retiring to the <HI>Poor Rock,</HI> under the Title of the <HI>Lovely Ob&s;cure One,</HI> was one of the chiefe&s;t: A Title certainly mo&s;t &s;ignificant and agreeable to the life which he intended to lead. And in regard it is a Task far more ea&s;ie to imitate his Penance, then his great Atchievements, in cleaving the Heads of mon&s;trous Giants, &s;tran|gling Serpents, killing Dragons, vanqui&s;hing whole Armies, di&s;per&s;ing Navies, and breaking the force of Inchantments; I am re&s;olv'd not to lo&s;e the offer of &s;o fair an Opportunity, in a Place &s;o fit for my purpo&s;e.</Q> But pray, Sir, all this while, What is your De&s;ign in this lonely De&s;art, quo <HI>Sancho?</HI> Have I not told thee, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that I intend here to act <HI>Amadis</HI> in his Madne&s;s, De&s;pair, and Fury? And at the &s;ame time to imitate the Dotages of the Valiant <HI>Orlando,</HI> when he found that <HI>Angelica,</HI> the <HI>Fair,</HI> had abandon'd him for the Love of <HI>Medor,</HI> which di&s;tracted him to that degree, that he tore up Trees by the Roots, damm'd up Fountains, de&s;troy'd whole Flocks, &s;lew the Shepherds, fir'd their Hutts, &s;tole their Hor&s;es, and committed a hundred Extravagancies, worthy to be recorded in Fame's eternal Book? Not that I intend, however, to follow <HI>Rowland,</HI> or <HI>Orland,</HI> or <HI>Roldan,</HI> for he went by as many Names as a <HI>Newgate Shop-lift;</HI> but to make choice of the mo&s;t E&s;&s;ential and Orthodox of all his Follies. Nay, perhaps I &s;hall only imitate <HI>Amadis,</HI> who&s;e Raving not being &s;o de|&s;tructive and pernicious, but only con&s;i&s;ting in Complaints and Lamenta|tions, gain'd him &s;uch a matchle&s;s Reputation.</P>
<P>I am apt to believe, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> That tho&s;e Knights had &s;ome Rea|&s;on for what they did: But what induces you to play the fool? What Lady has de&s;pis'd your Amours? What Di&s;coveries have you made of <HI>Dulcinea</HI>'s being fal&s;e to ye, with either <HI>Moor</HI> or <HI>Chri&s;tian?</HI></P>
<P>S'life, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> there's my Point, therein con&s;i&s;ts the Curio&s;ity of my Bu&s;ine&s;s, for a <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> to play the Mad-man without any Rea|&s;on; there's the Knot and Riddle of the matter, for a Man to run frantick without a Cau&s;e; thereby to let his Lady &s;ee what he can do upon Occa&s;ion, when he acts &s;o well, without any Con&s;traint or Nece&s;&s;ity. But I have Rea&s;on &s;ufficient, con&s;idering the long time I have been ab&s;ent from the matchle&s;s <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> through which Neglect of mine, I have &s;inn'd mo&s;t hei|nou&s;ly again&s;t her Patience, according to the &s;aying of the Shepherd <HI>Am|bro&s;io:</HI> <Q><L>In my Ab&s;ence lo&s;ing Time,</L>
<L>Can ye think &s;he is not griev'd?</L>
<L>Yes, and tempted too, be &s;ure,</L>
<L>Some other way to be reliev'd.</L></Q></P>
<PB N="115" REF="69">
<P>And therefore, <HI>Sancho,</HI> never &s;trive in vain to divert me from &s;o rare, &s;o happy, and &s;o extroardinary an Imitation. I am mad, and will be mad, till thou return'&s;t with an An&s;wer to the Letter which thou mu&s;t carry to the Lady <HI>Dulcinea;</HI> and if I find that &s;he de&s;erves my Con&s;tancy, my Frenzie will be over, and I will do Penance no longer; but if &s;he &s;lights me, I will run &s;tark mad, to the end, that if thou bring'&s;t me bad News, I may be al|together in&s;en&s;ible of it. But to the purpo&s;e, <HI>Sancho,</HI> ha&s;t thou &s;av'd <HI>Mam|brino</HI>'s Helmet? I &s;aw thee take it up, after that ingrateful Rogue had done his utmo&s;t endeavour to break it, which &s;hews the mo&s;t excellent Temper of the Mettle.</P>
<P>Before-<HI>George,</HI> your Follies, Sir <HI>Knight of the Ill-favour'd Countenance,</HI> are not to be endur'd, quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> they are enough to make any Man believe, that what you brag of your <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> your winning of Kingdoms and Empires, and your be&s;towing of I&s;lands upon your Squire, are meer Shams and Lyes. For who, i' the Name of <HI>Belzebub,</HI> that &s;hould hear you call a Barber's Ba&s;on <HI>Mambrino</HI>'s Helmet, would not think you fit for the Mad-hou&s;e at <HI>Newington?</HI> I have the Ba&s;on i' my Wallet, which I intend to carry home, and get mended for my own u&s;e, if ever God quits me of your confounded Service.</P>
<P><HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> would I might be pox'd, if I think there ever was &s;uch a Cuckow-brains of a Squire i' the World. How is it po&s;&s;i|ble for a man to be &s;uch a Logger-head, as not to have learnt in all this time that thou ha&s;t been with me, that all the Actions and Adventures of <HI>Knights-Errant,</HI> &s;eem to be <HI>Chimera's,</HI> Follies, and Impertinencies; not that they are &s;o indeed, but through the Malice and Wickedne&s;s of tho&s;e damn'd Inchanters, that make all things as they plea&s;e them&s;elves; and thus be|witch'd by their Sorceries, thou tak'&s;t <HI>Mambrino's</HI> Helmet for a Barber's Ba&s;on, which to me &s;eems another thing: And that the Sorcerer does it out of Friend&s;hip to me. For <HI>Mambrino</HI>'s Helmet being a Jewel of &s;uch in|e&s;timable value, I &s;hould never be at re&s;t, but be always engag'd in Fights and Combats, to defend it, were it once known to be i' my Cu&s;tody. Keep it &s;afe, <HI>Sancho,</HI> for I have no need of it at pre&s;ent; rather I think to put off my Armour, and &s;trip my &s;elf as naked as I came out of my Mother's Womb, according as I &s;hall find it mo&s;t convenient, whether to imitate <HI>Or|lando</HI> or <HI>Amadis.</HI></P>
<P>Concluding this Di&s;cour&s;e, they came to the foot of a high Rock that &s;eem'd to &s;tand by it &s;elf; from the de&s;cent of which, there &s;oftly glided a gentle &s;tream that water'd a Meadow which &s;urrounded the Rock. The fre&s;hne&s;s and verdure of the Gra&s;s, the number of wild Trees, Plants, and Flowers, that cover'd the Rock, render'd this place &s;o plea&s;ant and delight|ful, that the <HI>Knight of the Ill-favour'd Countenance</HI> made choice of it to &s;hrift him&s;elf, beginning his Penance in &s;uch a manner, as if he had utterly lo&s;t his Wits.</P>
<P><Q>Behold, O Heav'ns, &s;aid he, the place which I have made choice of, to bewail therein the mi&s;erable Condition to which you have reduc'd me. May my Tears augment the waters of this Rivulet, and my Sighs perpe|ually move the Leaves and Branches of the&s;e Trees, eternal Remem|brances to the World of the Pains and Torments which my Heart endures. Ye rural Deities, whoever ye be, that inhabit the&s;e De&s;arts, hear the Plaints of an unfortunate Lover, whom a long Ab&s;ence, and his own fan|ta&s;tical Jealou&s;ie has guided to the&s;e gloomy Shades to lament his ill For|tune, and deplore the cruel Rigour of that <HI>ungrateful fair One,</HI> who is the Perfection, and <HI>Ne plus ultra</HI> of all terre&s;tial Beauty. Ye lovely <HI>Nayades,</HI>
<PB N="116" REF="70"> and <HI>Druids</HI> more contemplative, a&s;&s;i&s;t my Plaints, or at lea&s;t li&s;t'n to my Woes; and may the la&s;civious, boi&s;trous Satyrs never interrupt your Re&s;t. Oh, <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o!</HI> thou Sun of my Days, and Moon of my Nights; the Glory of my Sufferings, North &s;tar of my Travels, and Con&s;tellation that govern'&s;t my Fortune, pity, I conjure thee, the &s;ad Condition to which my ab&s;ence has reduc'd me; and may the Heav'ns grant thee long and happy Days. Ye &s;olitary Groves and Shades, Companions of my Soli|tudes, &s;atisfie me in the &s;oft Language of your ru&s;tling Leaves, and by the nodding of your Branches, that I am we come to your verdant Har|bours. And thou my dear Squire, the faithful Companion of my Adven|tures, mark attentively what I do, and be &s;ure not to forget the &s;malle&s;t <HI>Punctilio.</HI> And thou <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> that ha&s;t all along &s;o in&s;eparably and ad|vantagiou&s;ly &s;erv'd me; thou that ha&s;t &s;har'd with me in all my bad and good Succe&s;&s;es, pardon me for making choice of this Solitude; and believe me, 'tis not without weeping Eyes, that thou and I mu&s;t part.</Q> And &s;o &s;aying, he alighted, whipp'd off his Bridle and Saddle, and giving the Hor&s;e a clap o' the Buttocks, <Q>go <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> &s;aid he, he gives thee thy Li|berty, that has lo&s;t his own. Go Hor&s;e, no le&s;s famous for thy Actions, then mi&s;erable for thy bad luck; yet &s;halt thou never be &s;old to thy worth. Fam'd Bea&s;t! with whom neither <HI>A&s;tolpho</HI>'s <HI>Hypogryphon,</HI> nor <HI>Frontin, Brandimart</HI>'s Delight, nor the winged <HI>Pega&s;us</HI> him&s;elf could e're compare for mettle and &s;wiftne&s;s of heels.</Q></P>
<P>Cur&s;t be the villain Thief, cry'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> cur&s;t with Bell, Book, and Can|dle, that freed me from the trouble of unpannelling my A&s;s too; he &s;hould not have wanted a Harangue in his prai&s;e, perhaps as good as this. Poor Creature of God's making! he was never troubl'd with the&s;e Follies of Lovers and Mad-men, no more then his Ma&s;ter, that was my &s;elf, &s;o long as Heav'n pleas'd. But d' ye here me, now I think on't, Sir <HI>Knight of the Ill-favour'd Countenance,</HI> if your frantick Pranks and my Journy be re&s;olv d on, there will be a nece&s;&s;ity of &s;addling <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> again, e&s;pecially if your bu|&s;ine&s;s require ha&s;te; for truth to tell ye, I am no good Foot-man. Do as thou think'&s;t fit, for that, <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> for I intend thou &s;halt &s;et forward about three days hence. In the mean time thou &s;halt &s;tay and be witne&s;s of what I do for my Lady's &s;ake; to the end thou may&s;t be able to give her a true and perfect Account of every Particular. Heav'ns ble&s;s my Eye-&s;ight, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> why, is it po&s;&s;ible for me to &s;ee more then I have done? Thou art &s;till wide o' the Mark, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> thou &s;halt &s;ee me put off my Armour, tear my Clothes, knock my Head again&s;t the Rocks, and play a thou&s;and more antick Tricks, which all the <HI>Jack-Pud|dings</HI> in <HI>London</HI> could never &s;hew thee. For the love of God, Sir, take heed how ye quarrel with the&s;e Rocks, you may chance to give your Scull &s;uch a crack the fir&s;t Encounter, as may &s;poil an excellent Mad-man, and a good Penitent both at one &s;troke. Therefore I would advi&s;e ye, if your bu&s;ine&s;s, which is all but a feign'd Ceremony, cannot otherwi&s;e be accom|pli&s;h'd, without the&s;e &s;curvy Cats-leaps, to practi&s;e your Imitations upon the Water, or in a Hay-rick; and let me alone to &s;wear to Madam <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> that you plaid your <HI>Chri&s;tmas-gambols</HI> upon hard pointed Rocks, as &s;harp as the end of your Spear.</P>
<P>I thank thee, hone&s;t <HI>Sancho,</HI> for thy good Will, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> but thou art mi&s;tak'n to think I am in je&s;t: The&s;e things mu&s;t be all done &s;eriou&s;|ly and &s;olemnly, otherwi&s;e I &s;hould act again&s;t the Laws of Chivalry, with abominate Fal&s;hood, and mental Re&s;ervation.</P>
<PB N="117" REF="70">
<P>At the end of the three days <HI>Sancho</HI> put him in mind, that his time was elaps'd; and therefore de&s;ir'd him to write his Letter, and let him be gone. For, quo he, let me be roa&s;ted, if I do not long till my Return has freed ye out of this Purgatory, where I mu&s;t be forc d to leave ye. Purgatory, do&s;t call it, quo <HI>Don Quixote!</HI> call it Hell, Tophet, <HI>Gehenna;</HI> or if thou can&s;t think of any thing el&s;e i' the Univer&s;e that is wor&s;e, or more terrible. What can be wor&s;e, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> for they &s;ay, that in Hell there is no <HI>Retention. Retention!</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> what do&s;t thou mean by that cramp word? Why, <HI>Retention,</HI> an&s;wer'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> is as much as to &s;ay, That they who are once in Hell, never come out again: which &s;hall not be your hard fate this bout, if I can &s;tir my Heels to quick'n <HI>Ro&s;inante.</HI> And for Madam <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> when I come to be admitted into her pre&s;ence, I will tell her &s;uch wonderful and dreadful Stories of your Madne&s;s, and Extra|vagancies, that I will make her as &s;upple as a Glove, tho &s;he had a Heart of Oak. And when I have drawn from her an An&s;wer as &s;weet as <HI>Me|theglin,</HI> away will I come flying through the Air, as &s;wift as a Witch up|on a Broom-&s;tick, to relieve ye out of your Purgatory: for I will have it Purgatory, and not Hell, becau&s;e there is &s;ome hopes you may return to your Sen&s;es again. Let it be &s;o then, &s;aid <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> but how &s;hall we do to write this Letter, for I have neither Paper nor Ink, unle&s;s we &s;hould write upon the Leaves of the Trees, as they did in former times. But now I think on't, I have <HI>Cardenio</HI>'s Table-book, which will help us out at a dead lift; and then thou &s;halt get the Letter fairly tran&s;crib'd at the fir&s;t Village, where thou can&s;t meet with a Schoolma&s;ter that can write true <HI>Orthogra|phy.</HI> Or, for want of a Schoolma&s;ter, get the Clark of the Pari&s;h to do it; but be &s;ure thou never troubl &s;t a Lawyer, for the Devil him&s;elf will never be able to read Court-hand; more e&s;pecially beware of one that writes Sermons; for I hate Short-hand mortally. But how &s;hall I do for a Seal, reply'd <HI>Sancho?</HI> A bra&s;s Farthing will &s;erve, an&s;wer'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> tho I do not remember that ever <HI>Amadis</HI> made u&s;e of any Seal. But the Bill of Exchange mu&s;t be &s;ign'd, or el&s;e they will &s;ay 'tis counterfeit, and &s;o we &s;hall lo&s;e our A&s;&s;es. The Bill &s;hall be written in the Table-book, with my Sign Manual; and when my Neece &s;ees my Hand, &s;he'l never &s;cruple the delivery of the A&s;&s;es. And as for the Love-letter, do thou get it thus un|derwritten; <HI>Yours till Death, the Knight of the Ill-favour'd Countenance.</HI> 'Tis no matter for the Letter and the Sub&s;cription to be all of one Hand; for as I remember, <HI>Dulcinea</HI> can neither write nor read, nor did &s;he ever &s;ee any of my Writing in her Life. For our Amours have always been meerly <HI>Platonick;</HI> and tho I may &s;afely &s;wear, that for above the&s;e twelve Years &s;he has been dearer to me then my life, yet I never &s;aw her but four times; and I que&s;tion whether &s;he her &s;elf took notice that ever I look'd upon her, &s;o &s;trict a watch did old <HI>Richard Hogg</HI> of <HI>Stanwel,</HI> her Father, and <HI>Joan Hogg</HI> her Mother, keep over her.</P>
<P><HI>Cuds-bobs,</HI> cry'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> and is <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o</HI> the Daughter of <HI>Dick Hogg</HI> of <HI>Stanwel,</HI> otherwi&s;e <HI>Nan Hogg? &V;ds-fi&s;h,</HI> I know her as well as her Mother that bore her; &s;he's a Strapper y' faith, and pitches the Bar with e're a young Fellow i' the Village. The very &s;ame, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that's &s;he, and &s;he that de&s;erves to be Mi&s;tre&s;s of the whole Earth. Is that &s;he, quo <HI>Sancho!</HI> &s;he's a Bouncer, Begar-law; and one that will keep her Chin out o' the Mire, I warrant her, in de&s;pite of the be&s;t <HI>Knight Er|rant</HI> that wears a Head, Long <HI>Megg</HI> of <HI>We&s;tmin&s;ter</HI> was a Dwarf to her. One day I remember, &s;he &s;tood upon the top of our Steeple to call the Plough-men home to dinner, that were at work above half a League off;
<PB N="118" REF="71"> yet they heard her as plain, as if they had been ju&s;t under the Sun-dial. The be&s;t thing I know in her, is, That &s;he is not Coy, but will bid ye <HI>ki&s;s the top of her Nock</HI> as briskly as e're a <HI>Cogg&s;hall</HI> Wench that goes to Market; there's ne're a Water-man upon the <HI>Thames</HI> can out-rally her. In good truth, Sir <HI>Knight of the Ill-favour'd Countenance,</HI> you may venture as many <HI>Cat-leaps</HI> as you plea&s;e; you may run mad, you may hang your &s;elf for her &s;ake, there's no body but will &s;ay y' are a happy Man, tho the De|vil him&s;elf &s;hould be &s;o kind as to carry ye away a pick-pack. <HI>Nan Hogg!</HI> good God! how I broil to &s;ee the <HI>Tom-boy!</HI> for I have not &s;een her this many a day. Surely &s;he mu&s;t be &s;trangely alter'd by this time, for the Sun, and the Weather, and continual working i' the Fields, are wicked Enemies to female Beauty. How &s;trangely have I liv'd in Ignorance all this while! In good faith, Sir <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I dur&s;t ha' &s;worn this <HI>Madam Dulcinea</HI> had been &s;ome great Prince&s;s, or &s;ome Lady of high Quality, that was &s;till to be pre&s;ented with the Spoils of your Conque&s;ts, the <HI>Bi&s;cayner,</HI> the re&s;cu'd Slaves, and all the Trophies of your future Victories. By my troth, I cannot chu&s;e but laugh to think, if the <HI>Bi&s;cayner</HI> or the Slaves had been &s;uch Fools to have gone, and found Madam <HI>Fu&s;ty-luggs</HI> peeling o' Hemp, or thre&s;hing i' the Barn, what a pretty &s;ight it would ha' been to ha' &s;een 'em throw them&s;elves at the Feet of Madam <HI>Dowdy-Rampant,</HI> in a &s;ingle &s;hort Petticoat, &s;hewing her darn'd Ho&s;e, and patch'd Slip &s;hoes? Certainly they wou'd ha' thought the Devil had ow'd 'em a Shame; nor could Ma|dam <HI>Brawny-Arms</HI> have lookt upon it otherwi&s;e then an Abu&s;e.</P>
<P>I have oft'n times told thee, <HI>Sancho,</HI> that thy long Tongue wants clip|ping; and that tho thou art a Coxcomb and a Dunce, yet now and then thy Frumps bite too clo&s;e. And to &s;hew thee, that my Di&s;cretion exceeds thy Folly, I mu&s;t tell thee in the fir&s;t place, that I mind little what thou &s;ay'&s;t; in the &s;econd place, I tell thee again, that as to the u&s;e which I make of the Lady <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> &s;he &s;urpa&s;&s;es all the Prince&s;&s;es in the World, according to the Proverb; for, <HI>Joan's as good as my Lady i' the dark.</HI> Prethee tell me do&s;t think the <HI>Phillis's,</HI> the <HI>Silvia's,</HI> the <HI>Diana's,</HI> the <HI>Amarantha's,</HI> that ap|pear in &s;o many Poems and Sonnets, and upon &s;o many Stages, were Crea|tures made of Fle&s;h and Blood, or the real Mi&s;tre&s;&s;es of tho&s;e that &s;ung their <HI>Encomium's?</HI> No, no, never think it. For let all your Rimers bring a <HI>Scandalum Poetarum</HI> again&s;t me if they dare; I &s;ay they were meerly Imaginations of the Poets for a Ground-work, upon which to exerci&s;e their Wits. 'Tis &s;ufficient for me, that <HI>Nan Hogg</HI> is fair and cha&s;t; as for her Birth and Parentage, I value 'em not of Two-pence; and without troubling my &s;elf to examine her Pedegree any farther, I am &s;atisfy'd that &s;he is a great Prince&s;s. For, <HI>Sancho,</HI> Pox take thee, thou art to know, that the Vertues which chiefly oblige us to love a Woman, are Snout-fairne&s;s and Wi&s;dom, with both of which <HI>Dulcinea</HI> is endow'd to the height of Per|fection, as being, without all Di&s;pute, the mo&s;t &s;nout-fair and prudent Fe|male in the World All the <HI>Helena's</HI> and <HI>Lucretia's,</HI> all the Heroe&s;&s;es of for|mer Ages, <HI>Greeks, Romans,</HI> or <HI>Barbarians,</HI> were not worthy to be her Kitch|en-maids; and let 'em &s;ay what they will, if Fools contradict me, I am &s;ure men of Sen&s;e, if they have but try'd her once, will be o' my &s;ide. Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> you &s;peak rea&s;on in every thing, and I am the A&s;s; the Devil take me for &s;peaking that word; for 'tis ill talking of Halters i' the Hou&s;e of a Man that was hang'd. But where's the Letter all this while, for I long to be going. With that, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> pull'd out the Table-book, and retiring a little a&s;ide, in a &s;hort time fini&s;h'd his Epi&s;tle. Which having done, he call'd <HI>Sancho</HI> to him, and order'd him to li&s;t'n while he read it over
<PB N="119" REF="71"> to him; for, quo he, 'tis a thou&s;and pound to a Farthing if thou do&s;t not fall a drinking by the way, and lo&s;e the Table-book, therefore I would have thee carry it as well i' thy Memory, as i' thy Pocket; for I think no body &s;o &s;otti&s;h as to pick thy Brains. Pray Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> tear the Table-book, and gi' me two or three Copies; for to think I can learn it by heart, is a Madne&s;s, e&s;pecially &s;eeing my Memory is &s;o bad, that &s;ometimes I forget my own Name. However, you may read the Letter if you plea&s;e, that I may under&s;tand how &s;o write to a Mi&s;tre&s;s o' my own, &s;hould I have occa&s;ion. Well then, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> be uncover'd and li&s;t'n.</P>
<LETTER LANG="eng">
<HEAD>The LETTER.</HEAD>
<P>HE that is &s;tabb'd to the quick with the Poignard of Ab&s;ence, and wounded to the Heart with the Darts of his own Guilt, &s;ends thee that Health, which he wants him&s;elf. If thy Beauty di&s;dain me; if thy Vertue refu&s;e my Affection; if thou re&s;olv'd&s;t to bubble me, maugre all your Shams, and your Canting; as I am your Martyr, I have Patience enough to pocket up all your Di&s;dains. As to what remains, ingrateful fair One, and beloved Enemy of my Repo&s;e, my faithful Squire will give thee an Account of what I &s;uffer for thy &s;ake. If thou pity'&s;t me, I am thine; if not, take thy own Cour&s;e, and &s;et up for a rich Widow, while I end my Days in Sorrow to &s;atisfie thy Cruelty, and my own Fancy.</P>
<CLOSER><SIGNED><HI>Yours till Death,</HI> The Knight of the Ill-favour'd Countenance.</SIGNED></CLOSER>
</LETTER>
<P>By all the Sins that ever I committed, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> let me die if ever I read &s;uch a matchle&s;s Piece in all the <HI>My&s;teries of Love and Eloquence, Aca|demies of Complements,</HI> or <HI>Cupid's Cabinets</HI> that ever came forth. By the Maiden-head o' my Si&s;ter, I believe you are able to &s;ay or write what you plea&s;e your &s;elf. For certainly never human Wit brought in &s;o neatly by Head and Shoulders, <HI>yours till death, the Knight of the Ill-favour'd Countenance.</HI> A Man of my Profe&s;&s;ion, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> mu&s;t under&s;tand all things. Pray, Sir, then quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> write the Bill of Exchange for the three A&s;&s;es, and write your Sub&s;cription plain, that it may be known to be your hand. Which the frantick Champion did, and then read it in this Form.</P>
<LETTER LANG="eng">
<OPENER><SALUTE>Niece:</SALUTE></OPENER>
<P>PRay pay, upon &s;ight of this my fir&s;t Bill, three A&s;&s;es of the five, which I have at home, to <HI>Sancho</HI> my tru&s;ty Squire, for the Value receiv'd of him here: And for your &s;o doing, This, together with his Acquittance, &s;hall be your Di&s;|charge.</P>
<CLOSER><DATELINE>Given in the very Bowels of the Black Mountain, <DATE>the <HI>26th.</HI> of <HI>Augu&s;t,</HI> Anno <HI>6666.</HI></DATE></DATELINE></CLOSER>
</LETTER>
<P>'Tis very well, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> there wants only your Sub&s;cription. There needs no Sub&s;cription, an&s;wer'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> yet I'le &s;et my Mark, if thou wilt, and that's &s;ufficient for three A&s;&s;es. Well, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I rely up|on your Wor&s;hips Hone&s;ty, and &s;o give me your Ble&s;&s;ing, for I intend to be gone pre&s;ently, without troubling my &s;elf to &s;ee any more of your <HI>Fop|doodleries;</HI> for I am &s;o &s;ure of your performance, that I dare &s;wear to more then will &s;erve your turn.</P>
<PB N="120" REF="72">
<P>However, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> prethee &s;tay and &s;ee me &s;tark naked before thou go'&s;t; for I would fain have thee &s;ee me dance a matter of twenty or thirty <HI>new Borees A-la-mode du Bedlam,</HI> that thou may&s;t be able to &s;wear with an un&s;potted Con&s;cience; they'l be done in a trice; as for Example&mdash; Hold&mdash; hold &mdash; Sir, for the Love of God, let me not &s;ee ye naked for fear of turning my Stomach, which is very quea&s;ie at this time. But if I mu&s;t &s;ee any more of your Gambols, Sir, perform 'em i' your Clothes, and do what ye do briefly, and no more then what is ab&s;olutely material; for the &s;ooner I go, the &s;ooner I &s;hall return. And now gi' me leave to tell ye, I love ye &s;o well, that if Madam <HI>Dulcinea</HI> does not &s;atisfie my Expectations, I'le foot-ball her Guts till &s;he &s;pew up An&s;wers according to my mind. For 'tis not to be endur'd, that a Knight of your Quality &s;hould &s;uffer thus, with|out Rime or Rea&s;on, for &s;uch a <HI>Tinker</HI>'s <HI>Trull</HI> as &s;he&mdash; That's the be&s;t I can &s;ay, but I &s;hall tell her a piece more o' my Mind, if I find her acting the <HI>fliperous Minx</HI> i' my Company. Why, how now, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I think thou art grown as mad as my &s;elf. Not &s;o mad neither, quo <HI>San|cho,</HI> but in a damn'd pelting Chafe, as I think I have rea&s;on: But let that pa&s;s. And now I think on't, how will ye do for Victuals when I am gone? Here are no Mon&s;ieur <HI>Lockets,</HI> nor Mon&s;ieur <HI>Choquee's</HI> i' this Mountain: d'ye intend to rob the <HI>Goat-herds</HI> of their Bread and Chee&s;e as <HI>Cardenio</HI> did?</P>
<P>Never let that trouble thy unmannerly Brain, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for tho I liv'd next door to the two <HI>Blew Balls,</HI> I would feed upon nothing but the Herbs of the Field; for the Curio&s;ity of my Bu&s;ine&s;s lies in half &s;tarving my &s;elf, and &s;uch like au&s;tere <HI>Practices of Piety.</HI> There is another thing too, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I am very much afraid of, and that is, That I &s;hall never be able to find the way to this Place, 'tis &s;uch a By-hole. Take good notice of it be|forehand, quo <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> for I do not intend to budge from hence, till thy return; be&s;ide that, I intend &s;ometimes to &s;tand Sentinel upon the top of yonder Rock to ob&s;erve thy coming. But 'tis good to be &s;ure; and there|fore thy be&s;t way will be to cut down a good number of Boughs, and &s;trew 'em in the way, as thou rid'&s;t along, which willbe like the old Clue in <HI>Wood|&s;tock</HI> Bower, to guide thee to thy <HI>Ro&s;imand,</HI> thy loving Ma&s;ter, again. A Serjeant's Fee well &s;av'd, quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> and &s;o receiving his Ma&s;ter's Ble&s;|&s;ing, after a Deluge of Tears &s;hed on both &s;ides, he mounted <HI>Ro&s;inante;</HI> at what time, Friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I recommend to thy care the be&s;t Nag i' the World; prethee be as tender of him as the Apple of thy Eye. Never doubt it, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> and &s;o taking his leave once more, he &s;et forward, cutting down and &s;trowing &s;everal Boughs as he rid, according to advice. But he was &s;carce out of &s;ight, when he return'd again the &s;ame way he came; and being ask'd by his Ma&s;ter, what he would have? Sir, &s;aid he, I have con&s;ider'd of your Coun&s;el, and like it wondrous well; and therefore that I may &s;wear with a &s;afe Con&s;cience, I de&s;ire to &s;ee &s;ome three or four more of your raving <HI>Conundrums</HI> before I go. Why did I not tell thee &s;o, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and therefore &s;tay but while a Man that's in ha&s;te may mumble over his <HI>Creed,</HI> and I'le &s;hew thee half a dozen; and with that, &s;lipping off his Breeches naked to the wa&s;te, he gave two Frisks i' the Air, and falling upon the Paums of his hands, fetch'd his heels over his head, like a Tumbler, four times one after another, di&s;covering &s;uch a Ne&s;t of Deformity, that <HI>Sancho</HI> a&s;ham'd to behold it, turn'd his Hor&s;e's head, and rode away, fully &s;atisfy'd that he might &s;wear, without Forfeiture of his Ears, his Ma&s;ter was mad. And &s;o we leave him a while to fini&s;h his Jour|ney, till he return; which will not be long.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="12" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="121" REF="72">
<HEAD>CHAP. XII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">A Continuation of the Amorous Pranks which the courtly Knight of the <HI>Mancha</HI> plaid in the Black Mountain.</HEAD>
<P>THE Story &s;aies, That as &s;oon as the <HI>Knight of the Ill-favour'd Counte|nance</HI> &s;aw him&s;elf alone, after he had accompli&s;h'd all his frisking and tumbling Ceremonies, he a&s;cended to the top of a high Rock, and there began to con&s;ider with him&s;elf what Re&s;olution to take in a knotty Bu&s;ine&s;s, that very much perplex'd his Mind, whether he were be&s;t to imitate <HI>Orlando</HI> in his Fury, or <HI>Amadis</HI> in his Melancholly Extravagances. To which purpo&s;e, di&s;cour&s;ing with him&s;elf, <Q>If that <HI>Orlando,</HI> &s;aid he, was &s;o brave and valiant a Knight, as they &s;ay he was, I do not much wonder, in re|gard he was inchanted, &s;o that he could not be &s;lain but by a Pin thru&s;t through the bottom of his Foot, upon which he always wore Shoes that had &s;ixteen Soles a piece; yet that all this &s;tood him in no &s;tead when he met with <HI>Bernardo del Carpio,</HI> who under&s;tanding his Inchantment, &s;tifl'd him to death in his Arms in the Vale of the <HI>Red Hor&s;e.</HI> But &s;etting a&s;ide his Valour, let us examine his madne&s;s; for that he was frantick, is beyond all di&s;pute; and fell mad upon the News which the Shepherd brought him of the fair <HI>Angelica</HI>'s being debauch'd by <HI>Medor</HI> the <HI>Moor,</HI> with the <HI>curled Locks</HI> and <HI>Agramant</HI>'s Page. Now if he were &s;atisfy'd, that his Lady had pick'd up a Stone with her Ear, no wonder he &s;hould run mad. But how &s;hall I be able exactly to imitate him in his Frenzy, not having the &s;ame Cau&s;e. For I dare take my Oath before all the Ma&s;ters in <HI>Chancery</HI> i' the World, that <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o</HI> never &s;aw the <HI>Moor,</HI> &s;ince her Mother fir&s;t wip'd her Tail. So that I &s;hould do her a great Injury to turn &s;tark &s;ta|ring mad like <HI>Orlando.</HI> On the other &s;ide, I find that <HI>Amadis</HI> got as much Reputation for being a Lover, as he, tho he never lo&s;t his Wits, and rav'd like a meer <HI>Bedlam,</HI> as he did. For which he had no other Rea&s;on, as the Story relates, but becau&s;e the fair <HI>Oriana</HI> de&s;pis'd him, bidding him get out of her Chamber, and come when &s;he &s;ent for him. And this was the true and only Rea&s;on why he retir'd to the <HI>Poor Rock</HI> with the Her|mite, where he &s;nivell'd, and whin'd, and cry'd, and fill'd a whole Tun of <HI>Heidelbergh</HI> with his Tears; till Heav'n at length took pity of him, and &s;ent him Relief in the height of his Affliction, and in the Severity of his Penance. Which being true, as I know it is, why &s;hould I trouble my &s;elf to tear the Clothes off my back, to quarrel with Trees, and dam up Foun|tains that never did me any harm. Then long live the Memory of <HI>Amadis,</HI> let him be the Pattern for <HI>Don Quixote</HI> of the <HI>Mancha</HI> to imitate; and let it be &s;aid of him, as was &s;aid of the other, That if he did not perform &s;uch great Atchievements, yet his Heart was good; and tho <HI>Dulcinea</HI> did not bid him be gone, yet he went away of him&s;elf. Therefore turn out Boys, all Hands aloft, and may the noble Actions of <HI>Amadis</HI> in&s;pire me to find out the true way to follow his Example.</Q> This &s;aid, he call'd to mind that <HI>Amadis</HI> &s;pent mo&s;t of his time in Prayer; to which purpo&s;e he made him a Ro&s;ary of Acorns, in&s;tead of Beads: But he was extremely troubl'd for want of a Hermite to hear his Confe&s;&s;ion, and give him Ab&s;olution. However, he divertis'd him&s;elf with walking up and down the Meadow, and writing his Contemplations &s;ometimes i' the Du&s;t, &s;ometimes upon the Barks of Trees, all compos'd in Meeter, and accommodated to the &s;adne&s;s of
<PB N="122" REF="73"> his Condition, only that the Prai&s;es of <HI>Dulcinea</HI> were interlarded in every one. And it was a thou&s;and pities we could find none that were legible and entire, but only the&s;e that follow.</P>
<Q><TEXT LANG="eng">
<BODY>
<DIV1 TYPE="song">
<HEAD>The VERSES.</HEAD>
<LG>
<L>YE &s;preading Shades of lofty Trees,</L>
<L>So fair and lovely to the Sight;</L>
<L>And you more humble Plants, for Man</L>
<L>And Bea&s;t, both Pa&s;ture and Delight;</L>
<L>If my Complaints may Pity move,</L>
<L>Let your Attention my Complaints approve.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Alas!&mdash; I dye;</L>
<L>And there's good Rea&s;on too; for why?</L>
<L>I am in love up to the Ears;</L>
<L>Turn'd Fool, y' Faith, i' my old Years.</L>
<L>Hear then, O hear, a wretched Knight,</L>
<L>That moans and groans both Day and Night.</L>
<L>I pule and blubbler, cry and whine,</L>
<L>And all for want of my <HI>Dulcin|a del Tobo&s;o.</HI></L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Love burns me like a Gla&s;s-hou&s;e Fire,</L>
<L>As if my Flames did all con&s;pire</L>
<L>To melt my Armour from my Back.</L>
<L>Yet lying thus upon the Rack,</L>
<L>Ask me the rea&s;on of my Woe,</L>
<L>The Devil take me, if I know.</L>
<L>Only I &s;wagger, &s;wear, and rave,</L>
<L>Then <HI>Bedlam</HI>-like, &s;hew all I have,</L>
<L>And make a Noi&s;e, like any Swine,</L>
<L>For fear they &s;teal away <HI>Dulcin|a del Tobo&s;o.</HI></L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Knight-Errants formerly could find</L>
<L>Adventures fitted to their mind,</L>
<L>In every Bu&s;h and hollow Tree:</L>
<L>The Devil a' one can I hear &s;ee.</L>
<L>But &s;tead of Dragons and huge Snakes,</L>
<L>I meet with only Briers and Brakes.</L>
<L>I mu&s;t confe&s;s, for &s;ome Variety,</L>
<L>That little Whip&s;ter of a Deity,</L>
<L>He that, for Love, makes Men to burn,</L>
<L>Encounters me at every turn;</L>
<L>Which makes me bellow, bleat, and whine,</L>
<L>For fear they &s;teal my dear <HI>Dulcin|a del Tobo&s;o.</HI></L>
</LG>
</DIV1>
</BODY>
</TEXT></Q>
<P>This was the Employment of our Amorous <HI>Knight</HI> in this &s;ame mountain|ous De&s;art; who forgot not al&s;o to call upon the Fawns and Silvans of tho&s;e Groves, the Nymphs of the Rivers, and the mournful <HI>Echo,</HI> with great Im|portunity imploring their Attention, Condolement, and A&s;&s;i&s;tance. And
<PB N="123" REF="73"> when his Devotions were over, his Stomach would &s;et him at work to pick Sallets for the &s;upport of Nature. Which &s;ort of Hor&s;e Diet, without Bread, or Oil and Vinegar, reduc'd him to &s;uch a meager Condition, that had <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;taid three Weeks, as he tarry'd but three Days, his Mother that bore him, would never have known the Child of her own Womb.</P>
<P>Let us therefore leave our <HI>Hero</HI> to his Sobbs, and his Sighs, his Dumps and his Meditations, and &s;ee how <HI>Sancho</HI> behav'd him&s;elf in his Emba&s;&s;y. Who getting clear of the Mountain, took the direct Road to <HI>Tobo&s;o,</HI> and the next day about noon arriv'd near the Inn where he had been to&s;s'd i' the Blanket. He no &s;ooner de&s;cry'd it, but a &s;udden &s;hivering &s;eiz'd his Bones, and he fancy'd him&s;elf to be again at Leap-frog i' the Air; &s;o that he had a good mind to have rode farther before he drew bit, tho it were Dinner-time, and the poor Squire had eat'n nothing of a long time. But nece&s;&s;ity con|&s;training, he advanc'd to the Inn-Gate, where, while he &s;ate mu&s;ing whe|ther he &s;hould enter or no, two men came forth, and believing they knew him, cry'd one to t'other, Is not that <HI>Sancho Pancha,</HI> whom the Governe&s;s told us the <HI>Knight</HI> had inveigl'd along with him to be his Squire? 'Tis the &s;ame, an&s;wer'd the Curate; and more then that, he rides <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Hor&s;e. The&s;e two happen'd to be the Curate and the Barber, that upon a &s;evere Examination, had pa&s;s'd that dreadful Sentence upon the Books. Thereupon being confirm'd they were i' the right, they call'd him by his Name, and ask'd him where he had left <HI>Don Quixote? Sancho,</HI> who knew 'em full well, being loath to di&s;cover his Ma&s;ter's Condition; Gentlemen, &s;aid he, my Ma&s;ter is very deeply engag'd in a Bu&s;ine&s;s of great Importance, which I dare not di&s;cover for my life. No, no, Friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd the Barber, we mu&s;t not part wi' ye &s;o, unle&s;s you tell us where you have left your Ma&s;ter; otherwi&s;e we &s;hall believe you have murder'd him, and robb'd him of his Hor&s;e. In &s;hort, either tell us where your Ma&s;ter is, or re&s;olve to go to <HI>Newgate.</HI> Gentlemen, Gentlemen, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> there's no need of &s;o many Threats, I am no Murderer, nor Robber, but a Chri&s;tian, that leaves every one to fall by his own De&s;tiny, or by the Hands of God that made him. As for my Ma&s;ter, he is doing the mo&s;t plea&s;ant Penance i' the World at the foot of yonder Mountain; and &s;o &s;aying, he told 'em the whole Story from the beginning to the end; and how he was going with a Letter to Madam <HI>Dulcinea</HI> of <HI>Tobo&s;o,</HI> alias <HI>Nan Hogg,</HI> with whom his Ma&s;ter was mo&s;t de&s;perately fall'n in love. Thereupon the Curate and the Barber de&s;ir'd to &s;ee the Letter: To whom <HI>Sancho</HI> made An&s;wer, That it was written in a Table-book, but that his Ma&s;ter had order'd him to get it tran|&s;crib'd upon Guilt-paper, at the next Village he came at. Whereupon the Curate promi&s;ing to write it out in a fair Character, <HI>Sancho</HI> put his hand in his Pocket to give the Curate the Table-book, but found he had either left it behind him, or el&s;e that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> had forgot to give it him. This fatal Accident put <HI>Sancho</HI> into a cold Sweat, and made him look as pale, as if he had been newly pump'd in an Inns-a'-Court. He turn'd his Pockets th'in&s;ide outward, &s;earch'd all his Clothes, but &s;eeing there was no hopes, he rent his Beard from his Chin; and to puni&s;h his forgetful Scull, be-fi&s;ted his Blubber-Cheeks, till the Blood &s;pun from his No&s;e. The Curate and the Barber beholding him in &s;uch a Pa&s;&s;ion, yet laughing i' their Sleeves, ask'd him, Why he &s;o &s;everely cha&s;tiz'd him&s;elf? Alas! reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> I ha' lo&s;t at one time no le&s;s then three A&s;&s;es, of which the lea&s;t was as big as a Ca&s;tle. How &s;o, quo the Barber? Why I have lo&s;t the Table-book, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> wherein was written the Letter to Madam <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> and a Bill of Exchange, &s;ign'd with my Ma&s;ter's own Hand, for three A&s;&s;es of
<PB N="124" REF="74"> five he has at home; telling 'em withal, how unfortunately he had lo&s;t his own. But the Curate cheer'd him up, a&s;&s;uring him, that he would give him another Bill in Paper, more authentick then that which was writ|ten in the Table-book, which was not in due form. Nay then, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I care not a Straw for the lo&s;s of <HI>Dulcinea</HI>'s Letter, for I can &s;ay it almo&s;t by heart, and the Curate might tran&s;cribe it when he pleas'd. Let's hear it then, quo the Barber. Thereupon <HI>Sancho</HI> beginning to &s;tudy for the Words, fell a &s;cratching his Noddle, &s;tood fir&s;t upon one Foot, then up|on another, gap'd upon the Skies, skowl'd upon the Ground; laid one Hand upon his Eyes, and bit his Nails of the other: But at length de&s;pair|ing to recover what he &s;cratch'd for, I'le be hang'd, quo he, if the Devil han't a Hand i' this Plot; for o' my Soul, Mr. Curate, I can remember no|thing of this confounded Letter, but only that there was at the beginning, <HI>High</HI> and <HI>Subterrane Lady. Soveraign Lady,</HI> you would &s;ay, quo the Barber, not <HI>Subterrane.</HI> Ay, Ay, y' are i' the right, Mr. Barber, quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> but &s;tay, I think there was this too that follow'd; <HI>He that lies awake for want of Sleep, and wounded by your Ab&s;cence, ki&s;&s;es your Ladi&s;hip's Hands, mo&s;t ungrate|ful and di&s;dainful fair One.</HI> Something al&s;o he mention'd concerning <HI>Health and Sickne&s;s, which he wi&s;h'd her;</HI> and thus rambling on a good while, he concluded with, <HI>Yours till Death,</HI> The Knight of the Ill-favour'd Countenance.</P>
<P><HI>Sancho</HI>'s excellent Memory made the Curate and the Barber very good Sport, in&s;omuch that they de&s;ir'd him to repeat it over three or four times, which he did very freely; but &s;till every time he made &s;ome Addition or Alteration, which was extremely plea&s;ant. Then he told 'em, that if he return'd with a kind An&s;wer from Madam <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> that his Ma&s;ter was re|&s;olv'd to pro&s;ecute his Travels, and make him&s;elf an Emperor, or &s;ome Potent Monarch at lea&s;t; which it was ea&s;ie for his Ma&s;ter to do, con&s;ider|ing his Stength and Courage. Which being done, his Ma&s;ter would marry him to one of the Empre&s;&s;es Maids of Honour, Heire&s;s to a large Earldom upon the Continent, for that he was weary of I&s;lands. All which being &s;pok'n by <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;o feelingly, and &s;o &s;eriou&s;ly, ever and anon rubbing his No&s;e, and &s;troking his Beard, to &s;ignifie the A&s;&s;urance of his Hopes, did not a little amu&s;e both the Curate and Barber, till they con&s;ider'd the pre|valent Influences of plea&s;ing Dreams upon Fancies ea&s;ie to be deluded. However, they thought it not worth their while to rectifie his Judgment, &s;eeing it was a harmle&s;s Inchantment of the Sen&s;es, that tended to nothing of mi&s;chievous De&s;ign. And therefore they exhorted him to pray for the long Life and Health of his Ma&s;ter, in regard it was no improbable thing, but that in time by his Prowe&s;s he might either become an Emperor, or by his Prudence, an Arch-bi&s;hop.</P>
<P>How! an Arch-bi&s;hop, quo <HI>Sancho!</HI> Pray, Gentlemen, what Rewards do Arch-bi&s;hop-Errants be&s;tow upon their Squires? Why, it may be &s;ome good Benefice or Chaplain &s;hip; or el&s;e they make 'em their Clerks or Sex|tons, or el&s;e their Vergers, which brings 'em in a good Revenue; be&s;ides the Honour of wearing a Scarf, tho they be no Doctors by their Degrees. Oh, but then, be&s;ides that the Squire mu&s;t not be marry'd, he mu&s;t be a Man of Learning, and be able to preach &s;ometimes, or at lea&s;t, to make your Syllogi&s;ms again&s;t men that write again&s;t his Ma&s;ter. But for me that am marry'd, and can hardly read my Horn-book, what will become of me, if my Ma&s;ter &s;hould take a fancy to be an <HI>Arch-bi&s;hop?</HI> Set thy Heart at re&s;t, Friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo the Barber, we'l talk to him about it, and
<PB N="125" REF="74"> the Curate &s;hall enjoyn him under the Penalty of Damnation, rather to be an Emperor then an Arch-bi&s;hop: Which will be much better for him, in regard he is more valiant then learned. I am of your Opinion, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> tho for my part, I believe he is as well fitted for the one as the other. How|ever, the Burthen of my Prayers &s;hall be, to pray to God to grant him what &s;hall be mo&s;t proper for him, and what may be&s;t enable him to gratifie his Squire. You &s;peak like a wi&s;e Man, and a good Chri&s;tian, quo the Curate. But that which we have to do at pre&s;ent, is only to retrieve thy Ma&s;ter from that unprofitable Penance he has undertak'n; and therefore let's fir&s;t go to Dinner, and take a little time for Con&s;ideration. Gentlemen, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> you may dine at lei&s;ure, but I am in ha&s;te, and therefore pray &s;end me out a little Victuals to eat o' Hor&s;e-back; for I have a particular Rea|&s;on why I cannot alight, which I'le tell ye another time. Soon after the Barber brought him his Dinner, and returning to the Curate, after they had con&s;ulted together, quo the <HI>Curate</HI> to the <HI>Barber,</HI> I have thought of an Expedient, which is this: I will di&s;gui&s;e my &s;elf in the Habit of a <HI>Lady-Errant,</HI> and you &s;hall equip your &s;elf after &s;uch a manner, that you may follow me as my Squire. In this po&s;ture will I go to <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and feigning my &s;elf to be a di&s;tre&s;&s;ed Lady, that wants his A&s;&s;i&s;tance, beg a Boon of him, which I am &s;ure he will not deny me, as a <HI>Knight-Errant.</HI> By this means will I engage him to revenge an Injury done me by a certain Felon, and Traitor of a pretended Brother of the Order; be&s;eeching him at the &s;ame time, not to de&s;ire to &s;ee my Face, till he had done me Ju&s;tice upon the Mi&s;creant Violator of my Honour. This Bait will take, my life for your's; he'l look upon it as a Me&s;&s;age from Heav'n: and by this means we'll bring him back to his own Hou&s;e, where we'l endeavour to cure him of his Extravagancy.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="13" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XIII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">How the Curate and the Barber accompli&s;h'd their De&s;ign; with many other Occurrences of great Importance.</HEAD>
<P>THE Barber being highly pleas'd with the Curate's Project, they re|&s;olv'd to put it forthwith in Execution. To which purpo&s;e the Cu|rate borrow'd a compleat Woman's-Apparel of the Ho&s;te&s;s, leaving a new Silk Ca&s;&s;ock in Pawn; and the Barber made him a Beard of a Py'd-Oxe's Tail, half <HI>Dani&s;h,</HI> half grizl'd, with which the Inn-keeper was wont to clean his Combs. The Ho&s;te&s;s being curious to know what they intended to do with tho&s;e <HI>Gingombobs,</HI> the Curate was forc'd to tell 'em the Story of <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Extravagances, and the whole Drift of their De&s;ign. Upon which, the Inn-keeper told 'em the whole Story of the Bal&s;om, and of <HI>Sancho</HI>'s being to&s;s'd in a Blanket; and the Ho&s;te&s;s willing to forward their good Intention, dre&s;s'd up the Curate as fine as a Farmer's Daughter, going to meet her Sweet-heart at a Country-Fair; only with &s;o much of a Gentle|woman, as to wear a Vizor-mask to hide his Face and his Beard. Being thus fitted with proper Accoutrements, up got the Curate upon his Side-&s;addle, and the Barber mounted his Mule, taking their leave of the Ho&s;te&s;s and <HI>Maritornes,</HI> who, as great a Sinner as &s;he was, vow'd to tell over her Ro&s;ary no le&s;s then twenty times, for their good Succe&s;s.</P>
<PB N="126" REF="75">
<P>But they had not rode above fifty Paces, when the Curate began to be troubl'd in Con&s;cience; and what d' ye think was the Scruple? Why, he was afraid, that the Woman's Habit would ha' ravi&s;h'd him. A Par&s;on, quo he to the Barber, may Gentleman-u&s;her a young Lady i' the Streets, which is as bad a Sight too, but he mu&s;t not wear her Apparel. And there|fore good Neighbour, added he, prethee let us change Sexes, thou &s;halt be the Lady, and I'le be the Squire: Content, content, quo the Barber, I'le wear the Habit of a <HI>Mahometan,</HI> for a Je&s;t's &s;ake&mdash;</P>
<P>Now while the Barber was dre&s;&s;ing him&s;elf and managing his Pins, the Cu|rate would have pretended to in&s;truct him how to demean him&s;elf. Prethee, Mr. Curate, quo the Barber, a Barber is next a-kin to a <HI>Tire-woman,</HI> and there|fore let me alone to act a Lady, that have acted with &s;ome Ladies i' my time, when I was a young Smooth-chin'd Fellow.</P>
<P>Thus the Ho&s;te&s;&s;e's Sunday-Gown and Head-gear being chang'd for the Motley-Beard, they &s;purr'd on, while <HI>Sancho,</HI> who had o're-tak'n 'em by this time, entertain d 'em upon the Road with a Relation of <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s an|tick Behaviour, without mentioning a Word of the Money, or the Port|mantle. For as much a Fool as he was, he knew o' which &s;ide his Bread was butter'd.</P>
<P>The next day arriving where <HI>Sancho</HI> had &s;trew'd the Boughs for his Land-mark, they made a &s;top; and there, upon mature Deliberation, they order'd <HI>Sancho</HI> not to take the lea&s;t Notice who they were; but when <HI>Don Quixote</HI> enquir'd for <HI>Dulcinea</HI>'s An&s;wer, that he &s;hould tell his Ma&s;ter that &s;he had &s;ent it by Word of Mouth, in regard &s;he could neither write nor read; which was, That upon Pain of her high Di&s;plea&s;ure, he &s;hould, with|out delay, repair to her Pre&s;ence, for that &s;he had a longing De&s;ire to &s;ee and embrace him. To which they added, That there was no way but this to recover his Wits, that he might pro&s;ecute his De&s;ign of making him&s;elf an Emperor, a&s;&s;uring him they would take &s;uch Order, that he &s;hould never &s;o much as dream of an <HI>Arch-bi&s;hoprick.</HI></P>
<P><HI>Sancho</HI> thus in&s;tructed and order'd to bring back Tidings of what he had done, rode on to &s;eek out his Ma&s;ter, leaving the Curate and the Bar|ber by the &s;ide of a Brook, where the Shade and Verdure of a plea&s;ant Grove &s;helter'd 'em from the Heat of the Sun, which &s;hone very hot at that time, being about the middle of <HI>Augu&s;t.</HI></P>
<P>While they repos'd them&s;elves under that delightful Canopy, expecting <HI>Sancho</HI>'s return, they heard a Voice, which without the help of any In&s;trument, &s;eem'd to ravi&s;h their Ears. And their Admiration was &s;o much the greater, to hear &s;uch Charms of artful Melody in &s;o wild and de&s;art a Solitude: Be|&s;ides that, the Words them&s;elves &s;avour'd &s;omething of rural Compo&s;ition; being the &s;ame that are here in&s;erted.</P>
<Q><LG>
<L>VVHat Female Plague is this that haunts my Brain?</L>
<L>Severe Di&s;dain.</L>
<L>What's that which will not let my Soul be free?</L>
<L>'Tis Jealou&s;ie.</L>
<L>But what does my Impatience thus provoke?</L>
<L>Long Ab&s;ence from a Smock.</L>
<L>Then farewel Fro&s;t&mdash; what can become of me?</L>
<L>When Two bauk'd <HI>Hercules,</HI> and here are Three.</L>
<L>O pity, pity thus a Lover &s;lain</L>
<L>By Ab&s;ence, Jealou&s;ie, and proud Di&s;dain.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<PB N="127" REF="75">
<L>What makes me trifle thus away my Youth?</L>
<L>Fortune, for&s;ooth.</L>
<L>Who fir'd my Brea&s;t, and does the Flames improve?</L>
<L>Half Lu&s;t, half Love.</L>
<L>And who refu&s;es my Complaints to hear?</L>
<L>That's Heav'n I fear.</L>
<L>Then bad proves wor&s;e, and I am lo&s;t again,</L>
<L>When Fortune, Love and Heav'n con&s;pire my Pain:</L>
<L>For well we know, at Foot-ball Three are Odds,</L>
<L>But here are Six&mdash; Where are ye, O ye Gods?</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Now what's the Cure? the &s;ame that cur'd <HI>Mackbeth.</HI></L>
<L>Oh Heav'ns! that's Death.</L>
<L>Is there no other way, if Death &s;hould falter?</L>
<L>Oh yes, a Halter!</L>
<L>But then I fear that Men will call me Fool;</L>
<L>Mo&s;t &s;ure they wooll.</L>
<L>How! die or hang, and be call'd Fool to boot!</L>
<L>As long as I can live, I'le never do't.</L>
<L>Then Fortune hang, hang Jealou&s;ie, Di&s;dain,</L>
<L>And Love&mdash; I'le live, and never love again.</L>
</LG></Q>
<P>The Time, the Hour, the Solitarine&s;s of the Place, the Voice and Skill, with which the un&s;een Per&s;on &s;ang, &s;o charm'd the Ears of the Hearers, that they determin'd to find out the Mu&s;ician, and proffer him their Service; but hearing the &s;ame Voice begin another Ayr, they were ea&s;ily induc'd to &s;top, and li&s;t'n to the following Words.</P>
<Q><LG>
<L><HI>I</HI> Never con&s;ider'd that <HI>Love</HI> was a Cheat,</L>
<L>When fir&s;t I began to woe;</L>
<L>But now I confe&s;s I find it, too late,</L>
<L>That Plea&s;ure and Int're&s;t govern below.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Men court not the Virgin, but meerly the Action,</L>
<L>And all to procure a Self-&s;atisfaction;</L>
<L>And now too, the Virgins are all grown &s;o wary,</L>
<L>That only for Riches and Honour they'l marry.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Such a Fool was I once to woe, and to court,</L>
<L>And thought my &s;elf &s;ure of my Mi&s;tre&s;s's Heart;</L>
<L>But when the <HI>Duke's Son</HI> came once to appear,</L>
<L>Away was I &s;ent with a Flea i' my Ear.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>The Poets therefore were a Number of Owls,</L>
<L>To make &s;uch a &s;tir with a Baby-fac'd Chit;</L>
<L>Employing <HI>Priapus</HI> to &s;care the wild Fowls,</L>
<L>That rules both our Love, our Rea&s;on and Wit.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L><HI>Priapus</HI> the Father of all the <HI>Graces,</HI></L>
<L>He's th' only Beginning and End of our woing;</L>
<L>Your Oaths, and Prote&s;ts, and alluring Grimaces,</L>
<L>They all do but end in ki&s;&s;ing and doing.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<PB N="128" REF="76">
<L>And then for the Maid, 'tis th' E&s;tate &s;he would have,</L>
<L>The Coach and Six Hor&s;es her Love do encourage;</L>
<L>But alas! for if either do either deceive,</L>
<L>Love pre&s;ently cools like a Me&s;s of Beef-Porridge.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>There's nothing but Vertue the Object of Love,</L>
<L>Nor Beauty, nor Colour, Love minds i' the lea&s;t,</L>
<L>They'r are only the Idols of Plea&s;ure, by <HI>Jove,</HI></L>
<L>Where th' Altar's De&s;ire, <HI>Priapus</HI> High Prie&s;t.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Ah! had I con&s;ider'd the&s;e things before,</L>
<L>I had never run mad in <HI>Sierra Morena;</HI></L>
<L>Then Fondne&s;s and Kindne&s;s go both to <HI>Gehenna,</HI></L>
<L>For as a true Lover I'le never court more.</L>
</LG></Q>
<P>This Sonnet concluded with a deep Sigh, and Throbs &s;o loud and vehement, that the <HI>Curate</HI> and <HI>Barber,</HI> touch'd with Compa&s;&s;ion and Curio&s;ity, re&s;olv'd to find out who this di&s;tre&s;&s;ed Song&s;ter was. Nor was it long before they di&s;cover'd at the foot of a Rock, a Man who&s;e Shape and A&s;pect an&s;wer'd directly to the De&s;cription which <HI>Sancho</HI> had giv'n of <HI>Cardenio,</HI> who &s;pying them two, &s;top'd &s;hort, and &s;tood with his Chin upon his Brea&s;t, like one in a profound Study, never &s;o much as lifting up his Eyes to mind what they did. The Curate, who was a very charitable Per&s;on, went toward him, and in mo&s;t obliging Language earne&s;tly be&s;ought him, to abandon &s;uch a de&s;ert Solitude, and a Cour&s;e of life &s;o forlorn and mi&s;erable, which endan|ger'd his Salvation, that was to be priz'd above all things in this World.</P>
<P><HI>Cardenio</HI> was then free from his raving Fits; yet &s;eeing two Per&s;ons in a quite different Habit then what was wont to appear in tho&s;e De&s;arts, was not alittle &s;urpriz'd at fir&s;t; but then perceiving that they &s;poke as if they under&s;tood &s;omething of his Concerns; Gentlemen, &s;aid he, whoe're ye be, I find Heav'n compa&s;&s;ionating my Misfortunes, has brought ye to the&s;e un|frequented Wilderne&s;&s;es to retrieve me from this affrightful Retirement, and recover me to the Society of Men. But becau&s;e you know not &s;o well as my &s;elf, that the end of one Mi&s;ery will be but the beginning of another; con&s;idering my Condition, you may probably take me for &s;ome unfortunate Creature that has lo&s;t his Rea&s;on and Sen&s;es: And indeed you have &s;uffici|ent Cau&s;e to think &s;o. For I find by my &s;elf, that the Remembrance of my misfortunes frequently di&s;tracts me to that degree, that I unman my &s;elf for the time, and commit tho&s;e Extravagances, which are only the Effects of irrational Rage and Frenzy. For which, when I happ'n to be rebuk'd and blam'd, I can alledge no other Excu&s;e, but only the Cau&s;e of my Misfortune that occa&s;ion'd tho&s;e irregular Actions, and then I tell the Story of my hard Fate, to all that have the Patience to hear it. And therefore, Gentlemen, if you come here with that Intention, I de&s;ire ye, before ye go about to per&s;wade me to alter my Cour&s;e of life, to hear the Relation of my woful Calamities; and then you will &s;ee, whether after &s;o many Suf|ferings, and &s;o little Con&s;olation among men, I have not Rea&s;on &s;ufficient to exile my &s;elf from human Conver&s;e. Thereupon the Curate and the Barber, who de&s;ir'd nothing more then to hear the Story from his own Mouth, with great Importunity reque&s;ted the Favour of him to gratifie their Curio&s;ity, a&s;&s;uring him, That they had no De&s;ign, but thereby to find what Remedies might be mo&s;t &s;utable to his Condition.</P>
<PB N="129" REF="76">
<P><HI>Cardenio</HI> then began, and went on with the fir&s;t part of his Story, as has been already related, &s;o far as till <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> out of his Nicene&s;s to ob|&s;erve the <HI>Decorum</HI> of <HI>Chivalry,</HI> gave an Interruption to the Relation, by quarrelling about <HI>Tom Thumb,</HI> and the Queen of <HI>Trumps.</HI> But <HI>Cardenio</HI> being now at lei&s;ure to fini&s;h his Story, and coming to that Pa&s;&s;age con|cerning the <HI>Billet-doux</HI> &s;ent him by <HI>Lucinda,</HI> and which <HI>Ferdinand</HI> found to be tran&s;crib'd out of <HI>Amadis de Gaul,</HI> he told 'em, that as far as he could re|member, the Contents of it were the&s;e.</P>
<Q><TEXT LANG="eng">
<BODY>
<DIV1 TYPE="document">
<HEAD>Lucinda <HI>to</HI> Cardenio</HEAD>
<P><HI>I</HI> Di&s;cover in ye every day new Occa&s;ions to value and e&s;teem your Worth. If you will therefore have me di&s;charge this Debt, without &s;erving an Execution upon my Honour, you may do it. I have a Father that knows you, who, without putting any Con&s;traint upon my Will, is ready to conde&s;cend to whatever &s;hall be ju&s;t and honourable. So that now it remains with you to &s;hew that you love me as you pretend, and I believe.</P>
</DIV1>
</BODY>
</TEXT></Q>
<P>This Letter it was that embolden'd me to demand <HI>Lucinda</HI> of her Father in Marriage, and made <HI>Don Ferdinand</HI> have &s;o good an Opinion of her Wit and Di&s;cretion, and put him upon a De&s;ign to de&s;troy me, before I could bring my own De&s;ires to pa&s;s. I told <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI> the Scope of the An&s;wer, which <HI>Lucinda</HI>'s Father had giv'n me, That it was for my own Father to propo&s;e the bu&s;ine&s;s fir&s;t; which I dur&s;t not reveal to my Father, for fear he &s;hould put a &s;top to my Proceedings. Not that he was ignorant of the Quality, Beauty, and Vertue of <HI>Lucinda,</HI> which were &s;ufficient to en|title her an Ornament to the noble&s;t Hou&s;e in <HI>Spain;</HI> but becau&s;e he was unwilling to marry me, till he &s;aw what the Duke would do for me. To remove this Ob&s;tacle, <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI> proffer'd to &s;peak to my Father, and oblige him to treat with <HI>Lucinda</HI>'s. And now who would have thought that <HI>D. Ferdinand,</HI> who&s;e Quality and Merit render'd him capable to court the greate&s;t Ladies in the Kingdom, and who pretended &s;o much Kindne&s;s and Friend&s;hip for me, &s;hould lay &s;uch a treacherous De&s;ign to deprive me of all the Happine&s;s of my life? But &s;o it was; for <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI> finding my Pre&s;ence ob&s;tructed his Project, the &s;ame day that he undertook to &s;peak to my Father, made an ab&s;olute Bargain for &s;ix Hor&s;es, and pre&s;ent|ly de&s;ir'd me to ride away to his Brother for Money to pay for 'em. He could no &s;ooner ask, but have of me; &s;o little did I &s;u&s;pect his Treachery, believing him to be a Man of Honour. So that Night I went to take my leave of <HI>Lucinda,</HI> and to tell her what <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI> had promis'd to do. She bid me make ha&s;te back again, not doubting but the Bu&s;ine&s;s would be done, &s;o &s;oon as the two old Men had parly'd together. But whatever <HI>Lucinda</HI> had in her mind at that time, I am &s;ure I could &s;ee nothing but Tears in her Eyes; which put me into a great Confu&s;ion, not being able to conjecture the Rea&s;on of her Di&s;content, which I could only attribute to the tenderne&s;s of her Affection, and unwillingne&s;s to part with me.</P>
<P>In &s;hort, away I went full of Fears, and jealous Imaginations, for which I could give no rea&s;on i' the Earth. I deliver'd <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI>'s Letter to his Brother, who receiv'd me with all the Kindne&s;s imaginable, but did not &s;o &s;oon di&s;patch me. For, to my great Grief, he enjoyn'd me to tarry eight days, and to keep my &s;elf private, for fear of being &s;een by the Duke, for that his Brother had &s;ent for Money unknown to his Father. But this was only a trick of <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI>'s to delay my Return; for his Brother
<PB N="130" REF="77"> never wanted Money, and might have pre&s;ently di&s;patch'd me, had he &s;o pleas'd.</P>
<P>Thereupon I was about to have return'd without the Money, rather then obey an Injunction &s;o intollerable; not able to endure &s;uch a tedious Ab|&s;ence from <HI>Lucinda,</HI> con&s;idering in what a Condition I had left her. But the fear of di&s;obliging my Father, and doing an Action which I could not rationally ju&s;tifie, prevail'd over my Impatience. Some four days after my Arrival, a Me&s;&s;enger brought me a Letter, which I found came from <HI>Lucin|da;</HI> I open'd it with an aking Heart, &s;urpriz'd that it &s;hould be &s;ent by a man o' purpo&s;e. However, before I read it, I ask'd the Me&s;&s;enger, Who gave it him, and how long he had been upon the Road? He an&s;wer'd me, That pa&s;&s;ing by accidentally i' the Street, a very fair Lady, with Tears in her Eyes, call'd me to the Window, and in very great ha&s;te; If you be a Chri&s;tian, &s;aid &s;he, as you &s;eem to be, for the Love of God, take this Let|ter, and carry it, without delay, according to the Direction, but deliver it into the Gentleman's own Hand; and having &s;o &s;aid, &s;he threw me a Hand|kerchief, wherein I found five Guinies, a Jewel, and a Letter; and then having made her a Promi&s;e of my Fidelity, &s;he &s;hut the Window.</P>
<P>All the while the Fellow &s;poke, a thou&s;and Fears, and ominous Jealou|&s;ies a&s;&s;ail'd me, quaking and &s;hiv'ring, like a man fac'd by a Fiend at Mid|night; but at la&s;t recollecting my &s;elf, I read the Letter, of which the&s;e were the Contents.</P>
<LETTER LANG="eng">
<P><HI>DON Ferdinand</HI> has been as good as his word, for he has &s;pok'n to your Fa|ther; but as the Proverb &s;aies, <HI>one word for you, and two for him&s;elf.</HI> He has demanded me in Marriage, and my Father blinded by the Advantages, which he expects from &s;uch an Alliance, has &s;o far con&s;ented, that two days hence the Marriage is to be con&s;ummated; and that &s;o privately, that only Heav'n and &s;ome of the Family are to be Witne&s;&s;es. Judge you how much I am concern'd for your &s;ake; and therefore ha&s;t'n your Return with all &s;peed: The I&s;&s;ue of this Bu&s;i|ne&s;s &s;hall &s;hew how much I am Your's.</P>
</LETTER>
<P>I had no &s;ooner read the Letter, but away I flew, without taking leave. For then it was that I di&s;cover'd <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI>'s Treachery, and that he had &s;ent me of his Errand, only to take the Advantage of my Ab&s;ence. Anger, Love, and Impatience furni&s;h'd me with Wings; &s;o that I got home be|times; and that Evening I found <HI>Lucinda</HI> at the Window, but I did not meet with that Reception which I expected. <HI>Cardenio,</HI> &s;aid &s;he, my Wed|ding-clothes are on, and they expect me in the Hall to complete the Cere|mony. Yet know, my Father, the Traitor <HI>Ferdinand,</HI> and the re&s;t, may be Wit|ne&s;&s;es of my Death, but never of my Nuptials. Ne're trouble thy &s;elf, my dear <HI>Cardenio!</HI> for if Intreaties and Words will not prevail, this Dagger &s;hall do me Ju&s;tice; and the Period of my life &s;hall be an undeniable Proof of thy Love and my Fidelity; and I would have thee, if thou can&s;t, be pre&s;ent to behold the Sacrifice. Let thy Deeds, <HI>Lucinda,</HI> cry'd I, make good thy Words: For if thou carry'&s;t a Dagger to pre&s;erve the Truth of thy Vows and Prote&s;tations, I wear a Sword, which if it be not able to defend us, I will turn it upon my own Brea&s;t, rather then out-live my Shame. I cannot tell whether <HI>Lucinda</HI> heard me, for &s;he was call'd away in great ha&s;te; at what time &s;uch was my Confu&s;ion, that my Eyes, and my Sen&s;es fail'd me both at one time. But at length recovering my &s;elf, and con&s;i|dering the Promi&s;e I had made, and withal, how u&s;eful I might be to her at &s;uch a time of need; I got into the Hou&s;e, being then all in a hurry,
<PB N="131" REF="77"> undi&s;cover'd by any body, and plac'd my &s;elf behind the Hangings in the Hall, where two pieces of Tape&s;try joyn'd, and gave me liberty to &s;ee, yet not be &s;een.</P>
<P><HI>Ferdinand</HI> enter'd the Hall in his u&s;ual Habit, with only a Cou&s;in-German of <HI>Lucinda</HI>'s, the re&s;t were the People of the Hou&s;e. Soon after appear'd <HI>Lucinda</HI> her &s;elf, accompany'd by her Mother, and attended by two of her Maid-Servants, in a Dre&s;s befitting her Quality, and an&s;werable to the So|lemnity of the Ceremony; but notwith&s;tanding all her Pomp, her Pearls and Jewels were all eclips'd by the Lu&s;tre of her Beauty.</P>
<P>And now all Parties being met, the cur&s;ed Prie&s;t enter'd, and taking the two betroth'd Per&s;ons by the Hands, he ask'd <HI>Lucinda,</HI> Whether &s;he were willing to take <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI> for her wedded Husband? With that I thru&s;t out my Head from between the two Tape&s;tries, and li&s;ten'd attentively to hear <HI>Lucinda</HI>'s An&s;wer; which I look'd upon as the Sentence of my Life or Death. Wretch that I was! Who hinder'd me then from &s;hewing my &s;elf, and putting <HI>Lucinda</HI> in mind of her Promi&s;e? Who prevented me from laying before her what &s;he ow'd me, and letting her &s;ee how &s;he ruin'd me by her Silence? Who hinder'd me from taking my full Revenge upon <HI>D. Ferdinand,</HI> the Troubler of my Life's Tranquility, when my Ho|nour and my Love lay at Stake?</P>
<P>All this while the Prie&s;t tarry'd for <HI>Lucinda</HI>'s An&s;wer, who was a long time before &s;he gave it: And I expected when &s;he would make u&s;e of her Dagger, to di&s;engage her &s;elf from the Labyrinth &s;he was in, or plead her former Vows and Prote&s;tations, and plighted Troth to my Advantage. But woe is me! at length with a faint and low Voice I heard her pronounce the fatal <HI>Yes;</HI> and then <HI>Ferdinand</HI> &s;aying the &s;ame, gave her the Ring by which the indi&s;&s;oluble Knot was ty'd. Which done, the Villain Bridegroom &s;tepp'd forward to embrace his Bride, who laying her Hand upon her Heart, &s;wooned away in her Mother's Arms.</P>
<P>You may ea&s;ily conjecture the Confu&s;ion I was in, &s;eeing the Fal&s;hood of <HI>Lucinda</HI>'s Promi&s;es, all my Hopes fru&s;trated, and my &s;elf, with the &s;aying of one Word, depriv'd of the &s;ole Happine&s;s and Trea&s;ure of my Life. I look'd upon my &s;elf to be the Object of Heaven's Wrath, that had aban|don'd me to the Cruelty of my De&s;tiny; the Abomination of the Earth that gave me Being, while the Air deny'd me Breath &s;ufficient for my Sighs, and the Water Moi&s;ture to &s;upply my Eyes.</P>
<P><HI>Lucinda</HI>'s Swooning troubl'd the whole Company, and her Mother having unlac'd her to give her Air, found in her Bo&s;om a Paper &s;eal'd up<GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="UOM" EXTENT="1 letter"> which, when <HI>Ferdinand</HI> had open'd and read, he &s;ate down in a Chair with all the Signs of Melancholy and Di&s;content, as if he had forgot the Di&s;a&s;ter of his new-marry'd Bride. For my own part, I was re&s;olv'd as fir&s;t, to have &s;atisfy'd my Re&s;entment in puni&s;hing the Perfidiou&s;ne&s;s of that Traitor <HI>Fer|dinand,</HI> which I might ea&s;ily have done, con&s;idering the Di&s;order and Con|fu&s;ion i' the Hou&s;e at that time. But Heav'n that re&s;erves me perhaps for greater Misfortunes, allow'd me the u&s;e of that &s;mall Remainder of my Sen|&s;es, which afterwards quite for&s;ook me; &s;o that I left the Hou&s;e quietly and peaceably, re&s;olving to inflict the Puni&s;hments due to <HI>them</HI> upon my &s;elf, for tru&s;ting to the Faith of Mankind.</P>
<P>The very &s;ame time I left the Town, and as I rode along under the Pro|tection of Night and Silence, I vented my Pa&s;&s;ion in Execrations again&s;t the fal&s;e and treacherous <HI>Ferdinand,</HI> and in no le&s;s loud Complaints of ingrateful and perjur'd <HI>Lucinda</HI>'s Cruelty.</P>
<PB N="132" REF="78">
<P>The next Morning I found my &s;elf at the foot of the&s;e Mountains, where I wander'd for three Days together, without ob&s;erving any Road, till at la&s;t meeting with certain Shepherds in the adjoyning Meadows, I enquir'd the way to the mo&s;t de&s;art and &s;olitary part of the Mountain. When I came to the foot of the&s;e Rocks, my Mule, quite tir'd and fami&s;h'd, fell down dead; and I my &s;elf was &s;o weak, and ca&s;t down, that I could hard|ly &s;tand upon my Feet. This I remember, that finding my &s;elf in that langui&s;hing Condition, I threw my &s;elf upon the Gra&s;s, where I lay &s;tretch'd forth like a Corps; but when I ro&s;e again, I could not perceive I had any Appetite to eat; by which I conjecture, that the Shepherds had giv'n me &s;ome &s;ort of Su&s;tenance, tho I were not &s;en&s;ible of their Relief: And they told me afterwards, in what a mi&s;erable Condition they found me, raving and tearing, that they thought me quite out o' my Wits. And in|deed, to tell ye the truth, I have not found my &s;elf perfectly in my Sen&s;es never &s;ince; while my di&s;tracted Thoughts have hurry'd me to commit a Thou&s;and Extravagances; tearing my Clothes, filling the Air with loud Cur&s;es, Lamentations, and Repetitions of <HI>Lucinda</HI>'s Name, with no other De&s;ign then to expire in the pronouncing it; and when I came to my &s;elf, I found my &s;elf weary and tir'd, as if I had rid a hard-trotting Hor&s;e for fifty Miles together. My Man&s;ion-hou&s;e is generally a hollow Cork-tree, where the Shepherds and Goat-herds leave me their Charity for the Sup|port of my Life; for Nature is &s;till in her Wits, tho <HI>Cardenio</HI> be mad. Some|times the&s;e hone&s;t People meet me in my lucid Intervals, and check me for robbing 'em of their Provi&s;ion, and abu&s;ing their Servants, e&s;pecially be|ing &s;o liberal of their own accords: Which was a great Affliction to me, and then I promis'd amendment for the future, tho my wild Humour would not &s;uffer me many time to be &s;o good as my word.</P>
<P>Thus Gentlemen, do I lead a mi&s;erable life, expecting when Heaven will either put a Period to my days, or raze out of my Remembrance the Beauty and Ingratitude of <HI>Lucinda,</HI> and <HI>Ferdinand</HI>'s Perfidiou&s;ne&s;s. In the mean time, I beg of Heav'n to look upon me with an Eye of Compa&s;&s;ion, &s;ince I cannot believe &s;uch a Cour&s;e of life as this, can be any way plea&s;ing to God; tho I am not able to re&s;olve any thing of my &s;elf, under the Load of the&s;e Misfortunes that overwhelm me, and &s;urmount the Strength of my Rea&s;on.</P>
<P>Here <HI>Cardenio</HI> having made an end of his doleful Story, and &s;uch a frank Confe&s;&s;ion, that the Curate was about to have giv'n him Ab&s;olution; when of a &s;udden they heard the mournful Accents of another &s;ad Com|plaint, which prickt up their Ears to new Attention; of which you &s;hall have a true account in the Fourth Book. For <HI>Cid-Hamet-Benengeli</HI> will not admit the Third Part to reach any farther.</P>
<PB REF="78">
</DIV3>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="4" TYPE="book">
<PB REF="79">
<P><FIGURE>
<FIGDESC>Don Quixote's enchantment</FIGDESC>
<P>Don Quixot's Inchantment, page 243.</P>
</FIGURE></P>
<P><FIGURE>
<FIGDESC>Don Quixote arrested</FIGDESC>
<P>&mdash; Don Quixot Arre&s;ted, and carried home in a Cage. page 255. 26i.</P>
</FIGURE></P>
<DIV3 N="1" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="135" REF="79">
<HEAD>THE FOURTH BOOK Of the mo&s;t Ingenious KNIGHT, Don Quixote DE LA MANCHA. PART I. BOOK IV.</HEAD>
<HEAD>CHAP. I.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Of the new and plea&s;ant Adventure which befell the Curate and the Bar|ber in the <HI>Black Mountain.</HI></HEAD>
<P>MO&s;t fortunate were tho&s;e Times, and happy was the Womb that brought into the World the bold and valiant <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> who&s;e &s;teady Re&s;olution to re&s;tore to the World the al|mo&s;t lo&s;t, and, as it were, decea&s;ed Order of <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> gives us a ble&s;&s;ed Opportunity in this our Age, quite bankrupt of Pa&s;time for the mind, to enjoy not only the Plea&s;ure of his delightful Story, but al&s;o other Co|mical Novels and Tales. We told ye, that the Curate intending a Chap|ter of Con&s;olation to <HI>Cardenio,</HI> was prevented by a Voice that loudly breath'd forth the doleful Moans of a troubl'd Mind, in the&s;e Words. <Q>Heav'ns! is it po&s;&s;ible, that I have at length found out a lurking Hole, wherein to conceal my &s;elf from the Eyes of all Mankind, and where to bury this pon|derous Load of Fle&s;h and Garbage; a Burthen too heavy for my oppre&s;&s;ed Soul? How happy am I to find in the&s;e mountainous Solitudes that Repo&s;e and Tranquility, which is not to be found among Men; and where I may have Liberty to tell Heav'n a piece o' my mind, and condole the Misfor|tunes with which I am unju&s;tly over-whelm'd. Compa&s;&s;ionate Heav'n, hear my Complaints! 'tis to you that I addre&s;s my &s;elf; for Men are Fools and Knaves, and you alone can give me Con&s;olation, and tell me in plain <HI>Engli&s;h</HI> what I have to do.</Q> Thereupon the Curate and his Company, cu|rious to know what Son of Tribulation it was that utter'd the&s;e doleful Lamentations, follow'd their No&s;es, where their Ears directed 'em. Nor
<PB N="136" REF="80"> had they gon above twenty Paces, before they &s;py'd a young Lad to all outward Appearance, &s;itting at the foot of a Rock, under an A&s;h-tree. He was clad in a Countrey-habit, but his Face they could not &s;ee, being bow'd almo&s;t upon his Knees, as he &s;ate wa&s;hing his Feet in a clear and purling Stream that glided gently by. They approach'd him &s;o &s;oftly, that he ne|ver perceiv'd 'em; &s;o that they had the lei&s;ure to &s;urvey a pair of Thighs &s;o plump, &s;o white, &s;o well-&s;hap'd, that nothing could appear more beauti|ful. A Spectacle that &s;trangely &s;urpriz'd 'em in a per&s;on, who&s;e Clothes di&s;cover'd him to be no other then &s;ome Gardiner, or Farmer's Son. Ble&s;s us, quo they! &s;uch Thighs, &s;uch Legs, and Alabla&s;ter-Feet as tho&s;e, were never made to follow Plough-tails, or tread Gard'n-plats. Thereupon the Curate, who began to &s;mell a Rat, beckon'd to the re&s;t of the Company to go and hide them&s;elves behind the Rock: Which they did, and from thence making a &s;tricter Ob&s;ervation, they found the young Stripling had on a Ru&s;&s;et Goat of coar&s;e <HI>Kenti&s;h</HI> Cloth, ty'd about his Wa&s;te with a kind of a long Linen Neckcloth, in&s;tead of a Scarf, and a pair of Breeches of the &s;ame, together with a Sailor's Thrum-Cap button'd up o' one &s;ide, and lin'd underneath with green Taffaty; all Sunday's Apparrel, before <HI>George.</HI> Af|ter he had wa&s;h'd his Lilly-white Toes, he wip'd 'em with a Napkin which he pull'd out of his Codpiece. But then looking up, What d' ye think they di&s;cover'd? No parts of Di&s;tinction, I beg your Favour for that, but &s;uch a matchle&s;s Face, that <HI>Cardenio</HI> cry'd out, This is either <HI>Lucinda,</HI> or an Angel from Heaven. By and by the young Lad taking off his Cap, and &s;haking his Head, &s;uch a lovely Quantity of di&s;hevel'd <HI>Venus</HI> hair co|ver'd all his Shoulders, and thence fell down to his Feet, &s;o thick and Sun|beam like, that it was apparent they had mi&s;tak'n a <HI>Corydon</HI> for an <HI>Amar|rillis,</HI> a young Lad for a young Dam&s;el, and one of the fair'&s;t that ever Eyes beheld, except it were <HI>Lucinda,</HI> for that <HI>Cardenio</HI> would by no means allow. In&s;tead of a Comb to di&s;intangle her Hair, &s;he made u&s;e of her Fingers, which by con&s;equence were very &s;mall. That Accident made a|nother Di&s;covery of her Arms and Hands, &s;urpa&s;&s;ing in whitene&s;s all the Ermins, or Snow that ever fell from the Sky. Which a&s;toni&s;hing Beauties &s;o ravi&s;h'd their Admiration, and encreas'd their Curio&s;ity, that they re&s;olv'd to acco&s;t her, and &s;ee who &s;he was. The young Lady hearing a Noi&s;e, peep'd through her Hair, as through a Window, and &s;eeing three Men coming toward her, only &s;tay'd to take up a little Bundle which &s;he had, and betook her &s;elf to her Heels with all the &s;peed &s;he could. But her bare tender Feet not being able to endure the rudene&s;s of the Stones, down &s;he fell, poor Soul&mdash; &s;o that the Curate ea&s;ily over-taking her&mdash; Lady, &s;aid he, whoever you are, fear nothing; here are none but &s;uch as would be glad to &s;erve you to the utmo&s;t of their Power. But then perceiving her &s;till to &s;tand as if &s;he had met her Grandfather's Gho&s;t; Your di&s;hevell'd Hair, Madam, quo the Curate, has di&s;cover'd what your Di&s;gui&s;e conceal'd from us: Which, however, did but render us the more compa&s;&s;ionate of your Misfortunes, or make us the more ready to a&s;&s;i&s;t ye; therefore Madam di&s;pel your needle&s;s Fears, and tell us how our Service may be mo&s;t to your Advantage. I know better then to think it was a &s;light Occa&s;ion that made you put on this Di&s;gui&s;e and venture, &s;o &s;weet a Lady as you are, into this &s;ame &s;olitary De&s;art, where it was the great|e&s;t Miracle in the World that e're you met with us. However, we hope it is not impo&s;&s;ible to find a Remedy for your Misfortunes, &s;ince there is none &s;o violent, which Rea&s;on and Time will not at length &s;urmount. And therefore, Madam, if you have not ab&s;olutely renounc'd all Con&s;olation and Advice
<PB N="137" REF="80"> of Mankind, I be&s;eech ye tell us the Cau&s;e of your Sorrows, which 'tis not Curio&s;ity, but a real Intention to &s;erve her, that makes us thus importunate to know.</P>
<P>All the while the Curate was making his Complements, the Lady &s;tood like one in a Trance, &s;taring upon the three Strangers, as if they had been &s;o many Apparitions with white Sheets and Torches i' their Hands. But at length the civil Curate having given her time to recollect her &s;elf, and &s;till plying her with new <HI>Crumbs of Comfort,</HI> and warm Offers of Hand and Tongue to &s;erve her, &s;he fetch'd a deep Sigh, and then opening the Coral-Gates of her Lips, brake Silence in this manner. <Q>Since the&s;e &s;olitary Mountains, &s;aid &s;he, have not been able to conceal me, but that my Hair has betray'd me, it will be in vain for me to play the Counterfeit any longer with you that can tell, I &s;ee, an Apple from an Oy&s;ter. And &s;ince you de|&s;ire to hear the Rehear&s;al of my Misfortunes, it would be an Ingratitude to to repay your civil Offers with the Refu&s;al of a lamentable Story; the Re|hear&s;al of which will be &s;o far a Kindne&s;s to me, that thereby I &s;hall make ye the equal Judges of my Condition; and whether it be po&s;&s;ible for a Mind &s;o di&s;tracted as mine, ever to admit of Con&s;olation in this World. There is one thing that troubles me more, that I mu&s;t reveal to ye certain Secrets which I had thought to have bury'd with me in the Grave: But I am forc'd to do it, that you may not think I parted with my Honour for the &s;ight of half a &s;core Plays, or as many <HI>Spring-Garden</HI> Treatments, but at the Price of more Vows and Prote&s;tations then would fill a Church; and which, I make no Que&s;tion, but that they will one day turn to the Ruine of that treacherous Soul that made and broke 'em.</Q> When the Dam&s;el had thus &s;aid. The Curate and his Company mode&s;tly left the young Madam <HI>Epicene</HI> to put on her Ho&s;e and Shoes, and tie up her Locks; and having found out a convenient Shade, &s;ate down full of Expectation. Nor did the Lady make 'em &s;tay a jot, but being as willing to be rid of her Story, which mo&s;t di&s;tre&s;&s;ed Ladies are, as they were to hear it, &s;he made all imagina|ble Expedition; only for fear &s;he &s;hould be long in her Repetition, fir&s;t made water, and then taking her place, thus began:</P>
<P><Q>I was born in a certain City of <HI>Andaluzia,</HI> from which a certain Duke derives his Title, that entitles him to be a Grandee of <HI>Spain.</HI> My Father, who is one of his Tenants, is none of the mo&s;t wealthy Men in the Coun|try; and yet not &s;o poor neither but that if Fortune had equall'd his Birth to his E&s;tate, he could have wanted nothing more, and I perhaps had ne|ver been &s;o mi&s;erable: For mo&s;t a&s;&s;uredly 'twas my Ruine that my Parents were not &s;ufficiently illu&s;trious. For Lords will marry Farmers Daughters for Money; but when they have got their Du&s;t, then they kick 'em out o' their Beds, becau&s;e they can't behave them&s;elves, and complement like your Ladies born, for&s;ooth. And yet my Parents were not &s;o meanly born neither, that they &s;hould be a&s;ham'd of their Gentility. 'Tis true, they have been Farmers from Father to Son, yet without any mixture of <HI>Ale-draper</HI> or <HI>Tripe-woman:</HI> They are good old Chri&s;tians, and their Anti|quity in the Pari&s;h-book, together with their large Po&s;&s;e&s;&s;ions, and the Port they live in, as having been Fore-men of the Grand-Jury for &s;everal Ages, exalts 'em above their Profe&s;&s;ion, and &s;ets 'em above many Knights and Squires i' the World. Now I being their only Heire&s;s, they lov'd me entirely, and loving me entirely, they left the whole hou&s;e to my Di&s;po|&s;al. The Dairy-maids, Cook-maids, Chamber-maids, were all at my Command: I kept the Key of the Spice and Sugar, lock'd up the cold Ve|ni&s;on-Pa&s;ties, and Florentines: and in a word, I had my full Swinge of
<PB N="138" REF="81"> Liberty and Dominion. The time which I had to &s;pare from over-looking the making of the Butter and Chee&s;e, rai&s;ing of Pa&s;te, feeding the Poultry, and &s;uch other Family-duties; I employ'd in mending my Father's Linen, and working new Points for my Pinners, and Gorget to wear o' Holy-days; nor did I ever leave my Work, unle&s;s it were &s;ometimes to read alittle in <HI>Ari|&s;totle</HI>'s <HI>Problems,</HI> or the <HI>Lady</HI>'s <HI>Calling,</HI> or &s;ome other profitable Book; and now and then to play a Le&s;&s;on upon the Virginals, under&s;tanding that Mu&s;ick was very proper to recreate the weary'd Spirits of either Sex. And this was then the innocent Life I led.</Q></P>
<P><Q>While I thus liv'd the life of a Nun, employ'd in my Hu&s;wifery, not &s;eeing any body all the Week-long, but our own Family, and only to Church and home again a Sundays, clo&s;e at my Mother's Heels, and that &s;o muffl'd and hooded, that I could &s;carce find my way; the Report went abroad that I was very hand&s;om, which was the Rea&s;on that Court&s;hip troubl'd the Tranquility of my Life. For it &s;eems that the Dukes &s;econd Son, who&s;e Name was <HI>Don Ferdinand,</HI> had a &s;ight of me, by what Acci|dent I know not, when I lea&s;t dreamt of any &s;uch thing.</Q></P>
<P>Scarce had <HI>Cardenio</HI> heard the Name of <HI>Don Ferdinand</HI> repeated, when he chang'd Colour, and di&s;cover'd &s;uch a Commotion of Body and Mind, that the <HI>Curate</HI> and the <HI>Barber</HI> were afraid he would have fall'n into one of his mad Fits. But it did not come to that, he only &s;et him&s;elf to con&s;ider the fair Country-La&s;s, fixing his Eyes wi&s;tfully upon her, and viewing her earne&s;tly to &s;ee whether he knew her again; while &s;he, without taking any farther Notice of <HI>Cardenio</HI>'s Di&s;turbance, continu'd her Story.</P>
<P><Q>He had no &s;ooner &s;een me, &s;aid &s;he, but as I was afterwards told, he felt in his Brea&s;t that violent Pa&s;&s;ion, of which he made me afterwards &s;o many Vows and Prote&s;tations. In a word, not to tell ye a tedious Story of all his Complements, his Crown-pieces flew about the Hou&s;e like Birds in an Aviary. He won all the Servants with his Money; he made my Father a thou&s;and Offers of Court-preferment, and promis'd him the Priviledge to whi&s;per i' the King's Ear, like <HI>Mahomet</HI>'s <HI>Pigeon;</HI> my Mother too, was to be Mother o' the Maids: I could not &s;leep all Night for the Noi&s;e of Fiddles at my Window, and every Day Fea&s;ting, and Fi&s;h-Dinners at the Tavern. And then for your <HI>Billet-doux's,</HI> as ye call 'em, or little Love-notes, full of Honey and Tenderne&s;s, pa&s;&s;ionate Oaths, Vows, Prote&s;ta|tions, Submi&s;&s;ions, and Imprecations; I could have &s;par'd a Bu&s;hel to an Apothecary to make up his Pennyworths of <HI>Dio&s;cordium;</HI> but alas, I was not then to be tickl'd, like a Trout under the Belly; all his Sedulities and Flatteries were &s;o far from winning my Affection, that I hated <HI>Don Fer|dinand</HI> like a Viper, and could have eat'n him with Salt. Not but that I was pleas'd well enough, I mu&s;t tell ye, with his Pre&s;ents of <HI>Je&s;&s;omin</HI> Gloves, and Ribbands, the Neck-lace, and Gold Watch that he gave me, and was not alittle proud to find my &s;elf belov'd by a Per&s;on of his Quali|ty. For Maidens are pleas'd with Court-&s;hip, and the mo&s;t di&s;dainful can|not but be a little Complai&s;ant to tho&s;e that tell 'em they are hand&s;om. But the Di&s;proportion between our Qualities was &s;uch, that I could never believe he courted me for a Wife, but rather for a Mi&s;s; and truly I was brought up too piou&s;ly to be any man's Plea&s;ure-boat, how great &s;oever. Nay, the very Admonitions of my Father quite turn'd my Stomach again&s;t my Lover, for he made a right Con&s;truction of <HI>Don Ferdinand</HI>'s Inten|tions, and bid me have a care of him, as one that &s;ought his own Sati&s;|faction, rather then my Advantage; and tho I &s;ay it, that &s;hould not &s;ay it, I was as ca eful of my Reputation as my Father could be for his life. How|ever,
<PB N="139" REF="81" MS="y"> my Father perceiving that I was &s;till di&s;turb'd, and troubl'd, and unea&s;ie; and believing that the itching De&s;ire of being a Lady, might at length trip up my Heels before I was aware, told me one day, That he had a great Confidence in my Vertue, and that I needed no other Amu|nition then that to defend my Fort again&s;t <HI>Don Ferdinand</HI>'s A&s;&s;aults; yet if I thought there were no other way to make him rai&s;e his Siege then by Marriage, I &s;hould have Liberty to make my own Choice among my Neighbours; and that he would promote my good Intentions, with all the Affection that could be expected from a loving Father. I thank'd him for his Kindne&s;s, and made him an&s;wer, That having no Inclination to mar|ry, I would think of &s;ome other way to rid my &s;elf of <HI>Don Ferdinand,</HI> without running out of the Frying-pan into the Fire. Thereupon I re|&s;olv'd to keep my &s;elf &s;o clo&s;e and retir'd, that he &s;hould never have the Opportunity to come into my Company; or if he did &s;peak to me, never to an&s;wer him a word. But the more cautious I was, the more my Re|&s;erv'dne&s;s inflam'd his impetuous Lu&s;t; for I can call it no other, &s;ince if it had been true Love, I had never come hither to tell you my Tale. Well &mdash; let that pa&s;s&mdash; the Sequel was this; That <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI> either hearing or &s;u&s;pecting I was to be marry'd, to the Ruine of all his Hopes, he thought upon a Contrivance to cro&s;s a De&s;ign &s;o de&s;tructive to his wicked Pur|po&s;es.</Q></P>
<P><Q>One night therefore, when I was in my Chamber with none but a Maid that &s;erv'd me, and the Door lock'd and bolted &s;o fa&s;t, that I would ha' &s;worn all the <HI>Betties</HI> in Town could not have unhing'd it, who &s;hould &s;tand ju&s;t before me but <HI>D. Ferdinand.</HI> Which &s;udden and unexpected Apparition put me into &s;uch a dreadful Amaze, that my Joints were numm'd, my Sen&s;es for&s;ook their Habitations, and my very Speech was frighted out of my Mouth. Thereupon <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI> taking the Advan|tage of my Weakne&s;s and my A&s;toni&s;hment, did not, I'le &s;ay that for him, offer me any Rudene&s;s at that time, but cla&s;ping me in his Arms, &s;o be-moan'd me, &s;o condol'd me, &s;o <HI>my Poor-rogu'd me,</HI> &s;o <HI>my Be-dear'd me,</HI> &s;o repented his Folly, &s;o begg'd my Pardon, then blubber'd, then cry'd, then &s;igh'd, and &s;o dextrou&s;ly manag'd his Pa&s;&s;ions, his Tears, and his di&s;&s;embl'd Kindne&s;&s;es, that I being but young, and at that very Age, God is my Witne&s;s, when Maidens are mo&s;t &s;ubject to be deceiv'd, gave Cre|dit to his Sobs and Sighs, that vouch'd for his Integrity; &s;o that his Sighs and Tears, and Tears and Sighs, I &s;ay his bitter Moans and Lamentations at length, Gentlemen, vanqui&s;h'd a little my Reluctancy, and I began in &s;ome mea&s;ure to compa&s;&s;ionate his Sufferings. And yet for all that, when I began to come to my &s;elf, my former Re&s;olutions return'd; and then frowning, and louring, and pouting, and angry, as it became me; Sir, &s;aid I, if at the &s;ame time that you give me all the&s;e Te&s;timonies of your Af|fection, you will allow me the Choice either to love you, or poi&s;on my &s;elf; <HI>I declare it,</HI> I would rather chu&s;e <HI>Rats-bane,</HI> then be your <HI>Landabrides;</HI> for I would have ye to know, I prefer my Honour before my Life. I know not what ye mean, Sir, by thus rudely breaking into my Privacies, &s;o pre|judicial to my Vertue. And therefore unhand me quickly, and be gone, or el&s;e as, I live, I'le cry out Murder&mdash; and then I make no que&s;tion, but all the Pitch-forks i' the Village will come to my Re&s;cue. What! becau&s;e my Father pays your Father a Quit-rent; I am no Slave to you, nor your Fa|ther neither. Don't ye think to dazle me with your fine Clothes, nor your gaudy Titles. For I le not be a Mi&s;s to e're a huffing Lord of ye all. I am not to be caught by fine words, nor &s;pring'd with high-flown Com|plements.
<PB N="140" REF="82"> No, no,&mdash; my Lord, I am not to be &s;o ea&s;ily coax'd out of my Maiden-head. In &s;hort, my Will is &s;olely at my Father's Di&s;po&s;al, who|ever my Father makes choice of, he's the Man for my Money. Therefore, Sir, if you would have me believe ye have &s;uch a real Affection for me, leave haunting and teazing me thus to no purpo&s;e. For &s;ince I am too mean to be your Wife, and you too great to be my Husband, ne're pre|tend a Kindne&s;s for me, that can never be &s;ound at the Bottom.</Q> How! Mrs. <HI>Dorothy,</HI> cry'd the perfidious <HI>Ferdinand,</HI> cannot I be your Husband&mdash;? <Q>Pray, where's the Hind'rance, if you but &s;ay the word? If that be all, Mrs. <HI>Dorothy,</HI> I'le marry thee pre&s;ently, here's my hand upon't&mdash; And may I be bury'd without a clean Shirt, if I don't &s;peak Truth.</Q></P>
<P><HI>Cardenio</HI> was no le&s;s &s;urpriz'd at the Name of <HI>Dorothy,</HI> then he was at the Name of <HI>D. Ferdinand;</HI> for it confirm'd him in the Su&s;picion which he had at the Beginning of the Story. However, he would not interrupt her, becau&s;e he was willing to hear the end of it. Only thus much, &s;aid he, is your Name Mrs. <HI>Dorothy</HI>&mdash;? I have heard of a young Gentlewoman, who&s;e Misfortunes have a great Re&s;emblance with yours. I ha' done, Ma|dam, pray proceed&mdash; for I believe I &s;hall quit &s;cores wi' ye by and by.</P>
<P>With that Mrs. <HI>Dorothy</HI> made a &s;top to &s;tudy <HI>Cardenio</HI>'s Face; and ob|&s;erving him in &s;uch a tatter'd Condition&mdash; Pray, Sir, &s;aid &s;he, if you know any thing that concerns me, let me know it pre&s;ently; for I am Proof a|gain&s;t all the Flails of Misfortune. Nay&mdash; to tell ye truth, my Misfor|fortunes have been &s;uch as have render'd me in&s;en&s;ible of all manner of fear. My Name might be <HI>Grizle</HI> for my Patience. Faith, Madam, reply'd <HI>Carde|nio,</HI> I would tell ye all that I know, and perhaps more then I know, were I &s;ure my Conjectures were true. But 'tis no matter, Lady, 'twill be time enough an hour hence; and therefore I be&s;eech ye proceed.</P>
<P><Q>Then Mrs. <HI>Dorothy</HI> re&s;uming her Di&s;cour&s;e: After a thou&s;and amorous Raptures and Re&s;olutions to marry me, quo &s;he, <HI>Don Ferdinand</HI> gave me his Hand, and having plighted his Troth to me, he took a little <HI>Agnus Dei</HI> that was in my Chamber, to be Witne&s;s of the Contract; and confirm'd it with more Oaths then a Boat-&s;wain &s;wears in a Storm. However, be|fore I engag'd my &s;elf too far, I advis'd him to have a care how he &s;uf|fer'd an unruly Pa&s;&s;ion, and a little Snout-fairne&s;s to hurry him to his Ruine. Be not &s;uch an ungracious Rebel either to di&s;grace or incen&s;e your Father, &s;aid I, to &s;ee you marry'd to a Per&s;on &s;o much below your De&s;cent; and let not the heat of your Codpiece tran&s;port ye to an Act, of which the Repentance will at length render me mi&s;erable. And to the&s;e I added &s;everal other Arguments all to no purpo&s;e. For <HI>Don Ferdinand</HI> all Fire and Tow, bann'd Father, and Mother, and all his Generation; and like a Renegado that never minds his Word, &s;wore he would &s;acrifice his whole Pedigree to his Affections for me. When I &s;aw him &s;o ob&s;tinate in his Re&s;olutions, I began to con&s;ider what I had to do. Thought I to my &s;elf, I am not the fir&s;t Kitchen-wench that has been made a Lady; I had heard of an Inn-keeper's Daughter that became a Dutche&s;s, and of Dukes that have admitted Cinder-women to their Beds. Fortune offers me her forelock, 'tis not &s;o nitty, thought I, that I &s;hould refu&s;e to take hold of it. Be&s;ides, I am &s;ure <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI> is not the only Per&s;on i' the World, that has marry'd more for Beauty then Quality or Merit. Here's a Husband offer'd me, that &s;wears, prote&s;ts, and vows the unalterable Bur|den of his Love &s;hall be always <HI>Thine till Death, D. Ferdinand;</HI> why then &s;hould I refu&s;e &s;uch a Happine&s;s through &s;queami&s;h Coyne&s;s, &s;ince Wo|men were not born altogether into this World for Contemplation? And
<PB N="141" REF="82"> then, by my Truly, there was one thing more, that I did not think my &s;elf &s;afe alone in <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI>'s Clutches; for, thought I, &s;uppo&s;e I &s;hould drive him to de&s;pair by a nice Refu&s;al, and he re&s;olv'd to &s;atisfie his Pa&s;&s;ion, &s;hould ravi&s;h me, in what a fine Pickle &s;hould I be then? Then again I &s;aw him to be young, noble, brisk, airy, proper, hand&s;om, well limb'd, no Cully, nor Town-Fop, but rather a <HI>Sharper,</HI> witty plea&s;ant, merry, good humour'd: Now when a Maid has as much as &s;he can de&s;ire, what would &s;he ha' more? here were Temptations warm enough to ha' di&s;&s;olv'd the Brea&s;t of <HI>Niobe,</HI> after &s;he was turn'd into Stone. And I would fain know, had it been any of your Ca&s;es, whether you would not have done, as I did? Ask my Maid, whether he did not &s;wear by Whole &s;ale; and whether, if it were po&s;&s;ible to tell all the People that ever were born &s;ince <HI>Noah</HI>'s Flood, he did not out-vie their Number in Prote&s;tations. So that altho I were ruin'd, 'tis true, yet was I not ruin'd either by Folly or Precipitancy. For in this &s;wearing, prote&s;ting, vowing, &s;ighing, &s;obbing, groaning, moan|ing, lamenting, de&s;pairing, imprecating Condition, he cla&s;p'd me &s;o hard in his Arms, and put me into &s;uch an Agony, that my Maid did but go down for a Gla&s;s of &s;mall Drink, but there was farewel Fro&s;t i' the Ca&s;e, my Bu&s;ine&s;s was done, there was the End of my Virginity, and the Begin|ning of his accur&s;ed Treachery.</Q></P>
<P><Q>I wont &s;ay the Maid went but once out of the Room&mdash; No&mdash; ye don't hear me &s;ay &s;o&mdash; but &s;o &s;oon as it began to grow day, <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI> was not &s;o ha&s;ty to come in, but he was as de&s;irous to be gone. For be&s;ides that my Maid po&s;ted him away with all her Indu&s;try (for this I'le &s;ay for her, and a Fig for her, that tho &s;he had been the cur&s;ed Jade that had betray'd me, &s;he was unwilling my Shame &s;hould be di&s;cover'd.) Men have that Kindne&s;s for the Place where they accompli&s;h their wicked De&s;igns, that they care not how &s;oon they leave it. However, the Pretence of his ha&s;te was his care of my Reputation, for&s;ooth, and with a Coldne&s;s that I could ea&s;ily di&s;cern from his former heat, he de&s;ir'd me not to mi&s;tru&s;t his Fide|lity. All the good Nature he had left, was to pull off a Diamond Ring from his Finger, and put it upon mine. A &s;mall Recompence of a Jewel, God wot, for the Jewel I had lo&s;t. In &s;hort, away he went, and the Jilt of a Carrion, my Maid, let him out into the Street. And now I leave you to conjecture in what a Condition I was, when I con&s;ider'd what had be|fall'n me; and knew not well what Appellation I was to give my &s;elf, whether Maid, Wife, or Widow. I was in a manner quite di&s;tracted, nor could I tell well what to &s;ay to my Maid, whether I &s;hould call her young mercenary Bawd, or kind A&s;&s;i&s;tant; not knowing whether &s;he had done me Good or Harm. I had told <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI> before he went, 'twas now <HI>Lam|mas Ground,</HI> the Fences were all open, and he might make u&s;e of the &s;ame means to come again when he pleas'd, till he found it convenient to make publick the Honour which he had done me; but he did not come till the Night following, and then it &s;eems, &s;o &s;urfeited him&s;elf, that I never &s;aw him &s;ince, neither in the Street, nor at Church, tho I ran the hazard of be|ing pick'd up in both places, to &s;eek after him for a whole Month toge|ther, tho I knew he went a hunting every Day, and had &s;tarted new Game in the Neighbourhood. 'Tis impo&s;&s;ible for me to tell ye then what Tem|ptations I had to Halters, Razors, Daggers, Ponds and Rivers, when I found my &s;elf thus &s;corn'd and abandon'd by <HI>D. Ferdinand.</HI> A Slight &s;o unexpected, and which I look'd upon as the greate&s;t Misfortune that ever could be-fall me, had like to a' quite overwhelm'd me. Then it was, that I found my Maid had been a treacherous, brib'd, unfaithful Pandre&s;s to me,
<PB N="142" REF="83"> that had &s;old my Honour for a pair of new Shoes and Stockins, and how dangerous a thing it is to confide either in Men or Maids. I exclaim'd a|gain&s;t <HI>D. Ferdinand;</HI> I left not a Sigh i' my Lungs, nor a Tear i' my Eyes, and yet could receive no Con&s;olation. And yet I found there was a Nece&s;|&s;ity for me to conceal my Re&s;entment, for fear my Father and Mother &s;hould take me into Examination. But at length I perceiv'd 'twas in vain to counterfeit, for I could no longer hold, when I heard that <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI> was marry'd i' the next Village, to a hand&s;om, compleat, young Dam&s;el, who&s;e Name was <HI>Lucinda.</HI></Q></P>
<P>The Name of <HI>Lucinda</HI> had like to have put <HI>Cardenio</HI> into his frantick Fits, but as good luck would have it, he had &s;uch a Command of him&s;elf at that time, that he only &s;hrugg'd up his Shoulders, bit his Lips, and knit his Brows, and then fell a' weeping, as if his Father's Mannor had wanted Rain: Which Mrs. <HI>Dorothy</HI> not minding, as believing his Tears were not &s;hed for her &s;ake, went on with that which more concern'd her. <Q>This News &s;tripp'd me &s;tark naked of my Patience; Rage and De&s;pair took Livery and Sei&s;in o' my Soul, and in the Tran&s;ports of my Fury I was about to have publi&s;h'd <HI>D. Ferdinands</HI> Di&s;loyalty, tho to the Di&s;covery of my own Shame. I know not whether any Remainder of Rea&s;on &s;topp'd the&s;e violent Mo|tions, but if it did I was &s;o drunk with Pa&s;&s;ion, that I did not perceive it. Well&mdash;at length I di&s;cover'd the Cau&s;e of my Grief to a young Shepherd that &s;erv'd my Father: I de&s;ir'd him to lend me his Sunday's Clothes, and to go along with me to the Village where I knew <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI> was. The Shepherd, poor fellow, told me, there were more Maids then Maukin, and us'd the be&s;t Arguments he had, to hinder me from what I was going about, but finding I was re&s;olv'd upon the Point, he a&s;&s;ur'd me he was ready to &s;erve me. Thereupon I put on this Habit which you &s;ee, made up my Pack, which con&s;i&s;ted of &s;ome old Gold and Plate, which my God-mothers had left me, &s;everal Fairings in Thimbles, Bodkins, and Gold Rings; a a round Bag of Thirteen-pence-ha'-penys, Nine-pences, Groats, and Four-pence-ha'-penys (for I kept all my Father's Butter-Money) &s;ome few Sutes of Night clothes; and &s;o about Midnight away the Shepherd and I trudg'd. In two Days and a half we got to the Village, where the fir&s;t thing I did, I enquir'd at the Sign of the Cock, a &s;orry Ale-hou&s;e, where one Mrs. <HI>Lucinda</HI>'s Father liv'd? 'Twas an ordinary Que&s;tion, but it pro|duc'd a great deal more then I had a de&s;ire to know. For pre&s;ently the Man o' the Hou&s;e told me there had been a great Wedding at Mrs. <HI>Lucin|da</HI>'s Hou&s;e, and that &s;o publick, that 'twas the whole Di&s;cour&s;e of the Village. Withal, he told me what Favers they had, what Money <HI>Don Ferdinand</HI> gave the Ringers to drink, and a thou&s;and more Circum&s;tances, that made me &s;o mad, I could have tore the Hair from my Head. He told me farther, how that Mrs. <HI>Lucinda</HI> &s;woon'd away when &s;he &s;aid, <HI>Yes,</HI> at what time the Prie&s;t ask'd her, Whether &s;he would have <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI> to her wedded Husband? And how that he, after he had cut her Lace to give her more room to breathe, found a Letter under her own hand, wherein &s;he declar'd, that &s;he could not be <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI>'s Wife, becau&s;e &s;he was al|ready contracted to one Mr. <HI>Cardenio,</HI> a Gentleman of Quality, living i' the &s;ame Village; and that &s;he had only con&s;ented to that Marriage in obedi|ence to her Father. Moreover he told me, that Mrs. <HI>Lucinda</HI> would have kill'd her &s;elf after the Ceremony was over, which appear'd to be true by a Dagger that was found about her; and that <HI>D. Ferdinand,</HI> mad to &s;ee him&s;elf &s;o deluded, would have kill'd her him&s;elf, had he not been pre|vented by tho&s;e that were in the Room. He told me moreover, that <HI>D.
<PB N="143" REF="83"> Ferdinand</HI> upon this, pre&s;ently left the Village, and that Mrs. <HI>Lucinda</HI> did not come to her &s;elf till the next day, at what time &s;he declar'd, that &s;he was <HI>Cardenio</HI>'s Wife, and that he and &s;he were contracted before &s;he had ever &s;een <HI>D. Ferdinand.</HI> I under&s;tood al&s;o, that this <HI>Cardenio</HI> was pre&s;ent at the Wedding, and that thereupon he left the Village in De&s;pair, only leaving a Letter behind him, wherein he made bitter Complaints of Mrs. <HI>Lucinda</HI>'s Infidelity, and withal, giving it under his Hand, That he would never return again.</Q></P>
<P><Q>This was all the Di&s;cour&s;e of the Village when I came thither; and by and by we heard that Mrs. <HI>Lucinda</HI> was not to be found neither, and how her Father and Mother were at their Wits end to know what was become of her. For my part, I was not a little glad when I heard how &s;quares went, for pre&s;ently I had a vain Conceit that Heav'n took my part, and had thwarted <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI>'s wicked De&s;igns, on purpo&s;e to make a Chri&s;tian of him at length; which put me in hopes, that &s;eeing him&s;elf di&s;appoint|ed of Mrs. <HI>Lucinda,</HI> he would at la&s;t return to his for&s;ak'n Mrs. <HI>Dorothy,</HI> and do like a Man of Quality and Honour.</Q></P>
<P><Q>Thus I flatter'd my &s;elf, and thus I was willing to flatter my &s;elf, out of a De&s;ire to prolong a mi&s;erable life; mi&s;erable indeed, in being di&s;appoint|ed of &s;o much Honour with Plea&s;ure, and &s;o much Plea&s;ure with Honour, as I expected to have enjoy'd; which you cannot blame me, if I &s;par'd for no Pains or Labour to retrieve. But while I was ruminating what to do, there was a <HI>Hue</HI> and <HI>Cry</HI> came after Mrs. <HI>Dorothy.</HI> For by and by I heard Proclamation made i' the Street, and great Rewards were promis'd to any that could bring Tidings of Mrs. <HI>Dorothy.</HI> There I heard my Per&s;on, my Clothes, my Age de&s;crib'd, even to the very Mole under my Ear, and the Dimple i' my Chin, as if they had &s;tudy'd nothing but <HI>Adverti&s;ements;</HI> and nothing vex'd me, that the Report was, That the poor Shepherd that went along with me to carry my Bundle, had carry'd me away with an Intention to marry me at <HI>Pancra&s;s</HI> or <HI>Mary-bone,</HI> as if I had been &s;uch a Fool to be &s;tole by my Father's Plough boy, or to run away with a meer Swain, like a young Girl enveigl'd by the <HI>Dancing-Ma&s;ter</HI> from a <HI>Boarding-School;</HI> which trou|bl'd me extremely, that my Father &s;hould have &s;uch low Thoughts of his Daughter that was hunting after another &s;ort of Game. Thereupon, &s;ee|ing it was in vain to look any longer for <HI>D. Ferdinand,</HI> I made all the ha&s;te I could, with my Shepherd, out of the Village, fearing lea&s;t the Tempta|tion of the promis'd Reward might allure the young Lad to betray me. Being got out of the Village, we never look'd behind us, but like Appren|tices that have out-&s;tay'd their time of a Sunday's Evening, we &s;traddl'd along &s;o fa&s;t, that before Night we were got into the mo&s;t de&s;ert and &s;oli|tary part of all this dreadful Mountain, where I think, if the Devil were in Search of us, he could never find us. And thus, tho <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI> has not done the Duty of a Husband, I ha' done the Duty of a Wife, in for&s;aking Father and Mother to follow him, to whom I thought I had been as good as marry'd.</Q></P>
<P><Q>However, I cannot &s;ay, but that in the mid&s;t of all the&s;e my Misfortunes, I had a little good luck, or el&s;e y' faith I had paid dear for looking after <HI>D. Ferdinand.</HI> For that &s;ame young Varlet of a Shepherd, that I brought along with me, whether it were out of Kindne&s;s, becau&s;e he found me in &s;uch a taking for a Husband, or whether it were through an ill Cu&s;tom that he had learnt among my Mother's Milk-maids (tho one would have thought his &s;hort Commons, and hard Travel, all the while he was with me, &s;hould have brought down his Courage) this young Princock, that
<PB N="144" REF="84"> you would have thought couldnot ha' &s;aid <HI>Bo to a Goo&s;e,</HI> began to talk to me of Love. For you know the Proverb, <HI>Opportunity makes a Thief;</HI> and this Opportunity he thought he had then in his Hands, while I was all alone far from Help; and he as Lu&s;ty as he was Rampant, and as Rampant as he was Lu&s;ty. Ye &s;awcy Ra&s;cal, quo I, how dare you talk thus impu|dently to your Ma&s;ter's Daughter? What, nothing but up and ride? Will nothing but white Bread &s;erve your turn? Tho I have mi&s;t God's Ble&s;|&s;ing, don't you think, Sirrah, that I take you for the warm Sun. Upon this, the <HI>Ragamuffin</HI> of a Shepherd, perceiving there was no good to be done by fair means, began to fumble with my Codpiece (for I had no Coats to pull up) and &s;wore he would feel in his own Breeches. S'life! what, nothing but naked Violence, ye Dog, quo I! and with that, re-doubling my Strength, I pu&s;h'd him down a Rock as high from the Ground, I be|lieve, as the Dragon upon <HI>Bow-Church;</HI> and I make no Que&s;tion, but be|fore he came to the Ground, his Domicils of Concupi&s;cence were well &s;qua&s;h'd. For my part, I never look'd to &s;ee what was become of him, but retir'd as far as I could into the thicke&s;t part of the Wood to &s;ecure my &s;elf.</Q></P>
<P><Q>The next day I met with a Countrey-man, who took me to his Hou&s;e in a Village &s;eated at the foot of the Mountain, and employ'd me in the nature of his Shepherd, with whom I tarry'd a Month, till he with his Colt's Tooth in his Head, having di&s;cover'd me to be of the Female Sex, would fain ha' been at the &s;ame Sport as my Father's Man; which was the Rea&s;on that I left him two days ago, and rambl'd hither, re&s;olv'd to &s;eek out &s;ome place where I might have the Freedom to bewail my Misfortunes, till better luck &s;hould befall me, or compa&s;&s;ionate Heav'n put an end to my mi&s;erable Life.</Q></P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="2" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. II.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Where perhaps you may meet with &s;omething worth your Reading.</HEAD>
<P>THIS, Gentlemen, is the &s;ad and lamentable Story of a Maiden head meerly thrown away, yet lo&s;t without Redemption. And now be you Judges, whether you have any Comfits of Con&s;olation proper to &s;wee|ten my Mouth, having &s;wallow'd &s;uch bitter Pills of unfortunate, tho un|de&s;erved Di&s;appointment. All that I de&s;ire of ye, is only this; to tell me whether ye know of e're a Lady that wants a Waiting-Gentlewoman, or e're an old rich Batchelour that lacks a Hou&s;e keeper, where I may &s;pend the Remainder of my days, &s;ecure from the Search and Enquiry of my Parents. Not that I fear but that my Father and Mother would be willing to take me again, with all my Faults; only I am a&s;ham'd to look 'em i' the Face, after &s;uch a Mi&s;take of the good Opinion they had of me.</P>
<P>Here Mrs. <HI>Dorothy</HI> &s;topp'd; at what time the Blu&s;hes that over-&s;pread her lovely Cheeks, and the Po&s;ture &s;he &s;tood in, with her Eyes fix'd upon the Ground, were certain Signs of the Di&s;compo&s;ure of her Thoughts. And as for the <HI>Curate</HI> and the <HI>Barber,</HI> after they had heard her doleful Story, they were &s;trangely concern'd for her, and thought it a very hard Ca&s;e, that a poor harmle&s;s Virgin &s;hould be &s;o ba&s;ely <HI>Be-Danger-fielded,</HI> and deluded out of the mo&s;t precious. Jewel which &s;he had in the World, and then be
<PB N="145" REF="84"> &s;o unju&s;tly and treacherou&s;ly abandon'd by the Per&s;on that had robb'd her of all her Wealth. However, they found that the Lord had been &s;o kind as to leave her all the Charms of her Wit and Beauty: Which wrought &s;o effectually upon the <HI>Curate,</HI> that he was ready to have giv'n her a Homily of Con&s;olation, when <HI>Cardenio</HI> more full of Hi&s;tory then <HI>Ale,</HI> made bold to interrupt him. How, &s;aid he! Are you that pretty Mrs. <HI>Dorothy,</HI> the only Daughter of the wealthy <HI>Clenard?</HI> Mrs. <HI>Dorothy</HI> &s;trangely &s;urpriz'd to hear her Father's Name in the Mouth of &s;uch a <HI>Tatterdemallion,</HI> as if he had been his Pot-Companion&mdash; Well, what then, quo &s;he? Pray, who are you that know my Father &s;o well? 'Tis well known my Father has born all Offices i' the Pari&s;h, from the Scavenger to the Church-warden, and is now i' the Commi&s;&s;ion o' Sewers. Alas, Madam, quo <HI>Cardenio!</HI> I ask for no harm &mdash; my Name is <HI>Cardenio,</HI> at your Service, that unfortunate <HI>Cardenio,</HI> that had <HI>Lucinda</HI>'s Faith in keeping; the very <HI>He</HI> that &s;he &s;aid was her Husband: That mi&s;erable <HI>Cardenio!</HI> (and then he fetch'd a Sigh enough to have turn'd a Wind-mill for four Hours together) that mi&s;erable <HI>Cardenio!</HI> whom <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI>'s Treachery has de&s;poil'd of all his Wits, and all his Wardrobe to|gether. I am the Man, &s;weet Mrs. <HI>Dorothy,</HI> that was the unhappy Eye-witne&s;s (your Information was right, I a&s;&s;ure ye) of the fatal Nuptials of <HI>D. Ferdinand;</HI> and who from that time, full of Trouble and Terror, aban|don'd my &s;elf to de&s;pair, believing I had for ever lo&s;t my dear <HI>Lucinda.</HI> I &s;aw <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI> take a Letter out of her Bo&s;om, but not dreaming it would do me a hap'orth a' good, nor being able to brook my Misfortunes, I flung out o' the Hou&s;e, with a Re&s;olution to go and hang my &s;elf. But Heaven has pre&s;erv'd me, I &s;ee, to venture my Neck upon a better &s;core. For having thus made known to me the Ju&s;tice of your Cau&s;e, and <HI>Lucin|da</HI>'s Loyalty, I'le pick up my &s;catter'd Wits again, quo he, and find out that Traitor of a Lord; and tho I hang for't, either I'le kill him, or he &s;hall kill me, but I'le force him to do the fair Mrs. <HI>Dorothy</HI> Ju&s;tice, if Rea&s;on and Genero&s;ity will not oblige him to it. And this, added he, I &s;wear to do by the faith of a Gentleman and a Chri&s;tian. Lord! Mrs. <HI>Dorothy</HI> was &s;o ra|vi&s;h'd with Joy to hear &s;he &s;hould be a Lady again, for all her Misfortunes, that &s;he fell down at <HI>Cardenio</HI>'s feet, and would have ki&s;s'd his Wor&s;hip's <HI>Toe,</HI> but that <HI>Cardenio</HI> was more a Courtier then to let her.</P>
<P>On the other &s;ide, the <HI>Curate</HI> finding he had now two Texts to preach up|on, highly applauded <HI>Cardenio</HI> for his Genero&s;ity, and extoll'd Mrs. <HI>Dorothy</HI> to the Skies for her Gratitude. He al&s;o very hand&s;omly invited Mrs. <HI>Dorothy</HI> to go along with him home to his Hou&s;e and re&s;t her &s;elf there for &s;ome time; and that in the mean while they would there con&s;ult together which was the clevere&s;t way to find out <HI>D. Ferdinand;</HI> and how to lay their De|&s;igns for the be&s;t; nay, the very <HI>Barber</HI> too put in for a &s;hare, offering Mrs. <HI>Dorothy</HI> to be her humble Spaniel to fetch and carry for her at any time of the Night or Day, whatever &s;he de&s;ir'd. He farther added, That if &s;he were afraid of the <HI>Small-Pox,</HI> as having put her Body out of order with hard La|bour and Cour&s;e Diet, he would let her Blood by way of Prevention, and it &s;hould not co&s;t her a Farthing.</P>
<P>After the&s;e more then ordinary Civilities paid to fair Mrs. <HI>Dorothy,</HI> the <HI>Barber</HI> acquainted <HI>Cardenio</HI> and Mrs. <HI>Dorothy</HI> with the De&s;ign which had brought the <HI>Curate</HI> and him to that Place, and gave 'em an Account of <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s <HI>Extravagancies,</HI> who&s;e Squire they &s;taid for, a <HI>Shatterbrains,</HI> alto|gether as fit for <HI>Bedlam</HI> as his Ma&s;ter.</P>
<P>Pre&s;ently they heard a fellow whi&s;tle through his fingers, as if he had been jugging a Company of <HI>Foot-padds</HI> together. By and by he fell a Yauling
<PB N="146" REF="85"> and <HI>Holloing,</HI> as if he had born Malice to his own Lungs. Oh&mdash; yonder he is, I hear him, quo the <HI>Curate;</HI> and with that, he de&s;ir'd the Company that they might go and meet him. For truth to tell ye, &s;aid he, the Bandy|leg'd Rogue knows not where to find us, having mi&s;s'd us at the place ap|pointed. When they were all together the <HI>Curate</HI> ask'd him what was be|come of <HI>Don Quixote?</HI> Wherever he is, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I found him in his Shirt, as pale as a &s;tale Flounder's Belly, as lean as th' Anatomy in St. <HI>John</HI>'s Colledge-Library, ready to expire for Hunger, yet &s;ighing like an old Wo|man at a Meeting-hou&s;e for his dear Lady <HI>Dulcinea.</HI> He repeated her Com|mands to return and have one tumble more i' the Straw in <HI>Tobo&s;o</HI> Barn, and acknowledg'd her Commands were to be obey'd more exactly then tho&s;e of the <HI>Grand Signior</HI> or <HI>Per&s;ian Monarch;</HI> but then he fell a &s;tamping, and &s;taring, and Swearing, and damming, and vowing never to &s;ee her Beauty more, till he had perform'd &s;ome great Atchievement, that might de&s;erve her favour. So that if my Ma&s;ter, added <HI>Sancho,</HI> lead this life a Fortnight longer, the poor Squire mu&s;t loo&s;e all his Hopes, &s;ince 'tis impo&s;&s;ible for him to be either Emperor, or King, or &s;o much as an Arch-bi&s;hop, which was the lea&s;t he could pretend to, if Heaven &s;par'd him his Life. Ne're trouble thy &s;elf, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo the <HI>Curate,</HI> we'll have him home again in &s;pite of his Teeth; and then turning to <HI>Cardenio</HI> and Mrs. <HI>Dorothy,</HI> he inform'd 'em what a Plot the <HI>Barber</HI> and he had contriv'd to cure <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> or at lea&s;t to get him home to his Hou&s;e and Family once more; and then if he would ramble again, the Devil ramble with him, and after him, for them.</P>
<P>Mrs. <HI>Dorothy,</HI> whom the fre&s;h Hopes of being a Lady, had put into one of tho&s;e frolick Humours, when &s;he us'd to give her Father's Chaplain <HI>cold Pigg,</HI> was as arch, and as ready for her Kue, as ever &s;he had been to &s;trew itching Powder i' the Spectacle-maker's Wedding-Sheets, and undertook to act the di&s;tre&s;&s;ed Lady her &s;elf, to &s;ave the <HI>Barber</HI> the trouble of di&s;gui&s;ing him&s;elf, as being one that had not only acted the &s;ame part &s;o lately her &s;elf, but had &s;pent many a Night at home in reading Books of <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> wherein &s;he was therefore well skill'd. Briskly offer'd, Madam, quo the <HI>Curate,</HI> we'll take ye at your word; and now let's to work as fa&s;t as we can. Pre&s;ently Mrs <HI>Dorothy</HI> open'd her Pack, and took out her Woman's Apparel. How came it there, you'l &s;ay? Ask no Que&s;tions for Con&s;cience-&s;ake; the Story put it in, and that's enough. More then that, 'twas a Manteau of flower'd Satin, with a Petticoat of Silver upon a Ground of green Silk. Nay, there was a Neck-lace of Pearl too i' the Ca&s;e, a white <HI>Tower,</HI> and &s;everal Gewgaws of the &s;ame Nature. You &s;ee now how &s;oon a Hi&s;torian can go into <HI>Pater-No&s;ter-Row,</HI> buy the Stuff, &s;end it to the Taylors, have it made and put on. And now &s;he that was a young Lad but alittle before, appears to be a <HI>Trim-gaudy Lady:</HI> So lovely too in the Eyes of <HI>Cardenio,</HI> the <HI>Curate</HI> and the <HI>Barber,</HI> that they all &s;tood in Admiration, that <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI> &s;hould be &s;uch a Ra&s;cal to abu&s;e her as he had done; &s;wearing withal, that he would be glad to make &s;hift with many a wor&s;e before he dy'd.</P>
<P>But he that mo&s;t admir'd Mrs. <HI>Dorothy,</HI> was <HI>Sancho,</HI> he had almo&s;t gaz'd his two Eyes out with looking upon her, and wanted two more to &s;atisfie his enamour'd fancy. For Heaven's-&s;ake, quo he, to the <HI>Curate,</HI> What La|dy is this? Make no Enquiries, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo the <HI>Curate.</HI> This Lady dropp'd out of the Clouds but a quarter of an Hour ago, and is the only Heire&s;s in a direct Line to the va&s;t Kingdom of <HI>Micomicon;</HI> &s;he is now come to implore your Ma&s;ter to a&s;&s;i&s;t her, and revenge her of an Injury done her by a damn'd Son of a Whore Giant, who, as they &s;ay, is the mo&s;t famous and de&s;perate
<PB N="147" REF="85"> Robber in all <HI>Guiney.</HI> All in good time, &s;he's heartily welcome, cry'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;he was happy in &s;eeking, but far more happy in finding&mdash;Welcome <HI>Joan Sanders</HI>&mdash; welcome&mdash; welcome&mdash;. Now if my Ma&s;ter can be &s;o happy as to kill this Mon&s;ter with thirty Ribs of a &s;ide, we are all made for ever. I mu&s;t confe&s;s he's alittle out o' Ca&s;e at pre&s;ent; but if I had my Will and Money enough, a' &s;hould eat nothing but Marrow-bones and Chines o' Beef; for &s;econd Cour&s;e nothing but &s;tew'd Oy&s;ters, Potato's, and Eryngo's, and drink nothing but <HI>Nottingham</HI> Ale and Chocolate for this Month together, and then let him but drink a good Morning's Draught up|on the Day of Battel, and you &s;hall &s;ee him pi&s;s down the Giant. On the other &s;ide, Mr. <HI>Curate,</HI> be you &s;ure that this Ma&s;&s;y Giant do not prove an Apparition; for upon my faith, I know it by Experience, my Ma&s;ter has no Power over Apparitions; an Apparition will make him run, as &s;ome of your <HI>Hectors</HI> will run from a Cu&s;tard held out upon the point of their Adver&s;a|ries Sword. But Mr. <HI>Curate,</HI> quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I have one favour more to beg of ye&mdash; For the Lord's &s;ake, be &s;ure to put my Ma&s;ter out of conceit with all Arch-bi&s;hopricks; for what &s;hall I get by his being an Arch-bi&s;hop? I know not what to do i' the Church; I can hardly &s;ay my Prayers, much le&s;s do I know when to cry <HI>Amen,</HI> or how to &s;et a <HI>P&s;alm.</HI> And therefore to rid me of all my fears, and bar up the Church Doors eternally again&s;t him, per|&s;wade him to marry this Prince&s;s, and that you know will bring him into the high Road to be an Emperor, or a King at lea&s;t. Be&s;ides, here's &s;uch an Opportunity put into his Hands, as if the Heav'ns them&s;elves had de|&s;ign'd him him for a Throne. And therefore, I &s;ay, let him ca&s;t off all Thoughts of an Arch-bi&s;hoprick; and before he a&s;&s;i&s;t this Prince&s;s, advi&s;e him to make his Bargain wi&s;ely, and to get it under Hand and Seal&mdash; &s;he'l lie with him before-hand, I warrant ye, to be rid of this villainous Giant&mdash; and then you may be &s;ure &s;he'll ne're refu&s;e him marriage&mdash; Pray, Mr. <HI>Curate,</HI> what's her Name, that I may know what to call her when &s;he's my Mi&s;tre&s;s? They call her, quo the <HI>Curate,</HI> the Prince&s;s <HI>Micomicona:</HI> But her Kingdom being call'd <HI>Micomicon,</HI> I know not whether &s;he derives her Name from her Kingdom, or her Kingdom from her. She from the Kingdom, no doubt, quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> for the Kingdom mu&s;t of nece&s;&s;ity be ancienter then &s;he; &s;eeing that if her Father had not been King of <HI>Micomi|con,</HI> &s;he could not, as Heire&s;s, have been Prince&s;s of <HI>Micomicon.</HI> Law-ye-now, Mr. <HI>Curate,</HI> I am &s;o much a Schollard, as to under&s;tand that: And therefore I am apt to believe it is a Law i' that Countrey, that the elde&s;t Daughters mu&s;t always carry the Name of the Kingdom, and that they have been call'd <HI>Micomicona's</HI> ever &s;ince 'twas a Kingdom; that was before <HI>Julius Cae|&s;ar</HI>'s time. I warrant ye &s;ome of the Herald-Painters at the back-&s;ide of the <HI>Exchange</HI> could re&s;olve this Riddle; but 'tis no matter at pre&s;ent&mdash; Pray, Mr. <HI>Curate,</HI> mind the main Chance. Thou &s;peak'&s;t like a man of Rea&s;on, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo the <HI>Curate,</HI> and a prudent Councellour; and I'le a&s;&s;ure thee, &s;ince thou ha&s;t hit on't &s;o luckily, I'le promote the Match to the utmo&s;t o' my Power. Which Promi&s;e of the <HI>Curate</HI> gave great Satisfaction to the faithful Squire, who &s;ought nothing more then his Ma&s;ter's Intere&s;t.</P>
<P>By this time Mrs. <HI>Dorothy</HI> was mounted upon the Par&s;on's <HI>Mule;</HI> &s;o that now the <HI>Barber,</HI> having mo&s;t artificially re-tran&s;mogrify'd his Fronti&s;piece with his fal&s;e Beard, nothing remain'd but to renew their Admonitions to <HI>Sancho,</HI> to take care how he &s;poil'd a good Plot, by taking the lea&s;t Cogni|zance of his Acquaintance, which would be the Ruine both of all his Hopes, and his Ma&s;ter's Empire. As for <HI>Cardenio,</HI> he thought it better to tarry be|hind; for be&s;ides that, it was none of his Concern, he was unwilling to be
<PB N="148" REF="86"> Cudgell'd, if <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> knowing him again, &s;hould go about to re|venge the thump he had giv'n him upon the Brea&s;t a little before. The Curate al&s;o, finding no need of his a&s;&s;i&s;tance, re&s;olv'd to &s;tay with <HI>Cardenio.</HI> Only the Prince&s;s <HI>Micomicona,</HI> her Squire, and the great <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;et for|ward.</P>
<P>After they had jogg'd fair and &s;oftly on for about three quarters of a League, they &s;py'd <HI>Don Quixote</HI> among the Rocks, having by this time made him&s;elf ready, if he might be &s;aid to be ready without his Armour. Pre&s;ently Mrs. <HI>Dorothy,</HI> under&s;tanding that he was the Per&s;on, whipp'd on her Palfrey; and when &s;he drew near <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> her Squire alighted, and took her from her Saddle. No &s;ooner was &s;he upon her feet, but &s;he was as &s;oon upon her knees before the Knight; at what time embracing his Thighs, in &s;pight of all the Champion's <HI>Lord! Madam's, Pray Madam's, I be|&s;eech yee Madam's, Good Madam's, What d' mean Madam's,</HI> to the contrary. <Q>Mo&s;t Valiant and Invincible Knight, &s;aid &s;he, never will I ri&s;e from this place, till your Genero&s;ity has granted me a Boon, which will redound to your Honour, and the Relief of the mo&s;t unfortunate and mo&s;t afflicted Lady that ever the Sun &s;hone upon. And indeed, if it be true what Fame re&s;ounds abroad to di&s;tant Nations of your Valour, and the &s;trength of your Arm, you are bound by the Laws of Honour and the Knighthood which you profe&s;s, to &s;uccour a mi&s;erable Lady, that led by the loud Fame of your Great Atchievements, comes from the t'other end of the World to implore your Protection.</Q></P>
<P>Madam, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I was neither born at <HI>Hoggs-Norton,</HI> nor at <HI>Taunton-Dean,</HI> that I &s;hould be &s;uch a Clown to talk to &s;o fair a Lady, kneeling to my Per&s;on. Ri&s;e therefore, Madam, and deliver your Com|mands to your Servant upon equal Terms. No, mo&s;t Illu&s;trious Knight, my knees &s;hall fir&s;t grow to the Ground, reply'd the afflicted Prince&s;s, unle&s;s you &s;hall be pleas'd to grant me the Favour which I humbly reque&s;t. I grant it then, fair Lady, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> provided it be nothing to the di&s;&s;ervice of my King, my Country, and that Matchle&s;s Beauty that keeps the Key both of my Heart and Liberty. My Honour, cry'd the mournful Lady, lies at &s;take; 'tis quite another bus'ne&s;s. With that <HI>Sancho</HI> clo&s;ing up to his Ma&s;ter, and whi&s;p'ring him in the Ear, 'Slife, Sir, grant it, &mdash; grant it, I tell ye&mdash;'tis a Trifle; nothing but to kill a pitiful low&s;ie Giant &mdash; He is not above four yards about, and fourteen foot high; ye may pu&s;h him down with a Taylor's Bodkin &mdash; And &s;he that implores this favour at your Hands is the Prince&s;s <HI>Micomicona,</HI> Queen of the great Kingdom of <HI>Mi|comicon</HI> in <HI>Ethiopia.</HI> Let her be what &s;he will, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I'le do what I plea&s;e; and what my Con&s;cience, and the Rules of my Profe&s;&s;ion oblige me to. And then turning to the Lady, Ri&s;e, Madam, I be&s;eech ye, cry'd he, I grant ye the Boon which your Illu&s;trious Beauty Commands. Alas, Sir, the Courte&s;ie which I beg from your Magnanimous Valour, matchle&s;s Knight, reply'd the Lady, is only this; That you will be pleas'd to go along with me whither I &s;hall conduct ye, and promi&s;e me not to en|gage in any other Adventure, till you have aveng'd me of a Traytor that U&s;urps my Kingdom, contrary to all Law, both Divine and Humane. I promi&s;e ye, mo&s;t Illu&s;trious Lady, the utmo&s;t of my A&s;&s;i&s;tance; and there|fore be of good comfort, and cha&s;e impertinent Sadne&s;s from your Heart; for by the Aid of Heaven and this my &s;trong Arm, I doubt not but to re&s;tore ye to your Right, maugre all the Cowardly Mi&s;creants that dare oppo&s;e me. Let us then ha&s;ten our Performance; Delays are dangerous, Madam, and are many times the di&s;appointment of great Atchievements. With
<PB N="149" REF="86"> that the Prince&s;s did all &s;he could to have ki&s;s'd his Hand; however he that was &s;o much a Knight, a Gentleman, and a Courtier, would by no means &s;uffer &s;uch a Submi&s;&s;ion in &s;o great a Lady: But having rais'd her up upon her feet, embrac'd her with a mo&s;t Maje&s;tick Grace; and at the &s;ame time call'd to <HI>Sancho</HI> for his Arms. Pre&s;ently <HI>Sancho</HI> went and &s;hook 'em down from a young A&s;h, where they hung as if it had been an Armour-Tree. And now <HI>Don Quixote</HI> being like a Heater in a Smoothing-Ir'n, all com|pleatly Cas'd, Come on, &s;aid he, let us go and &s;uccour this Illu&s;trious Prin|ce&s;s, and employ the Strength and Courage Heav'n has be&s;tow'd upon Us, to the Ruine of her Enemies.</P>
<P>The Barber, who was all this while upon his knees, and had enough to do to keep a Guard upon him&s;elf, for fear of Laughing, or letting fall his Beard, which would have been the utter ruine of the whole De&s;ign, &s;eeing what ha&s;t <HI>Don Quixote</HI> made to be gone, ro&s;e up, and taking the Prince&s;s by one Hand, while <HI>Don Quixote</HI> took her by the other, they both together &s;et her upon her Mule. Then the <HI>Invincible</HI> mounted his Prancing <HI>Ro|&s;inante;</HI> at what time the Barber al&s;o be&s;tradling his Mule, they began to jog on. Only poor <HI>Sancho,</HI> methinks my Heart bleeds for him, was forc'd to walk a foot; and &s;uch was the barbarou&s;ne&s;s of the rugged Stones, that they took no Compa&s;&s;ion upon his tender Toes, which made him fetch many a heavy &s;igh for his old A&s;s again. However, he took his misfor|tunes patiently, &s;eeing his Ma&s;ter in &s;o fair a way to be &s;uddenly an Em|perour. For he made no que&s;tion but he would Marry the Prince&s;s, and that at lea&s;t he would be King of <HI>Micomicon.</HI> But there was one thing that di&s;turb'd the plea&s;ure of his plea&s;ing Dream, and that was this: That his Ma&s;ter's Dominions were to be in the Land of the Negro's; and that the People, over whom he was to be a Governour, were all to be <HI>Moors.</HI> But for this he pre&s;ently found out an Expedient of Con&s;olation. What care I, quo he, tho they be <HI>Moors?</HI> So much the better. 'Tis but giving notice of a <HI>Negro</HI>-Fair at &s;uch a place, i' the Office where Maids go to en|quire after Services, and I &s;hall ha' Cu&s;tomers enow for the Plantations: They'l take off at lea&s;t a Hundred Thou&s;and a Year, and prevent the Trade of Kidnapping, and Spiriting of Children; which mu&s;t of nece&s;&s;ity turn to a good Account, and bring me in a good round Sum, with which I may be able to retire, and live at Peace i' my Old Age; leave forty &s;hillings a Year for Wheaten Loaves, to be given to the Poor o' Sundays; and ten Pounds a Year toward a weekly &s;ix a Clock i' the Morning Lecture-Sermon; then die, and be &s;et up with my Wife and Children in a kneeling po&s;ture again&s;t the Wall of the Pari&s;h Church. Why, quo he, what if I am not &s;o Book-learn'd as other Men? Does there want &s;o much Philo&s;ophy to &s;ell two or three hundred thou&s;and Slaves? Pox &mdash; I don't intend to make &s;uch a long bus'ne&s;s on't; let 'em ee'n go higgle-de-piggledy, little and great; what tho they be as black as the Devil in Hell, I'le transform 'em, I'le warrant ye, into white and yellow Money: And now do you but tell me, whether I don't know how to lick my own fingers? Full of the&s;e tickling Imaginations, <HI>Sancho</HI> trudg'd along, charming away the pain and angui&s;h of travelling a foot.</P>
<P>All this while the Curate and <HI>Cardenio</HI> had beheld the Plea&s;ant Scene through the Bu&s;hes, and were at a great lo&s;s what they &s;hould do to joyn Companies. But the Curate having bethought him&s;elf of an Expedient, pull'd his Sci&s;&s;ars out of his Pocket; and after he had &s;nipp'd off <HI>Cardenio</HI>'s Beard, made him put on his Ca&s;&s;ock and Cloak, while he remain'd in <HI>Cuerpo</HI> only with his Doublet and Breeches. In which new Garb <HI>Cardenio</HI> was &s;o
<PB N="150" REF="87"> &s;trangely alter'd, that he did not look like the &s;ame Man. This done, away they made to the High-way, and there &s;tay'd, till <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and his Company were got clear of the Mountain. When they came near, and that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> made a &s;top at the &s;ight of &s;trange Faces; the Curate look'd with a wi&s;tful Eye upon <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> as one that was in a &s;tudy whether he might not know him or no; which Pa&s;&s;ion being over, like one that had made a Di&s;covery, he ran toward <HI>Don Quixote</HI> with open Arms, crying out, Mirror of Chivalry, well met &mdash; my dear Country|man, <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> is there &s;uch a man alive, the Cream and Flower of Courage; the Bulwark of the weak and afflicted, and <HI>Quinte&s;|&s;ence</HI> of Knight-Errantry? Lord! how I am over joy'd to &s;ee your Wor&s;hip; and &s;o &s;aying, he ran to him, and embrac'd his left Leg with &s;uch an Af|fection, that he could not forbear to drop &s;ome few Tears upon his Spur-leathers. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> admiring what Adorer of his Princely Vertues this &s;hould be, &s;tar'd him i' the face, like a Picture-drawer; and after he had examin'd every Lineament, at length calling him again to mind, would fain have alighted. But the Curate hindring him, Worthy Doctor, cry'd he, I be&s;eech ye let me not be &s;o rude, to &s;it o' Hor&s;e-back, while you are a foot. Sir, you &s;hall by no means alight, quo the Curate: I de&s;ire your Highne&s;s to keep your Saddle; 'twill be Honour enough for me to hold by the Tail of one of your Mules, if your Company will permit me. 'Twill be the &s;ame thing to me, as if I were mounted upon <HI>Pega&s;us,</HI> or the Wild Mare of the Famous <HI>Moor Mu&s;arake,</HI> who lies Enchanted in the drearie Ca|vern of <HI>Oukie Hole,</HI> in the Province of <HI>Somertonia.</HI> Forgive me, worthy Doctor, reply'd the Knight, you &s;peak with a Humility becoming your Coat, and give an Example to many that never mind it; but I &s;uppo&s;e the Prince&s;s will be &s;o kind, as to Command her Squire to lend ye his Saddle, and to ride behind him&s;elf, if the Bea&s;t be but accu&s;tom'd, as &s;ome Par&s;ons Wives, to carry double. My Bea&s;t carries double, without all doubt, re|ply'd the Prince&s;s; and my Squire, I &s;uppo&s;e, will not &s;tay for my Com|mands to offer the Doctor his Saddle: He is better bred of him&s;elf, then to &s;uffer an Eccle&s;ia&s;tical Per&s;on to go a foot, while he rides. Mo&s;t cer|tainly, reply'd the Barber; and pre&s;ently alighting, pre&s;ented his Saddle to the Curate, who accepted of it without more entreaty. By accident the Mule was a hir'd Bea&s;t; that is, in plain <HI>Engli&s;h,</HI> a skitti&s;h re&s;ty Jade: So that the Barber was no &s;ooner got behind the Curate, but &s;he gave two or three &s;uch yerks with her hinder Legs, that the Barber, fearing to endan|ger the Propagation of his Family, was forc'd to fling him&s;elf off her back, to &s;ave his Perqui&s;its of Generation. And perceiving that he had lo&s;t his Beard i' the fall, he could not think of any better way then to clap his hand before his Chaps, and cry out as loud as he could yaul, that he had broken his Jaw-bone. Heav'ns ble&s;s me, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> beholding &s;uch an over-grown furbu&s;h of a Beard without a Chin, here's the eighth Wonder of the World; I never &s;aw a <HI>Mu&s;covite</HI> Beard &s;o cleverly tak'n off without a Wa&s;h-ball and Razor, &s;ince I fir&s;t read my Primer. Pre&s;ently the Cu|rate, perceiving the terrible danger they were in of a Plot-&s;poyling-Di&s;co|very, caught up the Beard, and running to the Barber, who lay all the while heavily bemoaning his Chapps, laid the Barber's Head to his Brea&s;t, and then muttering certain words, which he &s;aid, were a Charm in <HI>Trithe|mius,</HI> peculiar for the fa&s;tning on again of a loo&s;e Beard, fix'd it on again &s;o exactly, that the Barber was as &s;ound as ever he was before. Which put <HI>Don Quixote</HI> into a far greater A&s;toni&s;hment; in&s;omuch, that he de&s;ir'd the Curate very &s;eriou&s;ly to teach him the Charm, when he was at more lei&s;ure.
<PB N="151" REF="87"> Not doubting but that the Vertue of &s;uch a Charm extended farther then to the fa&s;tning of Hair, &s;ince 'twas impo&s;&s;ible that &s;uch a prodigious Beard could be torn off, without fetching away Fle&s;h and all; &s;o that &s;uch a &s;ud|den Cure might a<GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="UOM" EXTENT="3 letters"> him upon the rending off a Limb from his Body, &s;hould &s;uch a Misfortune at any time befall him.</P>
<P>And now all things being in <HI>&s;tatu quo,</HI> it was &s;o order'd, That the <HI>Curate</HI> &s;hould ride alone by him&s;elf, and that <HI>Cardenio</HI> and the <HI>Barber</HI> &s;hould relieve one another, &s;ometimes riding, &s;ometimes walking by Turns, till they came to their Inn, which was about two Leagues off. The Prince&s;s and the <HI>Cu|rate</HI> being thus mounted, and <HI>Cardenio,</HI> the <HI>Barber</HI> and <HI>Sancho,</HI> being a-foot, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> addre&s;&s;ing him&s;elf to the <HI>Prince&s;s,</HI> now Madam, quo he, your Highne&s;s has no more to do, but to tell us which way we mu&s;t go, and we are all ready to follow. At what time the <HI>Curate</HI> chopping in before the <HI>Prince&s;s</HI> could an&s;wer, Toward what Kingdom, &s;aid he, is it your High|ne&s;s's Plea&s;ure to lead us? yet pardon me, Madam, for asking, when I know it mu&s;t be toward the Kingdom of <HI>Micomicon.</HI> To which Mrs. <HI>Do|rothy,</HI> who had Wit at Will, and was not to learn how to carry on an In|trigue; you have pick'd the very Kingdom out of all Kingdoms of the Earth, more like a Prophet, quo &s;he, then a <HI>Curate.</HI> If it be &s;o, quo the Doctor, then our way lies directly through the middle of our Village, from whence we have a &s;treight Road to <HI>Cartagena,</HI> where we mu&s;t embark. And if we have a fair Gale, and a calm Sea, we may in nine Years reach the Lake <HI>Moe|otis,</HI> otherwi&s;e call'd the <HI>White Sea,</HI> where you may &s;ee a thou&s;and <HI>Mermaids</HI> all in a Clu&s;ter together, pap'ring up their <HI>Towers</HI> on a <HI>Saturday</HI> Evening, and lies not above a hundred Days Journey from your Highne&s;s's King|dom. Surely, Sir, reply'd Mrs. <HI>Dorothy,</HI> you are under a Mi&s;take; for 'tis but two Years &s;ince I &s;et out from my own Dominions, nor can I &s;ay, that we had &s;uch fair Weather neither, but &s;ometimes rough Seas, and contrary Winds; and yet I mu&s;t tell ye, I ha' been here in <HI>Spain</HI> too for &s;ome Weeks, where I had no &s;ooner &s;et my Foot a &s;hore, but I heard the Streets ring with the famous Atchievements of the Renowned <HI>Don Quixote de la Man|cha,</HI> whom I therefore re&s;olv'd to find out, if he were above Ground, whatever it co&s;t me, re&s;olving to throw my &s;elf under his Protection, and to commit the Ju&s;tice of my Cau&s;e to his Wonder-working Arm. Lord, Madam; what d' ye mean, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote?</HI> I am your humble Servant, Madam; hone&s;t <HI>Truepenny,</HI> and meer mortal <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> that's my Name and Title: And therefore &s;pare your Complements, I find y' are a Courtier from Top to Toe; but for my part, I hate Flattery, my Ears are too cha&s;te to be ravi&s;h'd by Adulation. You do not hear me tell ye whether I am a Man or a Mou&s;e: All I &s;ay, is this, If I am valiant, &s;o; if I am not valiant, &s;o; but whether I am valiant, or not valiant, I am whol|ly at your Service, even to the Expence of the la&s;t drop of my Blood; and let time tell ye, whether <HI>Don Quixote</HI> be a Milk-&s;op, or no. In the mean while I would fain know of the <HI>Curate,</HI> what brought him hither all alone, a-foot, and in <HI>Querpo,</HI> like a School-ma&s;ter going to the Hou&s;e of Office; for I mu&s;t confe&s;s I am &s;trangely &s;urpriz'd to &s;ee him in this Condition. Why then, an't like your Honour, my Lord <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> to tell ye the Rea&s;on &s;uccinctly in few words, Mr. <HI>Nicholas</HI> our Barber and I went to <HI>Sevil</HI> to receive &s;ome Money which an Unkle &s;ent me &s;ome years ago from the <HI>Indies;</HI> nor was it an incon&s;iderable Sum, as being no le&s;s then fifteen hun|dred pound Sterling. But upon the Road we met with four Highway-men that pillag'd us of all we had, even to our very Beards, &s;o that the <HI>Barber</HI> was forc'd to get him a Chin-Perriwig. And as for that Gentleman,
<PB N="152" REF="88"> whom you &s;ee there, pointing to <HI>Cardenio,</HI> after they had borrow'd his Cloak-bag, and &s;tripp'd him to his Shirt, they made him fit for another Fable in <HI>Ovid,</HI> by transfiguring him, as you &s;ee. Now they &s;ay, that the&s;e Rogues were a &s;ort of Fellows condemn'd to the Gallies, who were re&s;cu'd by a valiant Knight, from the Jailor and his Guard, in &s;pite of their Teeths, as they were carrying 'em to the Port where they were to be embarkt. However, I mu&s;t needs &s;ay, the Knight was a Fool or a Mad-man for his Pains, or el&s;e as great a Rogue as any of 'em, to let out a Company of Wolves among Sheep, Foxes among innocent Poultry, and Bears among Honey-pots, contrary to the Law of Nations, his Allegiance to his Prince, and his Re&s;pect to publick Ju&s;tice, di&s;abling the Strength of the Kings Gallies, invalidating the Sentences of the Judges upon Criminals, and like a ra&s;h and hair-brain'd Coxcomb, forfeiting at once both his Life and his Liberty upon Earth, if he &s;hould come to be pro&s;ecuted for his Folly, and his Salvation hereafter. For you mu&s;t know, that <HI>Sancho</HI> had told the <HI>Cu|rate</HI> the Story of the Galley-&s;laves, who therefore preach'd this Sermon &s;o &s;everely to hear what <HI>Don Quixote</HI> would &s;ay, who chang'd Colour at every word, not daring to boa&s;t of that Act of his Valour, which the <HI>Curate</HI> had damn'd as an Atchievement more fit for the Devil, then a pious <HI>Knight-Errant.</HI> And the&s;e, quo the <HI>Curate,</HI> concluding his Text, were the cur&s;ed Villains, that reduc'd us to this mi&s;erable Condition; God forgive 'em, and that Poltron of a Knight, that freed 'em from the ju&s;t Puni&s;hment of their Impieties.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="3" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. III.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">The Pur&s;uit of the Hi&s;tory of the Prince&s;s of <HI>Micomicon,</HI> contain|ing the cunning Policies and Stratagems of the <HI>Curate</HI> and <HI>Barber,</HI> to free the enamour'd Knight from the rigorous Penance which he had undertak'n.</HEAD>
<P>THIS Sermon of the <HI>Curate</HI>'s, &s;hort and home, and deliver'd without Book, with a becoming Ge&s;ture (the true Character of a good Ser|mon) wrought &s;o feelingly upon <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Con&s;cience, that he made open Confe&s;&s;ion; Cuds-bodikins, quo he, and who d' think now 'twas perform'd that de&s;perate Exploit? Troth-law, to his eternal Fame be it &s;pok'n, no living body i' the var&s;al World, but my dear valiant Ma&s;ter his nown &s;elf. And yet my Mind gave me he did not do well in it; and therefore 'twas, that I bid him have a care what he did, and told him how that it could not chu&s;e, but be a very great Sin to &s;et at liberty the Heels of a Company of Mi&s;creants, whom the Law had condemn'd to the Gallies for their Villainies. And now I find, Mr. <HI>Curate,</HI> I was i' the right on't. Ye Pumpkin-pated Coxcomb, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> Is it for a <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> when he meets with People laden with Chains, and under Oppre&s;&s;ion, as they were, upon the Road, to take notice whether they &s;uffer'd ju&s;tly or unju&s;tly? <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> are only to relieve the afflicted, and not to examine whether they be Rogues or Martyrs. I met a Company of poor Fellows in di&s;mal Calamity, link'd together like the Beads of a <HI>Ro&s;ary,</HI> and I &s;et 'em at liberty. There|in I did what my Con&s;cience, and my Profe&s;&s;ion oblig'd me to. And what has any Mortal breathing to &s;ay to this? if there be, unle&s;s it be Mr. <HI>Curate,</HI>
<PB N="153" REF="88"> here, whom I re&s;pect a little for his Coat's &s;ake, he's the Son of ten thou|&s;and Fathers, and knows not what belongs to <HI>Knight-Errantry;</HI> and I'le make him eat my Sword and &s;pew it up again, for I would be loath to lo&s;e it. And having &s;o &s;aid, he fix'd him&s;elf in his Stirrups, and pull'd his Hel|met o're his Brows, and look'd as grim, as if he had vow'd the Death of ten <HI>Sera&s;quier-Ba&s;haw's,</HI> with twenty thou&s;and Men a piece at their Heels: for as for <HI>Mambrino</HI>'s Ba&s;on, it hung at his Saddle bow, batter'd as it was by the Galley-Slaves, fit for nothing but to mend old Kettles. Thereupon, Mrs. <HI>Dorothy</HI> by this time well acquainted with his Humour, &s;eeing him in &s;uch a Pa&s;&s;ion, like a fleering Slut as &s;he was, For Heaven's &s;ake, Sir, quo &s;he, a&s;&s;wage your Fury; for I dare &s;wear, had Mr. <HI>Curate</HI> known 't had been your Valour that &s;o religiou&s;ly &s;et the ungodly Galley-Slaves at liberty, he would ha' cut out his Tongue a thou&s;and times, rather then ha' &s;pok'n a word that &s;hou'd ha' di&s;pleas'd your Wor&s;hip. No, I a&s;&s;ure ye, Sir, quo the <HI>Cu|rate,</HI> tho the Varlets had twitch'd my Beard off Hair by Hair. I am &s;ati&s;|fy'd, Madam, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and for your &s;ake the Flame of my ju&s;t Indig|nation is already quench'd; nor will I engage in any more Quarrels, till I have perform'd my Promi&s;e to your Sovereign Highne&s;s. Only, Madam, be|cau&s;e 'tis but rational for a Man to know for what he ventures his Bones, I beg of your Highne&s;s to give us a brief Account of your Di&s;a&s;ters, that I may know where to deny all manner of Mercy, where to di&s;member, and where to &s;pare both Life and Limb, if there be any that can de&s;erve &s;o much Com|pa&s;&s;ion, that have offended &s;o much Vertue in a Sovereign Prince&s;s. Lord! Sir, quo Mrs. <HI>Dorothy,</HI> 'tis the lea&s;t thing I can do to oblige the mo&s;t matchle&s;s Champion i' the World, but that I fear my Story will be too tedious and irk|&s;om to your Ears. Madam, &s;o far, by my Soul, from being irk&s;om, that do but &s;ay how many Giants Thumbs, with every one a Gold Ring, you expect for your Trouble, and you &s;hall have 'em paid <HI>upon &s;ight.</HI> Since then it mu&s;t be &s;o, cry'd Mrs. <HI>Dorothy,</HI> I mu&s;t beg ye, Sir, to lend me your Attention. With that <HI>Cardenio</HI> and the <HI>Barber</HI> gather'd up to her, to hear what a pickl'd Story &s;he had provided &s;o &s;oon; tho they doubted not but her Wit and her Fancy was &s;uch, that &s;he had one as ready as a Lye in a King's-Bench Waiter's Mouth. <HI>Sancho</HI> al&s;o hung his Ears upon her Side-&s;addle, as if he had been to take her Speech in <HI>Short-hand;</HI> at what time the Lady having cough'd, &s;pit, and wip'd her Lips, with the greate&s;t Grace i' the World, thus began:</P>
<P>Fir&s;t then, Gentlemen, you mu&s;t know that my Name is &mdash; Here &s;he &s;topp'd, having quite forgot the Name which the <HI>Curate</HI> had giv'n her. Whereupon the <HI>Curate,</HI> finding her at a <HI>Non-plus,</HI> rode clo&s;e up to her, and begging Pardon for his Interruption; Madam, quo he, there is nothing more di&s;turbs, and di&s;compo&s;es the Mind and the Memory, then long and extreme Affliction. I my &s;elf that am but the poor <HI>Curate</HI> of <HI>Tobo&s;o,</HI> the chiefe&s;t of who&s;e living is by unlicenc'd Weddings, have been &s;o be&s;ide my &s;elf many times for the Cheat of a Bra&s;s Half-Crown put upon me, that I have forgot my own Name, nor could I remember it again for my life, till the Clark has told it me; no wonder then that the Prince&s;s <HI>Micomicona,</HI> Heire&s;s to the va&s;t Kingdom of <HI>Micomicon,</HI> overwhelm'd with &s;o many Ca|lamities, and perplex'd with &s;o many various Thoughts for the Recovery of &s;o va&s;t a Dominion, &s;hould have her Imagination and Memory &s;o much incumber'd as you have at this pre&s;ent, but&mdash; <Q>I mu&s;t confe&s;s, reply'd Mrs. <HI>Dorothy,</HI> that but ju&s;t now there hover'd before my Eyes &s;uch a black and dreadful Apparition of the Misfortunes that I am going to relate, that I hardly knew what I &s;aid; but having now pretty well recover'd my
<PB N="154" REF="89"> &s;elf, I hope I &s;hall be able to go on without any farther He&s;itation. Know then, Gentlemen, that I am lawful Heire&s;s to the va&s;t Kingdom of <HI>Mi|comicon,</HI> and that the King my Father, who was call'd <HI>Tinacrin</HI> the <HI>Wi&s;e,</HI> a Per&s;on al&s;o greatly skill'd in Magick Art, under&s;tood by his profound Knowledge in that my&s;terious Science (for he had all <HI>Cornelius Agrippa</HI>'s Works by heart) that Queen <HI>Caramilla</HI> my Mother &s;hould die before him, and that he him&s;elf &s;hould not live long after her, but leave me a young Orphan. But that was not the thing that troubl'd him, for he knew that Princes were mortal, and that it is u&s;ual to leave their Children behind 'em, &s;ometimes i' their Swadling-Clothes; but his Magical Speculations fore-told him, That a certain Giant as big as ten ordinary Giants, and as mon&s;trous as <HI>Hobb</HI>'s <HI>Leviathan,</HI> Lord of a great I&s;land almo&s;t upon the Confines of my Kingdom, who&s;e Name is <HI>Pandafilando,</HI> &s;irnam'd the <HI>Sawcer-Ey'd;</HI> becau&s;e he always look'd as the Devil look'd over <HI>Lincoln,</HI> on pur|po&s;e to fright all People he &s;tar'd upon. My Father, I &s;ay, fore-&s;aw that this Giant, well knowing that I had neither Father nor Mother, would one day invade my Dominions with a powerful Army, and expel me out of my &s;patious Territories, without leaving me &s;o much as a thatch'd Vil|lage to put my Head in; tho he knew withal, that I might avoid my Misfortune, provided I would con&s;ent to marry him; but that it was im|po&s;&s;ible for me to have any &s;uch Thought, well under&s;tanding the Skill which by that time I &s;hould have in Anatomy. For which Rea&s;on he was &s;ure I would neither marry with that Giant, nor with any other Giant i'the World. My Father therefore left it in his Will, That I &s;hould take my Di&s;a&s;ters patiently for a Time, and re&s;ign my Kingdom to him without more ado, &s;ince I was in no wi&s;e able to make any Defence to prevent the Ruine of my Subjects: But withal, he left me al&s;o this comfortable Ad|vice, That I &s;hould forthwith betake my &s;elf into <HI>Spain,</HI> where I &s;hould meet with a potent Protector, in the Per&s;on of a Renowned <HI>Knight-Er|rant,</HI> fam'd over all the World for his Valour, and his Strength, and call'd by the Name, if I forget not, of <HI>D. Hacote</HI> or <HI>Gigote</HI>&mdash;</Q> You are pretty near the matter, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> interrupting her, call him therefore <HI>D. Quixote,</HI> Madam, or the <HI>Knight of the Ill-favour'd Countenance.</HI> <Q>Y' are very right, Sir, reply'd Mrs. <HI>Dorothy,</HI> 'twas <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> now I remember my &s;elf. My Father al&s;o de&s;crib'd to me a lean Man with a wither'd Face, and that he had up|on his left Shoulder, or &s;omewhere thereabouts, a black Mole over-grown with a thick Tuft of Hair.</Q> With that, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> calling for <HI>Sancho</HI> to come to him; Here, Sirrah, &s;aid he, hold my Lance, and help me to un|dre&s;s my &s;elf, for I can &s;oon know whether it were me that this Conjurer of a King prophe&s;y'd after this manner. Why &s;o much ha&s;te, Sir Knight, re|ply'd Mrs. <HI>Dorothy,</HI> to &s;trip your &s;elf? To &s;ee whether I have any &s;uch Mole about me, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> as you &s;peak of. You need not undre&s;s your &s;elf for that, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> I am well &s;atisfy'd that you have a Mark upon your Back-bone, or &s;omewhat near it, like what the Prince&s;s de&s;cribes. <Q>'Tis &s;ufficient, quo Mrs. <HI>Dorothy;</HI> Friends can believe one another without &s;uch a &s;trict Examination; nor am I going to &s;wear it before a Ma&s;ter in Chancery; for whether it be upon your left or right Shoulder, 'tis not a Straw matter, &s;ince 'tis all the &s;ame Body and the &s;ame Fle&s;h. In &s;hort, I find my Father &s;poke truth in every thing, and that I am right in recom|mending my &s;elf to <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who&s;e Stature and Vi&s;age &s;o well agree with my Father's De&s;cription; and who&s;e Reputation is &s;o far &s;pread a|broad, that I was no &s;ooner landed at <HI>O&s;&s;una,</HI> but I heard of the miraculous Atchievements he had perform'd; and then I was confident that he was
<PB N="155" REF="89"> the Per&s;on to whom I was to make my Addre&s;&s;es.</Q> But pray, Madam, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> how came you to land at <HI>O&s;&s;una,</HI> which is no Sea-port Town? Lord! quo the <HI>Curate,</HI> interrupting him; don't ye know, Sir, that the Prince&s;s is a Stranger? She means, that after &s;he landed at <HI>Malaga,</HI> the fir&s;t Place &s;he came to, was <HI>O&s;&s;una,</HI> and there &s;he heard, <HI>&amp;c.</HI> <Q>That is what I would have &s;aid, reply'd Mrs. <HI>Dorothy.</HI></Q> There's all the Rea&s;on i' the World to believe it, quo the <HI>Curate,</HI> and therefore your Maje&s;ty may be pleas'd to go on wi' your Story when you plea&s;e. <Q>I have nothing more to &s;ay, reply'd Mrs. <HI>Dorothy,</HI> but only to ble&s;s my good Fortune for having &s;o luckily met with this Renowned Knight, by who&s;e Valour I look upon my &s;elf as already re&s;tor'd to the Throne of my Ance&s;tors; &s;ince he has done me the Favour to promi&s;e me his A&s;&s;i&s;tance again&s;t that Traitor of a Giant <HI>Pandafilando,</HI> whom I hope in a &s;hort time to &s;ee let blood i' the Head, like a Goo&s;e, till he bleed to death, and be reveng'd of him for &s;o unju&s;tly depriving me of my lawful Inheritance. One thing I forgot to tell ye, That my Father left me another Paper, wherein he charg'd me, That af|ter the Knight had re&s;tor'd me to the Po&s;&s;e&s;&s;ion of my Kingdom, if he &s;hould ask me i' the way of hone&s;ty to marry me, I &s;hould never &s;tand <HI>Shilly-&s;hally,</HI> but marry him incontinently.</Q></P>
<P>What think&s;t on't now, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote?</HI> Did&s;t hear what &s;he &s;aid? Did I not tell thee 'twould rain Kingdoms, and Kings Daughters, and Governments, afore a Month came to an end? Ay, ay, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> one of the gaye&s;t Proffers i' the World; and now the Devil take me, if he ben't the Son of a Whore that does not go forthwith and di&s;&s;ect this confounded Giant <HI>Pandafilando,</HI> and take the Prince&s;s at her word. A Buxome Girl, I warrant her: Cuds foot&mdash; would all the Fleas i' my Bed were &s;uch. And having &s;o &s;aid, he fetch'd two or three frisks i' the Air, and flung out his Joy with a <HI>Hey-Boys.</HI> Which done, he fell upon his Knees at Mrs. <HI>Dorothy</HI>'s Feet, be&s;eeching her to give him her Hand to ki&s;s, as an Acknowledg|ment that he own'd her for his Queen and Mi&s;tre&s;s. Thereupon Mrs. <HI>Do|rothy</HI> gave him her Hand to ki&s;s, and promis'd to make him a great Lord &s;o &s;oon as &s;he &s;hould be re-&s;ettl'd in her Territories. For which <HI>Sancho</HI> return'd her thanks in &s;uch an extravagant Complement, that they all fell a laugh|ing at &s;uch a rate, that <HI>Sancho</HI> feeling Authority begin to encroach upon him, bid 'em under&s;tand them&s;elves, and know their Di&s;tance. Then Mrs. <HI>Do|rothy</HI> proceeding, <Q>Thus, quo &s;he, I have made ye a Recital of my Mi&s;|fortunes: I have no more to &s;ay, but only to tell ye this, That of my Train that attended me out of my Kingdom, I have not one left but my Squire yonder with the long Beard: All the re&s;t were ca&s;t away in a ter|rible Storm ju&s;t in &s;ight of our Harbour; only I and my Squire got a&s;hore upon two Planks, and &s;o &s;av'd our &s;elves; a good Omen that Heav'n has pre&s;erv'd us for better Fortune.</Q> Oh, Madam! quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> y' have met with it already; for I confirm my granted Boon, and once more &s;wear by my Affeiction to the fair <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> to follow ye to the End of the World, and never to abandon your ju&s;t Preten&s;ions, till I have encounter'd your prodigious Enemy, &s;liver'd off his &s;uperfluous Head, and giv'n his Carka&s;s to the Fowls of the Air, were he as valiant as twenty <HI>Mars's</HI> all put toge|ther. And when I have re&s;tor'd ye to your Throne, I &s;hall then leave ye at full Liberty to di&s;po&s;e of your Per&s;on as you plea&s;e your &s;elf. For be|ing, as I am, a Va&s;&s;al to the Matchle&s;s&mdash; I &s;ay no more, &s;ince 'tis impo&s;&s;i|ble for me, God wot, to marry, tho it were with a <HI>Phoenix.</HI> At which la&s;t Words and Sighs of his Ma&s;ter; <HI>Sancho,</HI> who li&s;ten'd like an inqui&s;itive Chamber-maid, to hear <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s An&s;wer, became &s;o pen&s;ive and di&s;|contented
<PB N="156" REF="90"> withal, that not being able to contain his Pa&s;&s;ion; By the Bow|els of all the Giants i' the World, <HI>Senior Don Quixote,</HI> quo he, you have lo&s;t your Wits. Would ever any man el&s;e &s;it <HI>Hum-drumming,</HI> as you do, whether he &s;hould marry this great Prince&s;s, or no? Surely you can't think &s;uch Fortunes grow upon every Hedge&mdash; or is it becau&s;e Mrs. <HI>Long Meg o' We&s;tmin&s;ter</HI> is hand&s;omer then &s;he? How!&mdash; &s;he mu&s;t chip off a handful from her No&s;e fir&s;t, y' faith, and that won't do neither&mdash; As hand&s;om as &s;he! why, &s;ure your Eyes are enchanted&mdash; Why, I mu&s;t tell ye, as little Skill as I ha' in Beauty, your Divine <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> as ye call her, is a meer <HI>Tripe|woman</HI> to her&mdash; &s;he does not de&s;erve to carry the Prince&s;s's Pattins after her. Zookers! is this the way for me to have the Earldom I ha' been &s;o long waiting for, after all your Promi&s;es, for you to go diving after <HI>Mu&s;hrooms</HI> i' the bottom o' the Sea&mdash;? Marry then, marry with a Pox to ye&mdash; and don't lie doating thus on a <HI>filthy Stammel,</HI> but take a Kingdom, Goodman Fool, that comes dropping, as it were, into your mouth, that I may be an Earl, or a Marque&s;s, or &s;omething like it, when you ha' done as ye ought; for every hone&s;t man's as good as his Word; and when you have perform'd that, you may go hang your &s;elf, if you think fit.</P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> hearing &s;uch Bla&s;phemies utter'd again&s;t his ador'd <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> heaves up his Lance, and without &s;peaking a word that might di&s;cover his boiling Pa&s;&s;ion, gave his indi&s;creet Squire two &s;uch Paper-mill Thumps upon the very Scull of him, that he lay kicking with his Heels, like a Cat that has had her Forehead well rubb'd; and had it not been that Mrs. <HI>Doro|thy</HI> &s;cream'd out, and begg'd of him to forbear, for God's &s;ake, he had mur|der'd poor <HI>Sancho</HI> out-right in his fiery Indignation. Dog in a Doublet, quo he, do ye think I am bound always to bear wi' your Bumkinly Frumps wi' my Hands i' my Pocket? No, no, don't believe it, ye excommunicated Mi&s;creant; I &s;ay excommunicated, for having open'd thy blubber Lips &s;o prophanely again&s;t the Peerle&s;s <HI>Dulcinea.</HI> Do&s;t thou not know, ra&s;cally <HI>Ragamuffin</HI> as thou art, that were it not for the Courage which &s;he infu&s;es into my Brea&s;t, and the Strength with which &s;he fortifies my Arm, that I &s;hould not be able to kill a Titmou&s;e? Ye confounded Rake&s;hame, ye Tai|lors Nit, who wa&s;t, d' ye think, that re-conquer'd the Kingdom of <HI>Micro|comicon,</HI> &s;lew the va&s;t Giant that cover'd a whole Acre of Ground, when he fell, and rais'd thee from a lazy Scoundrel, to be a Marque&s;s (for I look upon all the&s;e things to be done already) but only <HI>Dulcinea</HI>'s Valour, of which my Arm was no more then the unworthy In&s;trument? Is it not &s;he that puts me on, as I put on my Armour, fights Cap-a-pe in her <HI>Don Quix|ote,</HI> and wins me all my Victories? She by whom I live and breath, and to whom I owe my Life and Being. Treacherous and ingrateful Bea&s;t, is it any longer then three minutes ago, that I rais'd thee from the Dunghil to the Pinacle of Honour, and does thy vip'rous Tongue already dart thy Poi|&s;on at thy Benefactre&s;s? <HI>Sancho</HI> was not &s;o &s;tunn'd, but that he heard every word his Ma&s;ter &s;aid; but becau&s;e he was re&s;olv'd to &s;ecure him&s;elf before he made him an An&s;wer, up he crawl'd, and getting o' t'other fide Mrs. <HI>Do|rothy</HI>'s Palfrey; Now come on, Sir, quo he, you that think your &s;elf &s;uch a Privy Coun&s;ellour, pray tell me how 'tis po&s;&s;ible, if you don't marry the Prince&s;s, to have the Kingdom at your Di&s;po&s;al? and that being &s;o, where's my Recompence for all my Bangs and Thumps I ha' receiv'd in your Service? Let the World therefore judge, whether I ha' not rea&s;on to complain, when I find ye thus going about to pop me off with what the Cat left in the Malt. Why &s;hould you have &s;uch a tender Con&s;cience to &s;cruple Marriage with the Prince&s;s? You may do that, and &s;end for your beloved <HI>Mop&s;a</HI> when y' ha'
<PB N="157" REF="90"> done; for 'tis the Fa&s;hion now a days to keep Mi&s;&s;es. Here's a Prince&s;s &s;ent ye, as it were, from Heav'n, and you won't marry her, with a Mur|rain to ye! As for which is the mo&s;t beautiful of the two, I will not under|take to determine; your Madam <HI>Dulcinea</HI> is a very fair Lady, 'tis true, tho I never &s;aw her i'my life. How! Off-spring of <HI>Satan,</HI> quo <HI>D. Quixote,</HI> never &s;aw her, and yet brought'&s;t mean An&s;wer from her but ju&s;t now! I mean, Sir, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> I never view'd her, as <HI>Paris</HI> did the three <HI>Godde&s;&s;es,</HI> to ob&s;erve her Perfections by Retail, but take her all together, &s;he may pa&s;s for a Beauty. Well, I pardon thee for this time, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> and do thou likewi&s;e be &s;o kind as to pardon the Provocation of my unruly Pa&s;&s;ion, which is not &s;o &s;oon quell'd as put into a Ferment. I know it very well, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> and therefore you ought to con&s;ider, that the talkative Humour which pro|vokes me to &s;peak, is a Motion which I can as well be hang'd as re&s;i&s;t; when 'tis once come to the tip of my Tongue, I mu&s;t out with it, what e're it be. However, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> if a Snaffle won't do it, put a Curb upon that unruly Member, and have a care what ye &s;ay&mdash;<HI>The Pitcher goes often to the Well</HI>&mdash; I &s;ay no more&mdash; <HI>A word to the wi&s;e is &s;ufficient,</HI> quo <HI>Sancho</HI>&mdash; God above &s;ees all things, and he is able to judge who is mo&s;t i' the right, I that never &s;peak well, or you that never do better.</P>
<P>Enough, enough, quo Mrs. <HI>Dorothy,</HI> all's well; and therefore <HI>Sancho</HI> go and pro&s;trate your &s;elf at the Feet of your Lord and Ma&s;ter, beg his Pardon, and re|member for the time to come to manage your Tongue with more Re&s;erv'd|ne&s;s; more e&s;pecially take heed how you talk irreverently of that Lady of <HI>To|bo&s;o,</HI> who&s;e Servant I would be glad to be, tho I never &s;aw her i'my life, becau&s;e I find this valiant Knight has &s;uch a Value for her, and from henceforward tru&s;t to me for your Recompence. With that, <HI>Sancho,</HI> in a mo&s;t &s;ubmi&s;|&s;ive Po&s;ture, went and threw him&s;elf at his Ma&s;ter's Stirrup, who having given him his Benediction with a maje&s;tick Gravity, de&s;ir'd the Company to ride on alittle before, for that he had &s;ome Bu&s;ine&s;s of important Pri|vacy with his Squire. So that when he found 'em far enough off hearing, Friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo he, I have had no lei&s;ure &s;ince thy Return to ask thee any Que&s;tions concerning thy Me&s;&s;age, and what An&s;wer thou had&s;t; but now prethee tell me the Particulars. Sir, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> ask me what Que&s;tions you plea&s;e, I'le tell ye more then I know, rather then le&s;s; only I be&s;eech ye for the future, be not &s;o malicious; for y' are &s;o ha&s;ty grown, a Dog wou'd not live wi' ye. <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> they that will govern, mu&s;t learn to obey; and they that think to beat others, mu&s;t learn to be beat'n them&s;elves; and therefore when I thra&s;h thy Bones at any time, 'tis all for thy good. Ay, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> but to bear malice, Malice fore|thought i' your mind, why 'tis the very Stre&s;s and Plain-&s;ong of all our En|dictments. How do&s;t mean Malice, quo <HI>Don Quixote?</HI> My Rea&s;on is this, quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> becau&s;e my mind gives me, that you gave me the&s;e two la&s;t pithy Remembrances upon the Noddle, for the Quarrel that <HI>Satan</HI> rais'd be|tween you and me t'other Night, and not for any thing I &s;poke again&s;t Madam Primro&s;e, the Lady <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> whom I wi&s;h my <HI>Whim-whams</HI> in a cleft Stick, if I do not admire and adore, beyond any Relique of the holy Cro&s;s: and that meerly becau&s;e &s;he is your Mi&s;tre&s;s. <HI>Sancho,</HI> cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> once for all, let us leave off this Di&s;cour&s;e, it grates my Ears; there is an Act of Oblivion pa&s;t to this very moment; but new Offences will require new Puni&s;hment.</P>
<P>While they were thus parlying together, they e&s;py'd making toward 'em, a certain Per&s;on mounted upon a &s;ober A&s;s, whom they took for a <HI>He-Gyp&s;ie,</HI> the nearer he came; but <HI>Sancho,</HI> who &s;ince the lo&s;s of his own Bea&s;t,
<PB N="158" REF="91"> never &s;aw an A&s;s, but his Heart was ready to leap out of his Belly, had no &s;ooner fix'd his Eye upon the Traveller, but he knew him to be the Per|&s;on that had &s;o inhumanly robb'd him of his Soul's Delight. Now this Fellow had di&s;guis'd him&s;elf in the Habit of a <HI>Gyp&s;ie,</HI> and &s;poke their <HI>Gibbri&s;h</HI> exactly, to the end he might not be di&s;cover'd, nor be prevented in the Sale of the A&s;s, which he had al&s;o tran&s;mogrify'd into the Shape almo&s;t of another Creature. But <HI>Sancho</HI> that knew his A&s;s again by the very Scent of a Fizzle, which he let ju&s;t i' the nick of time, cry'd out with all the force of his Lungs, Ho, Mr. Thief, have I found ye? Deliver me my Goods, <HI>Rogue,</HI> deliver the Repo&s;e of my Heart, and comfort of my Soul; Varlet, Villain, Hedgebird, re&s;tore me my A&s;s, my A&s;s, ye <HI>Prancer-Prigger,</HI> my &s;ole Delight, and only Joy&mdash; &s;eize him, Ma&s;ter, &s;eize him, here's my A&s;s, and here's the Rogue that &s;tole him; &s;eize him Ma&s;ter, &s;eize him. Upon which the Fellow, &s;ee|ing him&s;elf &s;o hard be&s;et, &s;lipp'd off the A&s;s, and betook him&s;elf to his heels, as nimbly as a Coney before a Lurcher, and quickly got out of their reach, becau&s;e no body took the Pains to pur&s;ue him. For <HI>Sancho</HI> had enough to do to rejoice over his A&s;s; which he had no &s;ooner got by the Bridle, but with a paternal Kindne&s;s, How ha&s;t done all this while, my Darling, my Trea&s;ure, quo he! Welcome, nay more welcome to thy nown dear <HI>Sancho,</HI> then the Nuptial Night to two enamour'd Lovers&mdash; and with that he fell a ki&s;&s;ing, and hugging, and embracing his Bea&s;t, as if 't had been his only Son ri&s;en again from the Report of his being dead i' the <HI>Indies.</HI> To which the poor dumb A&s;s had not a word to &s;ay, not &s;o much as in his own <HI>Mother-Spani&s;h;</HI> only in meer Gratitude, he thru&s;t out his Tongue, and lick'd off the Tears that fell from his Ma&s;ter's Eyes for Joy that he had re-gain'd the Bea&s;t of his Affections. In the mean time, the Company that were before, wond'ring at the long Halt that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and his Squire made came riding back again, and under&s;tanding what was the matter, they all with a <HI>nemine contradicente,</HI> gave all imaginable Demon&s;trations of the Joy and Satisfaction for <HI>Sancho</HI>'s good Fortune; while <HI>Don Quixote</HI> ob&s;erving the good Nature of his Squire, re-confirm'd the Promi&s;e he had made him of three A&s;&s;es for one.</P>
<P>This was that which pa&s;s'd between <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and his Squire, while the <HI>Curate</HI> and Mrs. <HI>Dorothy</HI> had been engag'd in Di&s;cour&s;e of another Na|ture. Well, Madam, quo the <HI>Curate,</HI> I find a Man may venture upon your Head at any time; had ye &s;tudy'd twenty Years for this Story, you could never ha' brought a Fable to bear with more Fancy, or more Conci&s;ene&s;s: And then for the terms of <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> you had 'em as exactly as a Sea|man &s;aies his Compa&s;s. Oh, Sir! reply'd Mrs. <HI>Dorothy,</HI> I am but young in Years, 'tis true, but an old Reader of <HI>Romances:</HI> I have por'd upon 'em a|nights i' my Bed, till I have drop'd a' Sleep, and left the Candle to fire the Hou&s;e, had not my Maid come in by chance; but a Duce take your Maps, for I could never under&s;tand 'em i' my life, which made me commit that Mi&s;take about <HI>O&s;&s;una.</HI> That was nothing, Madam, quo the <HI>Curate,</HI> as I or|der'd the matter: You &s;ee how I reconcil'd the bu&s;ine&s;s with a Jerk. But Madam, what think ye? Do you not wonder at this <HI>Fobdoodle</HI> of a <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> that &s;wallows &s;o ea&s;ily the&s;e Gudgeons of Tales and idle Stories, meerly becau&s;e they have a Smack of the&s;e Extravagancies, which he had read in his <HI>Amadis de Gaul's,</HI> and Round-table <HI>Champions?</HI> And yet di&s;cour&s;e him upon any other Subject, and he's a man will talk ye as rationally as a Phi|lo&s;opher, as &s;ober as a Judge, and as learnedly as an Univer&s;ity Scholar. So that you would take him for a Man of Sence and Judgment, till ye come once to prick him i'the Vein of <HI>Knight-Errantry;</HI> but then he flies out,
<PB N="159" REF="91"> and falls a raving, as if he had a whole <HI>Mid&s;ummer-Moon</HI> in his Brains.</P>
<P>While the Curate and Mrs. <HI>Dorothy</HI> were thus engag'd, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> en|tring into a new Confabulation with his Squire; Hone&s;t <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo he, gi' me thy fi&s;t; and let us with a Chri&s;tian forgivene&s;s lay a&s;ide all manner of Malice and Animo&s;ity, as things altogether unbe&s;eeming Per&s;ons of our Profe&s;&s;ion, and tell me by way of Catechize, when, where, and how thou found'&s;t the Peerle&s;s <HI>Dulcinea?</HI> What &s;he was doing? What &s;he &s;aid? What &s;he an&s;wer'd? How &s;he look'd when &s;he read the Letter? Who tran|&s;crib'd it for thee? And whatever el&s;e thou can&s;t call to mind that is fit to be known and remember'd, or proper to be ask'd and an&s;wer'd; for to know the&s;e things gradually, punctually, in order, and exactly, is that upon which depends the whole repo&s;e and quiet of my Life: And this without any additions, any daubing, &s;leeking, palliating, or mincing the matter, thinking to flatter and tickle my Ear. On the other &s;ide, be not too con|ci&s;e neither, to the end I may not lo&s;e the &s;malle&s;t Mu&s;tard &s;eed of my Soul|charming Plea&s;ure. Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> if it be &s;o ab&s;olutely nece&s;&s;ary for me to &s;peak Truth, I mu&s;t tell ye, that no body Tran&s;crib'd the Letter for me, becau&s;e I never carry'd any. 'Tis very right, quo <HI>Don Quixote</HI>&mdash; for two days after thou wert gone, I found the Table-Book wherein I had written my Epi&s;tle; which put me into &s;uch a Pa&s;&s;ion, that I could not forbear lending thee half a &s;core round Cur&s;es for thy carele&s;ne&s;s; and every mo|ment I expected when thou would'&s;t have come back to ha' receiv'd three or four Ba&s;tinado's, to ha' refre&s;h'd thy Memory. Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> there was no need of that; for I had heard your Letter read &s;o often, that I could &s;ay it by heart, more exactly then my Creed. Meeting therefore with the Clerk of the next Pari&s;h, I rehears'd it to him &s;o exactly word for word, that when he had copy'd it out, he &s;wore that he never read &s;uch a compleat, matchle&s;s Piece of Wit in his Life, tho he had read all <HI>Howel</HI>'s, <HI>Loveday</HI>'s, and <HI>Balzac</HI>'s <HI>Octavo's,</HI> and had been a great Student in the <HI>My&s;teries</HI> of <HI>Love</HI> and <HI>Eloquence.</HI> And do'&s;t remember it &s;till, quo <HI>Don Quixote?</HI> No, Sir, reply'd <HI>Sancho;</HI> for when I &s;aw it once &s;ecur'd in a whole &s;heet of Paper, I thought it to no purpo&s;e to burd'n my Memory with it any longer. Only at the beginning there was <HI>Over-grown,</HI> I wou'd &s;ay <HI>Soveraign Lady;</HI> and at the end, <HI>Yours till Death, The Knight of the Ill-favour'd Countenance:</HI> And be|tween tho&s;e two i' the middle, about three hundred repetitions of <HI>Soul, Life, Deare&s;t, Pigs'ny,</HI> and <HI>Joy.</HI></P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="4" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. IV.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing the Plea&s;ant Di&s;cour&s;e between <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and his Squire; with other Remarkable Pa&s;&s;ages.</HEAD>
<P>THUS far, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> all's very well &mdash; But when thou wer't admitted into her Pre&s;ence, how was that Queen of Beauty employ'd? Was &s;he not threading of Pearl, or working &s;ome Rich Point of <HI>Venice</HI> Cravat for the Knight her Va&s;&s;al? No &s;uch thing, I a&s;&s;ure ye, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> for &s;he was winnowing two Bu&s;hels of Wheat over a cour&s;e Sheet i' the Yard. But then, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> did&s;t not thou at the &s;ame time perceive, that every grain of the Corn was turn'd into &s;o
<PB N="160" REF="92"> many Pearls, by the touch of her fair Hands? Prithee, what &s;ort of Wheat was it? Was it pure Wheat, or Ma&s;lin? Neither, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> but only a mixture of Barley and Oats. That's nothing, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> for being &s;ifted by her Hands, mo&s;t certainly it made Bread as white as ever any <HI>King&s;ton</HI> Manchet. But let us proceed &mdash; When thou gav'&s;t her the Letter, did &s;he not ki&s;s it? Did &s;he not clap it to her Brea&s;t? Did &s;he not u&s;e &s;ome extraordinary Ceremony becoming the Honour due to &s;uch a Letter? In &s;hort, what was't &s;he did? The Sieve was full of Corn, Sir, re|ply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> when I pre&s;ented her the Letter; and as &s;he was rumbling the Sieve like a Sinder-woman upon her knees, Friend, quo &s;he, lay your Letter upon that empty Sack there, for I &s;hall not have lei&s;ure to read it, till I have &s;ifted all this Corn. Ob&s;erve in that her wonderful Di&s;cretion, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> for that was an excu&s;e on purpo&s;e, becau&s;e &s;he would read the Letter in private, where no body &s;hould be witne&s;s of her tran&s;|ports upon the receipt of it. But while &s;he was thus bu&s;ie at her Work, what was the Di&s;cour&s;e that pa&s;s'd between ye? Did &s;he not enquire how I did, and what I did? And what did'&s;t thou an&s;wer her? An&s;wer me punctually, and &s;atisfie my Impatience, without filching from me the lea&s;t tittle of the Truth. So far was &s;he from asking any Que&s;tions concerning ye, that &s;he did not &s;eem to me &s;o much as to think of ye &mdash; Only I of my own Head indeed told her a long &s;tory, how I had left ye i' the Mountain, doing Penance for her &s;ake, naked from the wa&s;t downward, like a true Satyr; &s;leeping upon the Ground, eating without Napkin or Table Cloth; never combing your Beard, but blubbering and whining like a great Cow-baby, and cur&s;ing your hard Fate. Thou did&s;t not do &s;o well in that, re|ply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> to &s;ay, that I curs'd my cruel Fortune: For I always did, and ever will adore my happy Stars, that render'd me worthy to pre|tend to love &s;o High a Lady, as <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o.</HI> You may well call her high, quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> for may I never &s;ee my Old <HI>Joan</HI> again, if I don't believe her within two Cubits as tall as the May-Pole i' the <HI>Strand.</HI> How, <HI>Sancho,</HI> cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> what, did&s;t ever mea&s;ure with her, that thou talk'&s;t at this rate? Yes, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I mea&s;ur'd with her in helping her up with a Sack of Corn upon her A&s;s; and I found as we &s;tood together, that my Head did not reach up to the &s;mall of her back. But did&s;t not thou perceive withal, that the&s;e goodly Dimen&s;ions of hers were accompany'd with all the Graces and Perfections, as well of Wit as Beauty? At lea&s;t, <HI>Sancho,</HI> thou wilt not deny me this. When thou drew'&s;t &s;o near to her Body, were not thy No&s;trils ravi&s;h'd with the fragrant Odours that breath'd from her Skin? Wer't thou not &s;en&s;ible of that delightful mixture, compos'd of all the <HI>Arabia's</HI> rich Perfumes? A certain, I know not well what to call it, Steam, or Vapour, or Exhalation, more &s;weet-&s;cented then <HI>Cupid</HI>'s Bed of Ro&s;es, or the variety of a Perfumer's Shop? Why truly, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> tho my Life lay upon't, I cannot &s;wear one tittle of all this. 'Tis true indeed, I did &s;mell a kind of a &s;owre, &s;trong, rammi&s;h <HI>Hogo,</HI> &s;omething like that of a Water-man that has newly Landed his Fare, which I &s;uppo&s;e was occa&s;ion'd by her working &s;o hard; for &s;he was all of a muck-&s;weat, in her Smock|&s;leeves, with her Brea&s;ts &s;wagging over her Bodice half-lac'd, &s;o that &s;he reak'd like a Hor&s;e-Pond in a fro&s;ty Morning. This could never be, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> and therefore thy No&s;e was either &s;topp'd with the <HI>Murr,</HI> or el&s;e the whiffs from thy own Collar deceiv'd thee. For I am as &s;ure as I have a No&s;e o' my face, that no Ro&s;e among Thorns, no Lilly of the Field, no Spirit of Amber-Greece &s;mells half &s;o &s;weet as &s;he. I can &s;ay nothing to that, quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> but this I can &s;afely &s;wear, that the &s;mell which I
<PB N="161" REF="92"> &s;melt, was as like the rank &s;mell o' my own fle&s;h after hard Thra&s;hing, as ever I &s;melt i' my Life. And if <HI>her Lady&s;hip, Madam Dulcinea,</HI> had then &s;uch a &s;mell, where lies the wonder? Since one Devil may be like another. Very good, quo <HI>Don Quixote:</HI> Thus then you &s;ay &s;he cleans'd her Wheat, and &s;ent it to the Mill &mdash; But what did &s;he do when &s;he read my Letter? Your Letter! reply'd <HI>Sancho;</HI> why, &s;he did not read it at all; for &s;he &s;aid, &s;he could neither write nor read &mdash; On the other &s;ide, &s;he took it, and tore it into a thou&s;and bits, &s;aying, that no body &s;hould read her Secrets; and that &s;he was very well &s;atisfy'd with what I had told her by word of mouth, concerning the Affection which you bare her, and the Penance which you had undertaken for her &s;ake. Finally, and la&s;tly, &s;he bid me tell ye, that &s;he remember'd her Service to your Wor&s;hip; and that &s;he had a greater de|&s;ire to &s;ee ye, then write to ye. And therefore in all Humility &s;he com|manded ye forthwith to leave the&s;e cur&s;ed Mountains, and give over your Megrims and Fooleries: For that having a great de&s;ire to &s;ee your &s;weet face, there could be nothing &s;o acceptable to her as your Return to <HI>Tobo&s;o.</HI> Moreover, when I told her you were call'd <HI>The Knight of the Ill favour'd Countenance,</HI> &s;he fell a laughing &s;o wide, that you might ha' told all the Teeth in her Head. I ask'd her, whether the <HI>Bi&s;cayner</HI> had been with her? And &s;he &s;aid, Yes&mdash; and that he ask'd her a private Kindne&s;s, which &s;he could not deny him, becau&s;e he came with &s;uch a particular Token from your &s;elf. Then I told her of the Galley-Slaves; but &s;he &s;aid, &s;he had &s;een none of 'em. All's as it &s;hould be, hitherto, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote:</HI> But tell me, <HI>Sancho,</HI> when thou took'&s;t thy leave of her, what Pre&s;ent did &s;he give thee, for the good News which thou brought'&s;t her? For 'tis an Ancient and inviolable Cu&s;tom among Knights-Errant and their Ladies, to be&s;tow &s;ome Rich Jewel or other upon the Squires, Dam&s;els, or Dwarfs that bring 'em any good News, as a Reward of their Tidings. That might be the Cu&s;tom, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> in former times, and I approve it as a generous and laudable Cu&s;tom &mdash; But I fear me 'tis now left off, like Hou&s;e-keeping in the Country &mdash; At lea&s;t Madam <HI>Dulcinea</HI> was in one of her niggardly Hu|mours at that time; for all that &s;he gave me for my Tidings, was only a piece of Bread and Chee&s;e, by the &s;ame token, the Chee&s;e was mouldy, and made a' Sheeps Milk; but Love and Hunger will break through Stone-walls. Give me leave to tell thee, <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;he's as Munificent, and as Li|beral as ere a Prince&s;s i' the World; and if &s;he did not gi' thee a <HI>Diamond</HI> of fifteen Carats at lea&s;t, 'twas becau&s;e &s;he had it not about her. <HI>But all is not lo&s;t, that is delay'd, and a good pair of Sleeves may be worn after Ea&s;ter.</HI> I &s;hall &s;ee her, and then I'le &s;peak to her to gi' thee content. But, <HI>Sancho,</HI> this is that which mo&s;t amazes me &mdash; for 'tis impo&s;&s;ible but that thou mu&s;t ha' flown backward and forward through the Air: 'Tis thirty good Leagues I am &s;ure from hence to <HI>Tobo&s;o;</HI> and how the Devil thou &s;hould'&s;t go and come in three days, &s;urpa&s;&s;es my Under&s;tanding. I am therefore apt to believe, that the kind <HI>Necromancer,</HI> who takes care of all my Bu&s;ine&s;s, and who&s;e Duty it is to &s;ee that I do not want the lea&s;t Perqui&s;it to a Knight Errant, a&s;&s;i&s;ted thee to make ha&s;t in thy Journey, tho thou, perhaps, might'&s;t not be &s;en&s;ible of it in the lea&s;t. For there are &s;ome of the&s;e <HI>Necromancers,</HI> that will take ye a Knight-Errant fa&s;t a&s;leep out of his Bed, and whirl him through the Air with that Expedition, that he &s;hall find him&s;elf when he wakes three thou&s;and Leagues off from the place where he lay before. El&s;e it were impo&s;&s;ible that Knight-Errants could &s;ub&s;i&s;t, or that they could at all turns relieve one another as they do. For it may &s;o happen, that a Knight may be in the Mountains of <HI>Armenia,</HI> fighting with &s;ome <HI>Raw-Head
<PB N="162" REF="93"> and Bloody-Bones,</HI> &s;ome <HI>Faune,</HI> or &s;ome <HI>Satyr,</HI> or &s;ome other &s;trange Mon|&s;ter; or &s;uppo&s;e it were only with &s;ome other Knight, that bears up with him to the Bar o' <HI>Che&s;ter,</HI> and gives him thwick for thwack, cut for &s;la&s;h; in&s;omuch, that he could wi&s;h him&s;elf fairly rid of him: Now then don't you think it a great Con&s;olation, for a Knight in &s;uch di&s;tre&s;s, to &s;ee ano|ther Knight come unlook'd for in a Cloud, or a Fiery Chariot; one that he knows to be his Friend, and who, he was certain, was not above half a &s;core hours before i' the <HI>We&s;t Indies?</HI> Thereupon this Knight kills the Mon|&s;ter, or the Knight, and relieves his Friend; and no &s;ooner has he di&s;patch'd his bus'ne&s;s, but he is hurry'd away with the &s;ame &s;peed in one of the De|vil's Sedans back again to his Lodgings, where he goes to bed again to his Mi&s;tre&s;s, and makes an end of his Work. And all this is done by the Indu|&s;try of tho&s;e <HI>Necromancers,</HI> who&s;e Duty it is to take care of Knight-Errants, to whom they are no le&s;s dear, then if they were their Adopted Sons. And this it is which makes me believe, that thou wer't Devil driven through the Air by &s;ome <HI>Necromancer,</HI> that knew my impatience, and the importance of thy Return. I am the Son of a Gold-finder, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> if I don't be|lieve it to be true what you &s;ay, Sir; for <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> flew me-thought, as if he had Quick-&s;ilver in his Ears. Not only Quick-&s;ilver in his Ears, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> but a Legion of Devils at his Tail; which are a &s;ort of <HI>Sty|gian Wine-Porters,</HI> which will take a <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> or his Squire, and run a way with him Hor&s;e and all, with that &s;wiftne&s;s, that a Kite flies away with a young Chicken. But to come again to the main bu&s;ine&s;s: What do&s;t thou think, <HI>Sancho,</HI> it be&s;t behoves me to do, about this Injunction that Madam <HI>Dulcinea</HI> has laid upon me, to make my Per&s;onal Appearance before her? For tho I am bound to punctual Obedience, and that my Bowels yern to &s;ee her; yet am I &s;o entangl'd with this Prince&s;s, while the Laws of Chivalry bind me &s;o fa&s;t to my word, and &s;o deeply engage me to prefer my Honour before my Plea&s;ures, that I know not which way to di&s;-encum|ber my &s;elf. On the one &s;ide, the eager de&s;ire I have to &s;ee the Peerle&s;s <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> worries and torments me: On the other &s;ide, my Honour and my Promi&s;e call me to great Atchievements. But hold &mdash; I think I ha' found a way to &s;atisfie Honour, Promi&s;e, Prince&s;s, and Mi&s;tre&s;s, and All. Fir&s;t, <HI>Sancho,</HI> I'le go immediately and find out the <HI>Giant;</HI> when I come there, I'le cut off his Head with a <HI>Jerk,</HI> re&s;tore the Prince&s;s to her Throne, and put her in peaceable and quiet Po&s;&s;e&s;&s;ion of her Dominions. Which being done, before a Cat can lick her Ear, away will I pre&s;ently come Po&s;t, and vi&s;it the Bright Star that illuminates my <HI>Pericranium;</HI> to whom I will make tho&s;e ju&s;t and rational Excu&s;es, that &s;he being all Kindne&s;s and good Nature, &s;hall be willing to pardon my unavoidable Ab&s;ence; well knowing, that all my Actions mu&s;t redound to her Honour, and to the increa&s;e of her Fame; &s;ince all the Renown which I have won, or daily win, or &s;hall hereafter acquire, are only the effects of her Favour influencing and actuating the Courage of her Va&s;&s;al. Hoy day, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> will ye ne're ha' more Wit then a Man may tru&s;s up in an Egg-&s;hell? Why, d'ye intend then to Travel &s;o many thou&s;and <HI>York-&s;hire</HI> Miles and Way-bits for nothing? And lo&s;e the Opportunity of a Marriage, that brings ye to a Kingdom; a King|dom, that, they &s;ay, is Twenty Thou&s;and Leagues in Circuit? A Kingdom where all the Springs are full of boyl'd Plumb-Puddings and Cabbages, and Surloyns of Roa&s;t-Beef hang roa&s;ting i' the Sun upon every Tree? A King|dom bigger then <HI>France,</HI> together with the Kings new Conque&s;ts, and all their Dependencies? Are ye not a&s;ham'd to &s;hew your &s;elf &s;o void of Un|der&s;tanding? Go to, therefore, and take a Fool's Coun&s;el for once; Marry
<PB N="163" REF="93"> the Prince&s;s the fir&s;t thing ye do &mdash; Hang Licen&s;es, Marry her, I &s;ay, at the next Church ye come at, where ye can find a Curate; or el&s;e let our own Doctor knit the knot under the next Oak. &mdash; There's nothing like Wiving and Thriving both in a Year &mdash; You &s;ee, Sir, I under&s;tand Trap; and I'le &s;ay this for my &s;elf to boot, That I think I am old enough to give Coun&s;el. And therefore give me leave to tell ye, <HI>A Bird i' the Hand's worth two i' the Bu&s;h.</HI> Let's but once catch the Eel, and theh we may con&s;ider at lei&s;ure how to dre&s;s it. <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I am not ignorant that thy Advice depends very much upon Self intere&s;t; I know the rea&s;on why thou art &s;o earne&s;t for me to Marry, is meerly that I &s;hould make ha&s;t to Imperial Soveraignty, on purpo&s;e to make thee a Prince &mdash; And the&s;e are the fears that &s;pur thee on to talk one word for me, and two for thy &s;elf. But know, <HI>Sancho,</HI> thou complain'&s;t before th' art hurt; for I intend to put it into my Conditions, before I go to fight the Giant, That if in ca&s;e I kill the Giant, I will have half the Kingdom at my di&s;po&s;al, to give to whom I plea&s;e. Which being granted (as I vow, before that be under Hand and Seal, I'le &s;ee the Giant hang'd before I'le kill him) to whom do&s;t thou think I'le bequeath that part of the Kingdom, but to thy &s;elf? If &s;o, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I be&s;eech ye, choo&s;e that part of the Kingdom which lies next the Sea; where the Merchants may have free liberty to come and Trade for my Slaves, and I may have the Advantage to Ship off my Money, if my Government &s;hould be mi&s;lik'd. So then, as you have contriv'd it very well, never trouble your &s;elf about vi&s;iting Madam <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> but go fir&s;t and knock the Giant o' the Head, for I fancy 'twill be an Adventure of great Honour and Profit. By the Ma&s;s, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and I think &s;o too; and therefore I'le follow thy Advice: For I believe 'twill be much better to vi&s;it <HI>Dulcinea</HI> afterwards, laden with Honour, when I have murder'd the Giant, and re|&s;tor'd the Prince&s;s to her Territories. Let it be thy care then to keep &s;ilence, and not to di&s;clo&s;e the lea&s;t tittle of what Di&s;cour&s;e has pa&s;t between us, to any Per&s;on living, not &s;o much as to tho&s;e of our Company; for <HI>Dulcinea</HI> is &s;o re&s;erv'd of her &s;elf, that &s;he does not de&s;ire any body &s;hould know her Private Concerns; be&s;ides, that the di&s;grace would be mine, to keep any &s;uch blabs o' their Tongues about my Per&s;on. You forget your &s;elf, cry'd <HI>Sancho;</HI> for how can that be, when you your &s;elf &s;end all your van|qui&s;h'd wretches to <HI>Madam Dulcinea?</HI> Can you call that keeping her Se|crets, to &s;end a company of Slaves with their Chains rattling i' the Streets, to throw them&s;elves at her feet, for her to di&s;po&s;e of at her plea&s;ure? What an ignorant <HI>Whelp and Bacon</HI> art thou, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> not to perceive that this redounds all to her Honour! Be&s;ides, art thou &s;o ill vers'd in matters of Chivalry, as now to be to learn, that it is a great Advantage for a Lady to have &s;everal Knights-Errant for her <HI>Gallants;</HI> who expect no other Recom|pence of all their Services, but the Honour of performing 'em for her &s;ake, and the favour of her Acceptance? <HI>Tittle Tattle,</HI> gi' the Goo&s;e more Hay, quo <HI>Sancho:</HI> This is ju&s;t as I have heard 'em Preach, that we ought to love God for his own &s;ake; and yet at the &s;ame time they tell us of the invi|tations of Paradice, and the torments of Hell; tho for my part, I think we ought to love God, what ever comes on't, as they &s;aid at fir&s;t. The Devil take thee for a Clown, <HI>Sancho,</HI> cry'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> and yet who the Devil wou'd take thee for a Clown? For &s;ometimes thou talk'&s;t as rationally and di&s;creetly, as if thou had&s;t Commenc'd Doctor at <HI>Salamanca.</HI> So far from that, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> that I never read my Horn-book; but I have a good mind to learn one of the&s;e days, when I'm at lei&s;ure. For I am apt to be|lieve it can be no prejudice to me; be&s;ides, they &s;ay, there are &s;ome Men
<PB N="164" REF="94"> that take upon 'em to be Doctors, who, God knows, have hardly Learn|ing enough to read their Neck-Ver&s;e.</P>
<P>While the Knight and the Squire were thus bu&s;ie in Di&s;cour&s;e, the <HI>Bar|ber</HI> cry'd out to 'em to make a Halt, for that the Prince&s;s de&s;ir'd to alight and drink out of a Fountain clo&s;e by the Road. This was a great Kindne&s;s to <HI>Sancho,</HI> who was quite tir'd with Lying, and afraid his Ma&s;ter &s;hould catch him failing in his Memory. For tho he knew that <HI>Dulcinea</HI> was no better then only plain <HI>Gaffer Hogg</HI>'s Daughter, yet he had never &s;een her in his life.</P>
<P>On the other &s;ide, <HI>Cardenio</HI> by this time had &s;lipp'd him&s;elf into Mrs. <HI>Do|rothy</HI>'s Ma&s;culine Habits, which &s;he had on, when they fir&s;t met with her; which, tho they were none of the be&s;t, yet were they much better then his own tatter'd Rags. Thereupon they all alighted, and &s;itting down by the Fountain, fell a banqueting upon the &s;hort Commons which the <HI>Curate</HI> had brought from the Inn.</P>
<P>While they were thus bu&s;ie at their Repa&s;t, feeding like <HI>Farmers of Max|field,</HI> upon what they had, there happen'd to come up ev'n with 'em as they &s;ate, a dapper young Lad, who, after he had gaz'd awhile with a wi&s;tful Eye upon the Company, approaching <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and embracing his Thighs; God ble&s;s your Wor&s;hip, quo he, has your Wor&s;hip forgot me &s;o &s;oon? Don't you know your Slave, and poor <HI>Andrew,</HI> that you found fa&s;t bound to an Oak? But I thank your good Wor&s;hip, you &s;et me free with a Vengeance&mdash; At tho&s;e words, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> immediately call'd him to mind, took him by the Hand, and then addre&s;&s;ing him&s;elf to the Com|pany, Mo&s;t illu&s;trious Prince&s;s, and you Right Worthy Gentlemen, &s;aid he, you have here before ye an uncontroulable Demon&s;tration of the va&s;t Benefit, and ab&s;olute Nece&s;&s;ity of <HI>Knight-Errants,</HI> both to reform and puni&s;h the Abu&s;es and Di&s;orders committed in the World. It is now &s;ome Weeks ago, that as I was riding by a Wood, the Cries and bitter Complaints of &s;ome body in di&s;tre&s;s, pierc'd my compa&s;&s;ionate Ears: Pre&s;ently I gallop'd toward the Place where the Noi&s;e directed me, to gratifie my natural Inclination, and the Duty of my Profe&s;&s;ion; and there I found this poor young Lad, in a mo&s;t mi&s;erable, di&s;tre&s;&s;ed Condition; and I profe&s;s, I'm heartily glad he's here to te&s;tifie the truth of what I &s;ay. For tho a <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> I'le as patiently &s;uffer him to give me the Lye, as I wou'd my Father, if he find me in a <HI>Rodomantado.</HI> I &s;ay then, this Boy in that Wood was ty'd to an Oak, naked from the Wa&s;te upward, like a Wench upon a Whipping-day at <HI>Bridewel;</HI> and there was a lu&s;ty Brawny-arm'd Countrey-Fellow, &s;coring &s;everal pretended Debts of Thievery and Negligence upon the Boy's Back and Shoulders with a pair of Stirrup-leathers, &s;o deep, that you might ha' bury'd the Handle of a Butcher's Sticking-knife in every one of the bloody Furrows. I ask'd the Fellow, What a' meant by &s;o much Cruelty? Who an&s;wer'd me, That the Boy was his Servant, and that he cha&s;tiz'd him for the Rogueries, and the Thieveries which he had committed. To which the Boy reply'd, blubbering and bleeding, that his Ma&s;ter la&s;h'd him &s;o &s;e|verely only for demanding his Wages. Whereupon the Ma&s;ter would ha' pleaded &s;ome idle Excu&s;es that gave me no Satisfaction at all. In a word, I caus'd the young Lad to be unbound, and made the Country-Fellow &s;wear by all the Saints I could think of, that he would take the Boy home, and pay him all his Wages, to the very Copper-&s;pot in a Tin-Farding. Is not this true, Friend <HI>Andrew?</HI> Do&s;t not thou remember how I ranted, and &s;wag|ger'd, and hector'd the Country-Fellow? And with what Submi&s;&s;ion he promis'd to accompli&s;h whatever I impos'd, ordain'd, demanded and com|manded?
<PB N="165" REF="94"> Speak truth, and &s;hame the Devil, tell how it was boldly, with|out <HI>Humming</HI> and <HI>Hawing,</HI> without Flattery or Di&s;&s;imulation, but relate the Story without Welt or Guard, that the&s;e People, who are all Per&s;ons of Quality, may under&s;tand the want of <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI> in this unju&s;t World.</P>
<P><HI>Tom-tell-troth</HI> him&s;elf, quo <HI>Andrew,</HI> could never ha' &s;pok'n more Truth then your Wor&s;hip has done. But notwith&s;tanding all your Wor&s;hip's good Intentions, the Succe&s;s of this Affair did not an&s;wer your Wor&s;hip's Expecta|tions. How, quo <HI>Don Quixote!</HI> not an&s;wer my Expectations! why, did not the <HI>Hang-dog</HI> pay thee thy Money the next Minute? So far from paying me my Money, quo <HI>Andrew,</HI> that as &s;oon as he found you were out o' &s;ight, and out o' hearing, he ty'd me again to the Oak, and ply'd his fir&s;t Le&s;&s;on again &s;o &s;martly over my raw Fle&s;h, that you would have taken me for a flea'd Cat. And which was more, between every Stroke he &s;truck, he had &s;ome bumkinly Quibble or other, in Deri&s;ion of your Wor&s;hip, calling ye <HI>Hatchet</HI> and <HI>Gridiron-face, Lob&s;ter unboil'd, Appurtenance to a Tinder-box, Hog in Armour,</HI> &amp;c. that had I not been in that woful Plight, I could have laugh'd my &s;elf to have heard him. In &s;hort, he &s;o anatomis'd my Back with his Leathern Thongs, that I have been ever &s;ince i' the lame Ho&s;pital, where I became the Trophy of Art. And now to &s;peak my mind frankly, Sir Knight, I may thank you for all this&mdash; For had you rode on about your own Affairs, without playing the bu&s;ie Fool, where ye had nothing to do, I had been releas'd with a matter o' twenty La&s;hes, and my Ma&s;ter had paid me what he ow'd me&mdash; But you call'd him &s;o many Rogues, Villains, and Traitors, and ranted and roar'd &s;o little to the purpo&s;e, and put him into &s;uch a Fury, that not being able to reak his Malice upon you, he took his Revenge upon my poor Shoulders. The Mi&s;chief was, quo <HI>Don Quix|ote,</HI> that I went away a little too &s;oon, I &s;hould have &s;taid indeed till I had &s;een thee &s;atisfy'd; for tho&s;e kind of Country-Bumkins are not apt to keep their Words, unle&s;s it be for their Profit. However, thou may&s;t well re|member, that I &s;wore by all the Heathen Gods, that if he did not pay thee, I would return and find him out again, tho he were hid within the Bowels of the Earth. You did &s;o, 'tis very true, Sir Knight, reply'd <HI>Andrew,</HI> but what does that &s;ignifie now to me? Thou &s;halt &s;ee whether it &s;ignifie any thing or no, quo <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> and &s;o &s;aid, he ro&s;e up in great Fury, and commanded <HI>Sancho</HI> to bridle <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> who was at his Dinner, think|ing no harm, within a Stone's throw o' the Company. Upon that, Mrs. <HI>Dorothy</HI> ask'd him, What he intended to do? Do, quo he! be gone imme|diately to cha&s;tize this Brute of a Clown&mdash; and make him pay to the ut|mo&s;t Farthing what he owes this poor Lad, in de&s;pite of all the Bumkins and Scithe-men i' the World that dare oppo&s;e me. But, Sir Knight, quo Mrs. <HI>Dorothy,</HI> con&s;idering the Promi&s;e you have made me, you cannot in Honour undertake an other Adventure till you have accompli&s;h'd mine; and therefore I be&s;eech ye, delay this le&s;s important Revenge, till you ha' re&s;tor'd me to my Kingdom. That's but Ju&s;tice indeed, reply'd <HI>Don Quix|ote,</HI> and therefore of nece&s;&s;ity, <HI>Andrew</HI> mu&s;t be patient, till I return again. But by the lovely <HI>Dulcinea</HI>'s Cha&s;tity, I &s;wear once more, never to re&s;t my Head on her &s;weet-&s;cented Pillow, till I have reveng'd this young Lad's Cau&s;e, and &s;een him &s;atisfy'd to a <HI>Scotch Boatle.</HI> I do not que&s;tion in the lea&s;t, cry'd <HI>Andrew,</HI> the Performance of the&s;e Oaths, but I had rather your Wor&s;hip would be&s;tow upon me a &s;mall Piece of Silver to carry me to <HI>Sevil,</HI> then all the Revenges i' the World. And having &s;o &s;aid, I be&s;eech ye, Sir Knight, continu'd he, be&s;tow a Bit a' Bread and &s;ome few Charity
<PB N="166" REF="95"> Fardings upon a poor Sufferer for your &s;ake, and &s;o God ble&s;s all the <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> under the Skie, and may they prove as fortunate for them&s;elves, as they ha' been for me.</P>
<P>Upon that, <HI>Sancho</HI> pull'd out a Quarter of a Penny-Loaf and a piece of Chee&s;e, and giving it to <HI>Andrew,</HI> here Brother, &s;aid he, 'tis but Rea&s;on and Chri&s;tianity to be charitable to People in Mi&s;ery. I pray, what &s;ort of Charity is yours, cry'd <HI>Andrew?</HI> This piece of Bread and Chee&s;e, quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> and God knows how &s;oon I may want it my &s;elf: For we Squires to <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> are ever and anon ready to peri&s;h for Hunger and Thir&s;t: And be&s;ides that, we are mo&s;t cruelly tyranniz'd over by ill Luck, and hard Fortune, and a thou&s;and Accidents, that are &s;ooner felt then re|lated. <HI>Andrew</HI> took his Bread and his Chee&s;e, and finding no other Cha|rity-Money &s;tirring, he made 'em an ugly Scrape, and turn'd his Back to the Company. But before he went off, turning about to <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> Sir Knight, &s;aid he, for the Love o' God, if ever you find me i' the &s;ame Con|dition again, tho you &s;ee my Bowels ready to drop out o' my Body, ne're be &s;uch a Coxcomb again to come to my A&s;&s;i&s;tance, but leave me under the La&s;h of my Misfortunes, which cannot be wor&s;e then what befel me through your impertinent Vanity, according to the Proverb, <HI>Fools will be medling;</HI> for which the Cur&s;e of God light upon You, and all other <HI>Knight-Errants,</HI> that from henceforth &s;hall ever be &s;pawn'd into the World. With that, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> ro&s;e up in a great Fury, with a Re&s;olution to have giv'n <HI>Andrew</HI> the Benediction of his Cudgel; but <HI>Andrew,</HI> not caring for any of his Ble&s;&s;ings, withdrew him&s;elf out of his Reach, as &s;wift as a Fawn. So that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> re&s;um'd his Seat, to avoid the Shame of a vain Attempt; but &s;o highly enrag'd at <HI>Andrew</HI>'s Drollery, that all the Company were forc'd to &s;it as demure as &s;o many <HI>Quakers,</HI> for fear the lea&s;t Smile &s;hould have incens'd him to Out-rage.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="5" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. V.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Of what happen'd at the Inn.</HEAD>
<P>AFter they had refre&s;h'd their Bodies with corporal Food, they that had Bea&s;ts of Carriage, mounted; and tho&s;e that had none, went a-foot; and &s;o riding and going a-foot, the next day they came to the Inn; for which <HI>Sancho</HI> had the &s;ame Kindne&s;s that a Man has for a Wife that &s;ues him for Alimonie. Pre&s;ently the Inn keeper, the Ho&s;te&s;s, her Daughter, and <HI>Maritornes,</HI> who knew <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and his Squire again, without a Pro&s;pective-gla&s;s, half a Mile off, came forth to meet 'em with great Demon&s;trations of Joy. Nor was the Knight behind-hand with his Re|turns of Civility at the u&s;ual rate, that is to &s;ay, with an extraordinary Gravity and Re&s;erv'dne&s;s; withal, de&s;iring the Ho&s;te&s;s to provide him a better Bed then he had the la&s;t time. To which the Ho&s;te&s;s return'd An|&s;wer, That if he would pay better, &s;he would help him to a Bed for a Prince. Which when the Knight had promis'd to do, they made him one in the very &s;ame place where he lay before, whither he went and threw him&s;elf down immediately, as weary as a Fox-dog, and quite &s;pent with the Labour and Toil of his own Folly in the Mountain. In the mean time, the Ho&s;te&s;s knowing the <HI>Barber</HI> again by his Tongue, leapt at his Chin,
<PB N="167" REF="95"> like a Cock at a Bilberry Bu&s;h, and catching him by the fal&s;e Beard; By my ble&s;&s;ed life, quo &s;he, ye &s;hall make u&s;e o' my Tail no longer: I think y' have had it long enough, to my Grief, I'm &s;ure, to &s;ee my Husband's Comb lie &s;o na&s;ty as it does i' the Kitchen-window. Thereupon the Ho|&s;te&s;s tugg'd, and the <HI>Barber</HI> tugg'd, for he was loath to part with his Tail, till the <HI>Curate</HI> put an end to the Di&s;pute, by telling him there was now no more occa&s;ion for his Di&s;gui&s;e; for that he might tell <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that he came to the Inn to recruit him&s;elf; and if he enquir'd after the Prince&s;s's Squire, that he &s;hould tell his Wor&s;hip, That the Prince&s;s had &s;ent him before to give notice to her Subjects, that &s;he was coming with a Champion that would &s;winge off the Giant, and re&s;tore 'em all to their Liberties and Properties: Which gave &s;uch plenary Satisfaction to the <HI>Barber,</HI> that he re&s;tor'd the Ho&s;te&s;s her Tail, with all the re&s;t of the Trinkets which he had borrow'd of her.</P>
<P>As for Mrs. <HI>Dorothy,</HI> all the Strangers that were i' the Inn, look'd upon her to be wondrous pretty. Nor were they &s;o blind, but they could &s;pie <HI>Cardenio</HI>'s Gentility, his graceful Meen, and comely A&s;pect, through his homely Shepherd's Weeds. The Inn-keeper al&s;o upon the <HI>Curate</HI>'s word, and out of the good Opinion he had of the Company, had provided 'em a good hand&s;om Dinner, con&s;idering 'twas an Inn no better then one of your <HI>Fore&s;t-a-dean</HI> Hou&s;es of Entertainment. However, they had more Manners then to awake <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who lay &s;noaring like a We&s;t-Coun|try Carrier; for they thought that Sleep would do him more good then a Sheriff's Fea&s;t. Therefore they fell on without him, and the Table-di&s;cour&s;e was all about the Follies and Extravagancies of the poor Knight, and in what Condition they had found him in the Mountain. On the other &s;ide, the Ho&s;te&s;s who was pre&s;ent, made a Repetition of all that had befall'n the valiant Hero in his Rencounter with the Carrier and the Con&s;table; and finding <HI>Sancho</HI> was ab&s;ent, &s;he recounted the Story of his being to&s;s'd i' the <HI>Blanket,</HI> which made the Company as merry as &s;o many <HI>Emmets</HI> upon a Corn-heap. From whence the <HI>Curate</HI> taking an Occa&s;ion to deplore the Frenzies of the unfortunate Knight, charg'd all his Misfortunes upon his Books of <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> as having been the Occa&s;ion of all his Extrava|gancies. How can that po&s;&s;ibly be, reply'd the Inn-keeper, interrupting him? Where is there any better reading i' the World? I have &s;ome two or three of the&s;e Books, and I wi&s;h this Drink may be my Poi&s;on, if I don't believe they have pre&s;erv'd not only mine, but the Lives of many others. For in Harve&s;t-time ye &s;hall have above twenty, &s;ometimes thirty Reapers and Mowers come hither of a Holy-day. Now becau&s;e we ha' neither Shovel-boards, Billiard-tables, Nine-pins, Noddy-boards, nor Pigeon-holes, I fetch 'em out one of the&s;e Books; at what time they make choice of one of the be&s;t Book-learn'd among 'em, to read; and then they fall a li&s;t'|ning, and prating, and drinking, that it does my Heart good to &s;ee my Cans empty'd &s;o fa&s;t; which makes me love 'em &s;o well, that &s;ometimes when my Hou&s;e is empty, I can &s;it and read in 'em a whole Day together. For my part, quo the Ho&s;te&s;s, I have as much Rea&s;on to &s;peak well of tho&s;e Books, as any body; for we are never more at quiet i' the Hou&s;e, never le&s;s maundring, le&s;s jarring and brawling, then when my Husband is at his Devotions, as I call 'em; that is, when he is &s;merking and &s;miling to him|&s;elf over his <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI> Books; be&s;ides, that I am &s;ure to be courted that Night at a more then u&s;ual rate. All this is true, cry'd <HI>Maritornes,</HI> but that which delights me mo&s;t, is, when I hear how the Knight &s;its embracing his Lady under an <HI>Orange-Tree,</HI> while the Lady's Dam&s;el
<PB N="168" REF="96"> &s;tands Sentinel, ready to tear her Fle&s;h for want of the &s;ame Pa&s;time. And what think you, my pretty Maiden, quo the <HI>Curate,</HI> addre&s;&s;ing him&s;elf to the Ho&s;te&s;s's Daughter? Alas, Sir! quo &s;he, I know not what belongs to the&s;e things; and yet when I hear 'em read their Stories, I find a kind of Alteration i' my Body, I know not how&mdash; But as I hope for Mercy my &s;elf, the mercile&s;s Ga&s;hes which the Knights give one another, and the unrea&s;onable Steaks which they &s;liver off from one another's Cheeks and Shoulders, go to my very Heart; and I'm as &s;orry for the poor Gentlemen, as if it were my own Ca&s;e&mdash; My Father knows, that when I &s;ee him en|gag'd among the Butchers at the <HI>Bear-Garden,</HI> I fall a &s;queaking and &s;qual|ing like any thing. And then when I hear the &s;ad Groans and Lamenta|tions of &s;ome kind-hearted Knights, when they are far from their Mi&s;tre&s;&s;es, I cannot for my life, but I mu&s;t fall a weeping for Company. Why then, &s;aid Mrs. <HI>Dorothy,</HI> I perceive, Sweet-heart, you would not be &s;o ill-natur'd, to let a Knight lie roaring and bellowing &s;o long, if you could help him. I'my Con&s;cience now, Madam, reply'd the Virgin, I don't know my own Mind. But this I am &s;ure of, that &s;ome of the&s;e <HI>Ladies</HI> are &s;o de&s;perately cruel, that the Knights cannot forbear calling 'em <HI>Lyons,</HI> and <HI>Tygre&s;&s;es, Har|py's, Furies,</HI> and I know not what my &s;elf; which, if they de&s;erve, I won|der how Ladies that pretend to Honour and Con&s;cience, can be &s;o <HI>hard-heart|ed,</HI> to &s;uffer a Gentleman that &s;o dearly loves 'em, to dye, or at lea&s;t to run Mad, for want of a Ki&s;s or a nights Entertainment. Lord ble&s;s me! what does all this Coyne&s;s &s;ignifie? For if they &s;tand upon their Punctilio's of Ho|nour, <HI>how if I &s;hould prove with Child?</HI> let 'em marry the Knights, as I would do, if I were in their Condition. Hold your prating, Hu&s;&s;ey, quo the Ho&s;te&s;s, I find you know more then you &s;hould do already. Good Daughter, no more o' your Riff-raff; Maids mu&s;t be &s;een, and not heard&mdash; Why, Mother, quo the Girl, I did but an&s;wer the Gentleman and the Gen|tlewoman; and I'm &s;ure my School-mi&s;tre&s;s told me 'twas Manners to &s;peak when I was &s;poke to. So 'tis, and I thank thee very kindly Sweet|heart, reply'd the <HI>Curate;</HI> and then turning to the Inn-keeper, Landlord, quo he, if thy Books have &s;uch a Faculty to help down good Drink, pre|thee let's &s;ee'em. With that the Inn-keeper fetch'd out an old mouldy Cloak-bag, &s;ecur'd with a ru&s;ty Padlock, which after he had unlock'd, he gave Air to <HI>Don Cironciglio of Thrace, Don Faelix-mart of Hyrcania,</HI> the <HI>Hi&s;tory of the famous and renowned Captain, Goncales Hermandez of Cordova, with the Life of Valentine and Or&s;on, Bevis of Southampton,</HI> and <HI>Guy of Warwick.</HI> When the <HI>Curate</HI> had view'd 'em, Neighbour, quo he to the <HI>Barber,</HI> we want nothing more now, but our Friend's Neece and his Hou&s;e-keeper, the Court and the Window. There's no &s;uch need, quo the <HI>Barber,</HI> I'le under|take to fling 'em out o' this Window as artificially, as if I had been &s;even Years at the Trade; or el&s;e to carry 'em to the Chimney, where there is as good a Fire as the Hangman him&s;elf could de&s;ire for the burning of a Traitor's Intrails. How, Gentlemen! cry'd the Inn-keeper? I hope ye don't intend to burn my Books? Only five of 'em, reply'd the <HI>Curate; Don Cironciglio, Faelix-mart, Valentine</HI> and <HI>Or&s;on, Bevis</HI> and <HI>Guy.</HI> Why &s;ure, quo the Inn-keeper, they be no <HI>Gi&s;maticks,</HI> that you condemn 'em thus furiou&s;ly to the Flames. <HI>Schi&s;maticks</HI> thou mean'&s;t, quo the <HI>Curate.</HI> Well, let 'em be <HI>Zi&s;maticks,</HI> however, as y' are &s;tout, be merciful, quo the Inn-keeper; if ye mu&s;t be burning, burn <HI>Hermandez</HI> and <HI>Garcia,</HI> with all my heart, but for the re&s;t, I'le as &s;oon burn my Wife and Children. Landlord, reply'd the <HI>Curate,</HI> as for tho&s;e Books you would &s;o fain &s;ave, they are nothing but &s;o many heaps of Lyes, meer Rubbi&s;h, fit for nothing
<PB N="169" REF="96"> but <HI>Trunkmakers.</HI> But for <HI>D. Garcia,</HI> he was a famous Souldier indeed, and &s;o &s;trong that he would &s;top the Sails of a Wind-mill in a high Wind, with one Hand; and they &s;ay, that he him&s;elf &s;ingly defended a Bridge again&s;t a whole Army of Men, with many other renowned and famous Atchieve|ments, that if they had been recorded by another Hi&s;torian, as they were written by him&s;elf with a more then ordinary Mode&s;ty, becau&s;e he wou'd not &s;eem to be the Trumpeter of his own Fame, he had &s;urpa&s;s'd all the <HI>Hectors, Achilles's,</HI> and <HI>Orlando Furio&s;o's,</HI> i' the World. Pox&mdash; quo the Inn-keeper, what a Wonder you tell of &s;topping a Wind-mill Sail&mdash; read <HI>Don Faelix-mart,</HI> and you &s;hall &s;ee how with one back-blow he cut five Giants as big about as the Monument, as ev'n and as &s;moothly i' the mid|dle, that you could not &s;ee where his Sword had gone ami&s;s: And how he encounter'd all alone one of the greate&s;t Armies that ever were &s;een, and &s;hreded as &s;mall as Mince-meat, &s;ix hundred thou&s;and Soldiers, all com|pleatly arm'd from Head to Foot; and then you would burn <HI>Guy</HI> o' <HI>War|wick.</HI> Nouns, Sir, there was never &s;uch a Knight i' the World; upon whom, as he was &s;tanding by &s;ome River or other, 'tis no matter where, a fierce Dragon leapt out of the River, and &s;eiz'd upon his Body; but pre&s;ently the Knight taking hold of the Dragon's Throat, grip'd his &s;calding hot Wezand &s;o hard, that the flaming Mon&s;ter no longer able to breath, &s;unk down to the bottom of the water forty fathom deep, and pull'd the Knight after him becau&s;e he would not let go his hold; but when he thought he had been at the bottom of the River, he found him&s;elf in a magnificent Palace, &s;tanding in the mid&s;t of plea&s;ant Gardens and Paradi&s;e's; at what time the fiery Dragon turn'd into an elderly Gentleman, as venerable as the Ma&s;ter of a Company upon a Court Day, who told him a thou&s;and Stories as &s;trange to him, as the Lyes of a Traveller to a Knot of Bumkins in an <HI>Ale-hou&s;e Chimney.</HI> Go, go, y' are a Fool, Mr. <HI>Par&s;on,</HI> the&s;e were brave Fellows indeed&mdash; I'd not give a Fig for your <HI>Don Garcia's,</HI> and your great Captains, they're not worth hanging to the&s;e. Upon that, Mrs. <HI>Dorothy</HI> turning to <HI>Cardenio,</HI> What &s;ay you to all this? Don't you think my Landlord in a fair way to be a &s;econd <HI>Don Quixote?</HI> Truly I think him in as beat'n a Road to it, as from <HI>London</HI> to <HI>Highgate;</HI> for I &s;ee he believes all that he reads in the&s;e Romances to be Articles of Faith, and I defie all the <HI>Virtuo&s;i</HI> to convince him to the Contrary. But, Landlord, quo the <HI>Curate,</HI> continuing his Di&s;cour&s;e, do you believe, as you hope to e&s;cape <HI>Purgatory,</HI> that there were any &s;uch Per&s;ons i' the World, as <HI>Cirongilio</HI> of <HI>Thrace,</HI> and <HI>Felix-mart</HI> of <HI>Hircania,</HI> and the re&s;t of the &s;ame Tribe? Be not &s;uch a Fool&mdash; I tell thee, they were all a Company of Fables invented by a &s;ort of idle Fel|lows that had nothing el&s;e to do, for the Diverti&s;ement of tho&s;e that were as lazy as them&s;elves. Such is the Folly of Men to complain of the Short|ne&s;s of Life, and yet know not what to do with what they have. Be|lieve then what I &s;ay, for by the word of a Prie&s;t, I &s;wear to thee, there is not a Tittle of Truth in all that's written of the&s;e <HI>Knight-Errants.</HI> Who are you &s;elling your Shells to, Mr. <HI>Curate,</HI> reply'd the Inn-keeper? To tho&s;e that come from St. <HI>Michael?</HI> Good-now carry the&s;e Bones to ano|ther Dog. 'Tis true, perhaps I am none of the wi&s;e&s;t, yet I'de have ye to know, tho I never &s;tudy'd <HI>Darapti,</HI> nor <HI>Felapton,</HI> I am not &s;o &s;oon to be converted neither; and therefore as y' are a Univer&s;ity Scholar, don't think to feed me with Pap; for by my Wife's fir&s;t Maiden-head, I am no Child to be made believe, that the&s;e Books that are &s;et forth with a <HI>Licenc'd by Authority,</HI> which Authority is deriv'd from the Council Royal, God ble&s;s 'em; contain nothing but Lyes and Forgeries to turn People's Brains,
<PB N="170" REF="97"> and &s;tock <HI>Bedlam.</HI> I have told ye already, Landlord, reply'd the <HI>Curate,</HI> the&s;e things are permitted only for the Pa&s;time of tho&s;e that have no other Imployment, and who&s;e Quality and Degree exempts 'em from the Trou|ble of Labour and Pains-taking. Therefore it is, that in all well-order'd Common-wealths, &s;everal Sports and Recreations are allow'd, as Cards, Tables, Billiards, and the like, for the Diverti&s;ement of &s;uch as neither can, neither does it behove 'em to work. And for the &s;ame Rea&s;on they &s;uffer the&s;e &s;ort of Books to be printed and &s;old; not imagining there &s;hould be any &s;o ignorant, or &s;o empty-pated, as to believe there is any Truth in &s;uch kind of Stories. And now give me leave to tell ye, were it &s;ea&s;onable, or a thing that the Company de&s;ir'd, I would &s;ay &s;omething concerning the&s;e <HI>Romances,</HI> how they ought to be compos'd, to the end they might be of U&s;e; and perhaps my Di&s;cour&s;e would neither be unprofitable or di&s;|plea&s;ing. But there is a time for all things, and I hope one Day to impart my Mind to tho&s;e that may have Power to redre&s;s this National Grievance. In the mean time, Landlord, believe what I &s;ay, and make your be&s;t Ad|vantage of it; and I pray God keep thee from being &s;ick of <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Di&s;ea&s;e. Ne're trouble your Head for that, Sir, reply'd the Inn-keeper; I'm &s;ure I &s;hall ne're be &s;uch a Fool as to turn <HI>Knight-Errant;</HI> for I find they are not &s;o much in fa&s;hion, as they were formerly. <HI>Sancho,</HI> who was pre&s;ent at &s;ome part of this Di&s;cour&s;e, hearing <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI> exploded, as quite out of fa&s;hion, and all <HI>Romances</HI> run down for Fictions, Lyes, and <HI>Chimera's,</HI> &s;tood like <HI>Mumphazard,</HI> that was hang'd for &s;aying nothing, pen&s;ive, melancholy, &s;tupid, and all-be&s;otted, till reviv'd with a Gill of the be&s;t, he at length re&s;olv'd to tarry a little longer, and &s;ee the I&s;&s;ue of his Ma&s;ter's Journey; and in ca&s;e it did not an&s;wer his Expectations, to leave him there, and then to return home to his Wife and Children, and betake him&s;elf to Hedging and Ditching, as he was wont to do. The Inn-keeper al&s;o was about to have carry'd away his Portmantle and his Books, but the <HI>Curate</HI> &s;topt him, telling him he had a mind to &s;ee &s;ome Papers that he had on|ly ca&s;t his Eye upon, the rather becau&s;e they were &s;o fairly written; and taking out a handful at the &s;ame time, he found eight or ten Leaves to|gether with this <HI>Title</HI> at the Beginning, <HI>The Novel of the Curious Imper|tinent;</HI> and after he had read a matter o' &s;ix or &s;even Lines to him&s;elf, Fa|kins, quo he, this Title plea&s;es me, and therefore I have a mind to read the re&s;t&mdash; Fetch us t'other Bottle, Landlord. You will be very well pleas'd, I'le a&s;&s;ure ye, Sir, reply'd the Inn-keeper, for I have heard it read to &s;everal of my Gue&s;ts that have been highly merry with it; may, I have had &s;e|veral Book&s;ellers here too, that have offer'd me Money for the Copy to print it, but I re&s;olv'd not to part with it; be&s;ide that, I dare not neither, for fear the owner of the Portmantle, that pawn'd it to me for his Reckon|ing, &s;hould come to fetch it away, and pay me my Money. For tho I am an Inn-keeper, yet I pretend to have &s;o much Con&s;cience, as not to do my &s;elf an Injury. You &s;peak hone&s;tly, reply'd the <HI>Curate,</HI> but if I like the Story, I hope you'l let me take a Copy. VVith all my heart, Sir, upon Condition you'l drink a Flask or two extraordinary.</P>
<P>VVhile they two were thus di&s;cour&s;ing, <HI>Cardenio</HI> took up the <HI>Novel,</HI> and having read a little way&mdash; Sir, &s;aid he to the <HI>Curate,</HI> I like it very well, and I believe, if you will take the pains to read it out aloud, the whole Com|pany will be glad to hear it. Mo&s;t willingly, reply'd the <HI>Curate;</HI> but is it not time to go to &s;leep, rather then read? No, no, Mr. <HI>Curate,</HI> cry'd Mrs. <HI>Dorothy,</HI> pray read it, I'd rather hear it then a Sermon&mdash; and be&s;ides, I want &s;omething to revive my Spirits, for I am melancholy methinks of a
<PB N="171" REF="97"> &s;udden: <HI>Sancho</HI> and the <HI>Barber</HI> made him the &s;ame reque&s;t; for <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;aid he was melancholy too, and profer'd to fill the <HI>Curate</HI> his Cup, whenever he call'd for't. Nay, then, quo the <HI>Curate,</HI> take your places, and give At|tention: Thus end the Contents, the Chapter follows.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="6" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. VI.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">The NOVEL OF THE <HI>C&V;RIO&V;S IMPERTINENT.</HI></HEAD>
<P>IN <HI>Florence,</HI> a wealthy and famous City of <HI>Italy,</HI> in the Province of <HI>Tu&s;|cany,</HI> there were two Gentlemen, <HI>An&s;elm</HI> and <HI>Lothaire,</HI> who liv'd to|gether in &s;uch a perfect Amity and Union, that they call'd 'em the <HI>Two Friends.</HI> They were both young, both of an Age, both Batchelors, and had both the &s;ame Inclinations; only that <HI>An&s;elm</HI> was more amorous and courtly, and <HI>Lothaire</HI> more addicted to Hunting. But they lov'd like <HI>Py|lades</HI> and <HI>Ore&s;tes,</HI> wou'd forgoe their Plea&s;ures at any time, to &s;erve one another; and if one had Money, the t'other never wanted. Now mark the Burden of all <HI>Novels; An&s;elm</HI> fell pa&s;&s;ionately in love with a mo&s;t delicate, curious, peerle&s;s Paragon of Beauty, in the &s;ame City. And it fell out &s;o pat, that her Birth, her E&s;tate, her Alliances, were &s;o equal to his, that he re&s;olv'd, with the Con&s;ent of his Friend, (for without that, 'twas impo&s;&s;ible for him to do any thing) to demand her in Mar|riage. On the other &s;ide, <HI>Lothaire</HI> was &s;o far from di&s;plea&s;ing his Friend, that he undertook to make the Demand; and &s;o diligently be&s;tirr'd him&s;elf, that in a few days he put his Friend to bed to his Mi&s;tre&s;s fairly and hone&s;t|ly; for which, both his Friend and <HI>Camilla</HI> (for that was the Gentlewo|man's Name) gave him more Thanks then would ha' &s;tarv'd ten thou&s;and Cats. <HI>Lothaire</HI> al&s;o, which was but Rea&s;on, went every day to vi&s;it the two marry'd Couple &s;o long as Honey-moon la&s;ted; nor would he be want|ing him&s;elf &s;ometimes to fiddle, and &s;ometimes to dance, as Occa&s;ion &s;erv'd. But the Holy-days being over, he thought it now proper, like a Man of Di&s;cretion, to be more re&s;erv'd, and le&s;s frequent in his Vi&s;its; for that his Friend being marry'd, the Ca&s;e was alter'd, quo <HI>Plowden;</HI> yet vowing withal to meet him as often at the Tavern, as ever he did before; and there to be Cup and Can, as formerly.</P>
<P>On the other &s;ide, <HI>An&s;elm</HI> as enamour'd, and as eager as he was at his Sport, wonder'd his Friend was grown &s;uch a Stranger, and came &s;o &s;el|dom to vi&s;it him; and therefore one day, when he did come, expo&s;tulated the Ca&s;e with him, and told him, That <HI>Before-George</HI> he would ne're ha' marry'd, had he thought that Matrimony would have e&s;trang'd 'em one from another: That it was u&s;ual for Women to claim their Thirds, and therefore the Law gave his Wife a Share i' their Friend&s;hip: That he hop'd they two knew better then to loo&s;e the peculiar Title of the <HI>Two Friends,</HI> for the &s;tarch'd Niceties of Formality, or the idle Comments of Town-talk: That <HI>Camilla</HI> took his ab&s;enting him&s;elf as unkindly as he, and thought her &s;elf &s;o happy in her Marriage, that there was nothing more delightful
<PB N="172" REF="98"> to her, then the &s;ight of him that had &s;o fortunately contriv'd it. In &s;hort, he us'd all the Arguments imaginable to per&s;wade <HI>Lothaire</HI> to vi&s;it him as he did before, a&s;&s;uring him, that he could not be at re&s;t without him. To which <HI>Lothaire</HI> an&s;wer'd with &s;o much Mode&s;ty and Prudence, that <HI>An&s;elm</HI> began to think his Friend was in the right on't. However, to prevent all Mi&s;under&s;tandings between Decency and Friend&s;hip, it was con|cluded, That <HI>Lothaire</HI> &s;hould come twice a Week, and upon Holy-days too, and dine at <HI>An&s;elm</HI>'s Hou&s;e. Which, tho <HI>Lothaire</HI> promis'd to do, for the Satisfaction of his Friend; yet he re&s;olv'd with him&s;elf however, to be &s;till careful of his Friend's Honour, who&s;e Reputation he valu'd be|yond his own. Quo he to him&s;elf, and he <HI>quo he'd</HI> like an hone&s;t Gentle|man; A Man whom Heaven has ble&s;t with a beautiful Wife, had as much need to take care what Friends he brings to his Hou&s;e, as what <HI>Orange,</HI> and <HI>Boon-Chri&s;tian</HI> Women, what Ladies of Quality, and Kin&s;|women, came to vi&s;it his Wife. For that tho&s;e Bargains cannot be dri|ven i' the Market-place, or at Church, or at a great Invitation, or a Play-hou&s;e, whither a Man cannot refu&s;e his Wife to go &s;ometimes, which are concluded at home by a She-friend or a Kin&s;woman, of whom there is little or no notice tak'n. How ea&s;ily is a <HI>Billet-doux</HI> convey'd in a Bunch of Grapes, or a Boon Chri&s;tian; nor &s;hall &s;he want In&s;truction which to chu&s;e; take this Pear, Madam, upon my word, 'tis a choice piece of Fruit, and cheap at Six-pence. <HI>An&s;elm,</HI> on the other &s;ide, who knew his Friend's Thoughts as well as if he had been in his Belly, made the&s;e Cautions an Argument again&s;t him, urging, That for the&s;e very Rea&s;ons, it behov'd every marry'd Man, to have a real Friend about him, to give him good Coun|&s;el, and inform him when he did ami&s;s; for that many Men might be apt to be &s;o indulgent to their VVives, and to be &s;o hood-wink'd with Affe|ction and Dotage, that they could not &s;pie tho&s;e Faults and Contrivances, which a di&s;creet and di&s;cerning Friend might be able to do. But notwith|&s;tanding all <HI>An&s;elm</HI>'s Rhetorick, <HI>Lothaire</HI> &s;till kept to his Text, and would not vi&s;it his Friend any oftner then he thought fitting, that is to &s;ay, he very &s;eldom went to &s;ee him. Shew me now &s;uch another Example of real and &s;incere Amity; for my part, I don't believe there ever was &s;uch another as <HI>Lothaire,</HI> who was &s;o careful of his Friend's Honour, that he de|priv'd him&s;elf of his Company, for fear the world &s;hould mi&s;interpret his Vi&s;its, and that at an Age that does not u&s;ually make tho&s;e &s;ober Refle|ctions where Plea&s;ure is concern'd; &s;o generous that he would not give Occa&s;ion to the idle world to talk, or for malicious Eyes to ob&s;erve the frequent Vi&s;its of a wealthy Gentleman, and of noble Birth, to &s;uch a ce|lebrated Beauty as <HI>Camilla,</HI> to the Scandal of his friend's forehead, upon which the vulgar would be pre&s;ently grafting all the Horns in <HI>Epping-Fo|re&s;t,</HI> upon the lea&s;t Surmi&s;es of their Malice. Yet all this while &s;uch was <HI>An&s;elm</HI>'s Impatience, that he never &s;aw his Friend, but he upbraided him with his Coldne&s;s, for which <HI>Lothaire</HI> had always &s;uch proper Excu&s;es, that <HI>An&s;elm</HI> knew not how to be angry with him. But not long after, as they were both walking together i' the Fields, <HI>An&s;elm</HI> taking <HI>Lothaire</HI> by the Hand; One would think, <HI>Lothaire,</HI> &s;aid he, that con&s;idering the Favours which God had &s;howr'd upon me, in making me the Son of &s;uch Noble Parents, and be&s;towing upon me with &s;uch a liberal Hand; but more then all this, when I find my &s;elf belov'd by &s;uch a true Friend as <HI>Lothaire,</HI> and embrac'd by &s;uch a vertuous Wife as the fair <HI>Camilla,</HI> one would think, I &s;ay, that I &s;hould live contented as one that enjoy'd all the Happine&s;s that a Man can enjoy in this World. And yet for all this, I
<PB N="173" REF="98"> find my &s;elf &s;o &s;trangely di&s;tracted in my Mind, &s;uch odd <HI>Conundrums</HI> and <HI>Whim&s;ies</HI> lie wallowing and tumbling i' my Brains, that I cannot tell how for the Soul and Blood o' me, to get rid of 'em. I confe&s;s, to my Shame, that they are only the extravagant Fancies of a weak Head, at which I cannot chu&s;e but wonder, and as often highly blame my &s;elf. But they have got &s;uch an a&s;cendant over me, that I cannot with&s;tand 'em; and it makes me mad to &s;ee my &s;elf almo&s;t be&s;ide my Wits. As for Example, <HI>Then thundring</HI> Jove <HI>in human Shape came &s;tealing to</HI> Amphitryo's <HI>Bed</HI>&mdash; What a pox have I to do with <HI>Jove</HI> or <HI>Amphitryo</HI> &mdash;? there's neither Rhyme nor Rea&s;on in't&mdash; and yet the&s;e things fill my Brains full o' Sparables&mdash; At other times I dream of Lords and Citizens Wives, Ladies and their Coachmen. What-a-devil do the&s;e things concern me? And yet &s;ometimes they make a noi&s;e i' my Noddle like &s;o many Paper-mills. Now as I thus became a Nui&s;ance to my &s;elf, I knew not where to apply my &s;elf for cure, but to the only faithful Friend that I have i' the World; and therefore I &s;hall not &s;cruple to di&s;cover to thee the Cau&s;e of my Di&s;temper, as being confident, that no other Per&s;on under Heaven can relieve me.</P>
<P><HI>An&s;elm,</HI> amaz'd to hear his Friend talk idle at that rate, could not divine what Maggot this &s;hould be, that had &s;o &s;uddenly wriggl'd it &s;elf among the Tunicles of his Brain. And therefore to &s;atisfie his Im|patience, he told him in plain <HI>Engli&s;h,</HI> 'Twas a Violation of the League be|tween 'em to fetch &s;uch a Compa&s;s about, before he came to the Point; that his Secrets did not u&s;e to come &s;o hard from him; and therefore what|ever it were, he de&s;ir'd him to out with it, &s;ince he knew his Friend was bound to conceal it, tho 'twere Trea&s;on it &s;elf. Why, faith my dear Friend, reply'd <HI>An&s;elm,</HI> nothing but Shame has ty'd my Tongue all this while&mdash; And I could hang my &s;elf for trifling thus long, &s;ince 'tis in vain for a Man to hide his Di&s;ea&s;e from his Phy&s;ician. Phy&s;ician! quo <HI>Lothaire</HI>&mdash; <HI>'Fore-George,</HI> if it be any thing of a Clap, 'tis quite out o' my Road&mdash; No, no, reply'd <HI>An&s;elm,</HI> 'tis a &s;erious, a very &s;erious Bu&s;ine&s;s. I would try an Experiment&mdash; I would fain know, Pox on't&mdash;'twas ju&s;t at the Root o' my Tongue, and is &s;lipp'd down again&mdash; I would fain know whether&mdash; <HI>Camilla</HI> be as cha&s;t, and as virtuous as I believe her to be&mdash; now 'tis out. Ble&s;s me! what a Project ha' you teem'd after &s;uch a hard Labour? Why, faith &s;aid <HI>An&s;elm,</HI> I cannot tell whether I think well or ill, but my Opinion is this, That what ye call Vertue in Women, is like your counterfeit Pieces that gli&s;ter like Gold, but in the Refiners Melting-pot they vani&s;h away in Smoke and Steam. <HI>Vertue</HI> is a &s;pecious word, and makes a fine &s;hew, that oftimes covers a World of my&s;terious Wickedne&s;s. For I do not believe that Woman to be cha&s;t, that is never courted, or never &s;olicited: But &s;he that can re&s;i&s;t the Promi&s;es, the Pre&s;ents, the Tears, the Importunities, and all the Temptations of a Diabolical Lover, &s;he's the vertuous Woman. For tho &s;he hold out a Siege as long as <HI>Troy,</HI> if &s;he &s;urrender at length, I'd not give a &s;ingle Mu&s;tard-&s;eed for her Vertue; nor would I give a Ru&s;h for a Vertue that is grounded upon Fear, or want of Opportunity. She's only vertuous, that holds out again&s;t all the Batteries of Enticement, and the Enticements even of their own Inclinations. Now I would fain try, whether <HI>Camilla</HI>'s Vertue be of this Nature. 'Tis true, &s;uch Experiments are dangerous, but I &s;hall ne're be quiet i' my Mind, till I am &s;atisfy'd in this Particular. If <HI>Camilla</HI> &s;tand to her Pan-pudding; if when &s;he has run the Gantlet through all the Temptations, Oaths, Vows, Prote&s;tations, VViles and Stratagems of an importunate Lover, &s;he come off without a Scar; then will I &s;ay, there's a VVoman fall'n to my Lot, after whom the
<PB N="174" REF="99"> Wi&s;e man makes Proclamation, and cries, <HI>Where's &s;uch a one to be found?</HI> But if &s;he falter and give ground, I &s;hall have this Advantage at lea&s;t, not to have been deceiv'd in my Opinion, and that I was not cully'd by that Con|fidence, which abu&s;es &s;o many other Men. And therefore never go about to &s;pend words in vain, in hopes to divert me from my De&s;ign, for you may as well take the Moon by the Horns; but prepare your &s;elf to do me this Kindne&s;s, upon the &s;core of our long continu'd and inviolable Friend|&s;hip. Make all the Applications to her imaginable, &s;wear, vow, prote&s;t, fall at her Knees, whine, pine, lament and mourn; &s;pare neither for Neck|laces of Pearl, nor Gold Watches; let her not want any Rarity that Spring, Summer, or the more fruitful Autumn yields: In &s;hort, u&s;e all the Strata|gems and Devices that human Wit, or the Subtilty of the Devil can in|vent to debauch an hone&s;t, honourable, re&s;erv'd, mode&s;t, godly, vertuous Woman; and believing thou can&s;t not give me a more &s;en&s;ible Proof of thy Kindne&s;s, begin as &s;oon as thou can&s;t. <HI>An&s;elm</HI> here making a &s;top, <HI>Lo|thario</HI> more a&s;toni&s;h'd now then he was before, &s;tar'd him i' the face a good while, without &s;peaking a word, like one that had been gazing upon &s;ome|thing he had never &s;een before; till after he had recollected him&s;elf, Friend <HI>An&s;elm,</HI> &s;aid he, had I thought you had been in earne&s;t all this while, I &s;hould never have heard ye &s;o patiently, and &s;o long, without an Interruption. Surely, either thou do&s;t not know me, or I don't know thee. But I think I know thee to be <HI>An&s;elm;</HI> and I believe thou know&s;t me to be <HI>Lothario:</HI> Here's the Mi&s;chief on't, that I think thou art not the &s;ame <HI>An&s;elm</HI> thou wer't wont to be, and thou tak'&s;t me not to be the &s;ame <HI>Lo|thairo</HI> that I ought to be. For neither is the Kindne&s;s of that Nature to be de&s;ir'd by <HI>An&s;elm,</HI> nor to be granted by <HI>Lothario.</HI> We are to make u&s;e of our Friends to &s;uch a Degree, and no farther; and to make trial of their Friend&s;hip in things that are rea&s;onable, not in things that are contrary to common Sen&s;e; and if not prejudicial, at lea&s;t of no Advantage to the Im|po&s;er. You wou'd have me make love to your Wife, and u&s;e my utmo&s;t Endeavours to debauch her: If you believe her vertuous, what would ye have more? Or what will my Endeavours add to her Merit? But if I do de|bauch her, what then? Then is your Life at an end; for the lo&s;s of Reputa|tion, is the lo&s;s of Life; and what will the world mo&s;t ju&s;tly &s;ay of me, for abu&s;ing and di&s;honouring my Friend? By my troth, you have &s;tudy'd one of the mo&s;t ingenious Contrivances to ruine your &s;elf and your friend too, that ever I heard of. If you que&s;tion, whether <HI>Camilla</HI> be as prudent as other Women, take her as &s;he is, either better or wor&s;e, till ye find her wor&s;e then &s;he is. For 'tis better to enjoy a quiet Uncertainty, then to bring an old Hou&s;e upon a Man's Head, by trying Experiments. Remember, friend <HI>An&s;elm,</HI> that the Honour of a Woman con&s;i&s;ts in the good Opinion which the world has of her; then content your &s;elf with your own and the good Opinion of the world to boot, and never go about, out of an idle and im|pertinent Curio&s;ity to lay Snares meerly to &s;hew the Excellency o' your Trap; which, when all is done, does but catch prone <HI>Inclination</HI> with the Baits that are natural to it. For in &s;hort, a Woman is like a poli&s;h'd Gla&s;s, which is tarni&s;h'd with the lea&s;t breathing upon it: A delicate Flower, that &s;ullies and withers with the &s;ofte&s;t Touch. To this Purpo&s;e, I remember the Advice of an grave <HI>Old Toa&s;t,</HI> to the Father of a certain young Virgin in a Comedy, to keep a diligent watch over his Daughter, to &s;hut her up, and not to tru&s;t her to her &s;elf; and if I mi&s;take not, the words were the&s;e.</P>
<Q><PB N="175" REF="99">
<LG>
<L>HE that thinks a Woman Gla&s;s,</L>
<L>Let him ne'r be trying tricks;</L>
<L>For as &s;ure as God's in <HI>Glo&s;ter,</HI></L>
<L>If he lets her fall, &s;he breaks.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>But when &s;he's broke, the Devil him&s;elf</L>
<L>Can never &s;oder up the Wound;</L>
<L>And therefore while &s;he's whole, be &s;ure</L>
<L>To have a care, and keep her &s;ound.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>For certain 'tis, that were there now</L>
<L>More <HI>Dana&euml;'s</HI> then could be told,</L>
<L>There wou'd not want for ev'ry one</L>
<L>As many charming &s;howers of Gold.</L>
</LG></Q>
<P>And now, &s;aid <HI>Lothario,</HI> having &s;pok'n thus much for your Intere&s;t, give me leave to &s;ay &s;omething for my &s;elf. You look upon me to be your real Friend, and yet you go about to take away my Honour; and would ha' me be the In&s;trument of ruining yours: Wi&s;e work in good truth. What will <HI>Camilla</HI> think, when &s;he &s;hall hear my lewd Addre&s;&s;es to her, but that I am a perfidious Son of Voluptuou&s;ne&s;s, that makes no &s;cruple to violate the mo&s;t Sacred Laws of Friend&s;hip, or to Sacrifice my Reputation to the ticklings of &s;en&s;ual Plea&s;ure? Will &s;he not have rea&s;on to be offended at a Liberty that will &s;eem to reproach her, as if I had ob&s;erv'd a particular Lightne&s;s and Vanity in her Conduct? Or if I find her yielding, will it become me to betray <HI>An&s;elm?</HI> Or if I cannot accompli&s;h my ends, can &s;he have a greater hatred, then for the Per&s;on, on whom &s;he had be&s;tow'd &s;uch marks of her favour, meerly to make a May-game of her Credulity? Or if I excu&s;e my &s;elf, and &s;ay, I did it to plea&s;e you; what will &s;he think of me for accepting &s;uch a Commi&s;&s;ion? And how will &s;he de&s;pi&s;e the Per&s;on that Sign'd it? What will all Men of Honour think of me, for having troubl'd the repo&s;e of all your Family with a fal&s;e Complai&s;ance? Shall we not become the Publick Laughter of tho&s;e that admir'd our &s;trict and matchle&s;s Amity? Believe me therefore, dear <HI>An&s;elm,</HI> live undi&s;turb'd in an Opinion that renders thee happy; and con&s;ider that thou ventur'&s;t thou&s;ands to a Nut-&s;hell, in &s;o ra&s;h and impertinent a folly. In a word, without flattery, I take it ill, that you &s;hould make me &s;uch an idle and di&s;honourable Propo&s;al; and be a&s;&s;ur'd, that I will never do ye this dangerous piece of Service, tho it &s;hould co&s;t me your Friend&s;hip, which would to me be the greate&s;t Lo&s;s i' the World.</P>
<P>The&s;e home-thru&s;ts of <HI>Lothario</HI> put <HI>An&s;elm</HI> into &s;uch a Confu&s;ion, that for a good while he &s;tood as mute as a Fi&s;h, till having found his Tongue in a condition to move; Friend <HI>Lothario,</HI> &s;aid he, I have heard thee with all the Attention and Satisfaction imaginable; and have ob&s;erv'd in thy Ex|pre&s;&s;ions all that Di&s;cretion and Prudence could utter: And this Refu&s;al of thine has &s;ignaliz'd thy Friend&s;hip to the highe&s;t degree. I confe&s;s my Re|que&s;t is unju&s;t, and &s;uch a one, of which the Con&s;equences cannot chu&s;e but be fatal; and that if I don't follow thy Coun&s;el, I am a Mad-man, and hurry my &s;elf into a mo&s;t dreadful Precipice. But I am &s;ick, <HI>Lothario,</HI> I am &s;ick; and of a Di&s;temper that rages ince&s;&s;antly within me; and a de&s;perate Di&s;ea&s;e mu&s;t have a de&s;perate Cure: Be&s;ides, you &s;ee that Chalk, Oatmeal, Coals, the raw Steaks of a Butcher's Arm, will never hurt tho&s;e that long
<PB N="176" REF="100"> for 'em. I conceal'd my Infirmity a long time, in hopes I might &s;urmount it; but 'tis become my Ma&s;ter, and my deplorable Condition obliges me to &s;eek for aid. For&s;ake me not therefore in my di&s;tre&s;s, dear Friend&mdash; Never &s;tand arguing with a man that has lo&s;t his Rea&s;on &mdash; Why &mdash; if I have a mind to be a Cuckold, why &s;hould you contradict me? Prithee try <HI>Camilla,</HI> gently at fir&s;t, for fear of da&s;hing, I dare &s;ay &s;he won't &s;urren|der at the fir&s;t A&s;&s;ault; and perhaps that &s;mall Experiment may &s;atisfie me, that I may return to my Sen&s;es again without any more. If thou art &s;ucce&s;sful over the left &s;houlder, and art forc'd to rai&s;e thy Siege from my beloved Lady <HI>Vienna,</HI> then &s;hall I be happier then the Great <HI>Mo|gul,</HI> and the King of <HI>Per&s;ia;</HI> and thou wilt have the Honour to have out|done all the Phy&s;icians in <HI>London,</HI> where I think there are more then enow; and to have Cur'd one of the odde&s;t Frenzies that ever was heard of. And for <HI>Camilla,</HI> let me alone to put it off with a Je&s;t, and pacifie her well enough. But do it, dear <HI>Lothario,</HI> do it for my &s;ake, do it for her &s;ake, do it for Heav'n's &s;ake, do it for thy own &s;ake, and for the &s;ake of all that is dear to thee i' the World; or el&s;e I mu&s;t be forc'd to employ &s;ome body el&s;e.</P>
<P><HI>Lothario</HI> finding <HI>An&s;elm</HI> &s;o re&s;olutely bent, and the danger of a Refu&s;al, determin'd to accept the &s;trange Commi&s;&s;ion, the rather becau&s;e he was &s;atisfied that he had di&s;charg'd his Con&s;cience to the full, both like a Gen|tleman and a Friend; re&s;olving however to carry his bu&s;ine&s;s &s;o cunningly, as to &s;atisfie the Hypochondriacal <HI>An&s;elm,</HI> and yet not offend <HI>Camilla</HI> neither. And having thus concluded within him&s;elf; You &s;hall not need, quo he to <HI>An&s;elm,</HI> to employ any body el&s;e, for I find my Complai&s;ance too weak to with&s;tand any longer the force of your Entreaties. At which words <HI>An&s;elm</HI> embrac'd him with that Affection, as if it had been <HI>Camilla</HI> her &s;elf trium|phant over all the &s;even deadly Sins.</P>
<P>After that, they drank a chirping Cup together, and <HI>An&s;elm</HI> drew out a draught of the Method which <HI>Lothario</HI> was to ob&s;erve; not forgetting what &s;ort of Tunes he would have for the Serenades, and what &s;ort of Songs he would have for the Tunes, which he offer'd to make him&s;elf, if <HI>Lothario</HI> thought he could not be at lei&s;ure, for Courting his Wife. More|over, he promis'd to &s;end <HI>Lothario</HI> Money to defray the Expences of his Entertainments, his Coach-hire to and fro; together with what Watches, Rings, and Jewels he &s;hould think convenient for Temptation Pre&s;ents: For all which <HI>Lothario</HI> took his word, without troubling a Scriv'ner to draw up Articles. Which done, <HI>An&s;elm</HI> carry'd <HI>Lothario</HI> home to his Hou&s;e, where he found <HI>Camilla</HI> in a twitter, for his having &s;taid till Dinner was al|mo&s;t &s;poyl'd. After Dinner, and a Game or two at Back-Gammon, <HI>Lo|thario</HI> took his leave for that time, and retir'd to his Lodging, very much di&s;turb'd in his mind about the hard Duty which his Friend had impos'd upon him. That Night he lay tumbling and to&s;&s;ing, and con&s;idering with him|&s;elf how to manage his Bu&s;ine&s;s; and the next day away he went again to Dine with his Friend, where <HI>Camilla</HI> receiv'd him as her Husband's Acquain|tance, with all the becoming freedom imaginable; as one in who&s;e Com|pany &s;he knew her Husband delighted, and to whom &s;he was her &s;elf not a little engag'd. They had no &s;ooner clos'd up their Stomacks with their Pip|pins and Carraway Comfits, but <HI>An&s;elm,</HI> ri&s;ing ha&s;tily from the Table, told 'em, that he had urgent Bu&s;ine&s;s that call'd him abroad, and therefore begg'd of <HI>Lothario</HI> to keep his Wife Company till his Return; and notwith|&s;tanding all <HI>Lothario</HI>'s entreaties, that he might bear him Company, and <HI>Camilla's</HI> endearing <HI>Prithee my Hony's and Sweet-heart's,</HI> to retain him at
<PB N="177" REF="100"> home, nothing would do; he had no &s;ooner comb'd out his <HI>Perriwig,</HI> but away he flung, leaving <HI>Lothario</HI> and his Wife in the Room together. And then it was, that <HI>Lothario</HI> found him&s;elf at the &s;trange&s;t Non-plus that ever he was in his life; not knowing what i' the World to do, to avoid the dan|ger that threatned the forehead of his Friend. At length he faind him&s;elf to be very &s;leepy, and after he had &s;eemingly endeavour'd to wake him&s;elf two or three times, he loll'd backward in his Chair, and betook him&s;elf to Dog-&s;leep; for as I may tell to you, he was no more &s;leepy then when he wak'd i' the Morning. About two hours after, <HI>An&s;elm</HI> return'd, and find|ing <HI>Camilla</HI> i' the Room, and <HI>Lothario</HI> fa&s;t a&s;leep, as he thought, he con|jectur'd, he had tyr'd him&s;elf with talking, and therefore &s;taid till he was awake, to know how far he had proceeded. <HI>Lothario</HI> an&s;wer'd him, that he did not think it convenient to provoke <HI>Camilla</HI> too far at the fir&s;t da&s;h; and therefore he had only di&s;cours'd her at a di&s;tance, concerning the Per|fections of her own Beauty, and amus'd her with the general Talk of the Town, of the Happy Choice that <HI>An&s;elm</HI> had made of a Wife; not doubt|ing but to in&s;inuate him&s;elf by degrees, as having prepar'd her to hear &s;to|ries of another Nature the next time: Ob&s;erving the Devil's Method, who when he has a de&s;ign to deceive poor Mortals, does not &s;hew his Cloven foot at fir&s;t, but transforms him&s;elf into an Angel of Light. Which be|ginning extreamly pleas'd <HI>An&s;elm.</HI> Several days thus pa&s;t over, wherein <HI>Lothario</HI> &s;poke not a word to <HI>Camilla;</HI> only he made her Husband believe he had us'd all the Art and Arguments, with which the Devil had liberally fur|ni&s;h'd him, but could not make the lea&s;t Impre&s;&s;ion upon her Affection: On the other &s;ide, that &s;he did nothing but cry <HI>fie, and out upon him;</HI> and that &s;he did not think he had been &s;uch a one, and at length threaten'd to tell her Husband, and never to come into his Company more, if ever he offer'd her any &s;uch idle Di&s;cour&s;e again.</P>
<P>Happy had <HI>An&s;elm</HI> been, if this would ha' giv'n him Satisfaction: But 'tis not to be avoided, where the Devil owes a man a &s;hame; for the De|vil &s;corns to take <HI>White-Fryers</HI> for &s;uch a Debt. Thus far, &s;aid <HI>An&s;elm, Camilla</HI> has with&s;tood the Batteries of Words, now let's &s;ee how &s;he will re&s;i&s;t the force of Deeds. To morrow I'le &s;end ye in two hundred Guineys for a Pre&s;ent, and two hundred more for a Garni&s;h of Diamonds; for Wo|men love to &s;ee their Stomachers twinkling with Jewels, like the Sky in a fro&s;ty Night; and if <HI>Camilla</HI> refu&s;es <HI>Them,</HI> I'le never trouble thee farther. Well, cry'd <HI>Lothario,</HI> I'le go forward, &s;ince I ha' begun; but I'm confident you'd as good ha' play'd away your Money at <HI>In and In</HI> i' the <HI>Temple-Hall</HI> &mdash; However, the next day <HI>An&s;elm,</HI> who like a Merchant that &s;tands upon his Credit, was too punctual to fail of his word, &s;ent in his Friend the four hundred Guineys, which plung'd <HI>Lothario</HI> again into new Cares: But &s;till he concluded to &s;ay, that <HI>Camilla</HI> was not to be mov'd, and that he was afraid of incurring her hatred by teizing her. And indeed he might ea&s;ily have come off with Honour, had <HI>An&s;elm</HI> been Ma&s;ter of him&s;elf; but his Brains were &s;o turn'd in his Skull, that nothing would content him. One day therefore, after he had left <HI>Lothario</HI> and <HI>Camilla</HI> alone, as he was wont to do, he withdrew him&s;elf into an upper Room, where he could &s;ee all that pa&s;s'd between the two &s;uppo&s;ed Lovers. But when he had &s;taid there above an Hour, he ob&s;erv'd that in all that time, <HI>Lothario</HI> did not &s;o much as open his Lips, which made him believe, that what he had &s;aid of <HI>Camilla,</HI> were all meer <HI>Shams.</HI> Upon which, returning into the Room, and taking <HI>Lothario</HI> a&s;ide; What a &s;curvy Humour is <HI>Camilla</HI> in to day, quo he? She has pi&s;s'd upon a Nettle, I think, quo <HI>Lothario;</HI> for &s;he's as froppi&s;h,
<PB N="178" REF="101"> as if &s;he had lo&s;t the fir&s;t Pre&s;ent that you made her: &s;o cholerick, &s;o pet|ti&s;h, &s;o peevi&s;h, &s;o wa&s;pi&s;h, that I dur&s;t not &s;peak a word to her&mdash; Ah, <HI>Lo|thario, Lothario!</HI> cry'd <HI>An&s;elm,</HI> Is this the Effect of your Promi&s;es? Is this the Di&s;charge of a Tru&s;t, which I expected from your Friend&s;hip? I ha' &s;tood upon the Watch, where I have all this while ob&s;erv'd, that you have not &s;poke aword to <HI>Camilla</HI>&mdash; there's Court&s;hip for mine A&mdash; and not for a brisk Lady &mdash; Why don't ye give me leave to make u&s;e of &s;ome body el&s;e, if you are &s;o tender-Con&s;cienc'd?</P>
<P><HI>Lothairo</HI> finding him&s;elf &s;o trapp'd, that he had not one hole to creep out at, and being in the Number of tho&s;e that could not tell a Lye, and &s;tand in it, thought it convenient to play another Game; and &s;wore more Oaths then are &s;worn of a Night in a Gaming-Ordinary, that it &s;hould co&s;t him a fall, but he would do his Bu&s;ine&s;s. <HI>An&s;elm</HI> believ'd him, and to give him the more Liberty, re&s;olv'd to go into the Country for a matter of eight days. Now was there ever &s;uch a Puppy i' the world? when he had all things at home to his own Heart's content, a fair E&s;tate, a hand|&s;om, loving, ob&s;equious Wife; yet all this wou'd not content him, but that he mu&s;t be &s;tudying, and &s;earching out new Pa&s;&s;ages to <HI>Nova Zembla,</HI> new <HI>Hud&s;on's Bays,</HI> to his own Ruine? But no more of the&s;e Digre&s;&s;ions, let's go on with our Story.</P>
<P>Indu&s;trious <HI>An&s;elm</HI> went the next Morning into the Country; but ta|king leave of his Wife, My Dear, quo he, urgent Bu&s;ine&s;s calls me away, however, I leave ye my friend <HI>Lothario,</HI> to whom I de&s;ire ye i' the mean time to be as kind and civil as to my &s;elf. My Dear, quo <HI>Camilla,</HI> this is your Order, but a &s;trange Injunction. <HI>Joy,</HI> quo &s;he, d' ye under&s;tand what ye do? for it troubles me very much to obey; for that it was beyond the Li|mits of Decency, that <HI>Lothario</HI> and &s;he &s;hould live with that Familiarity together in his Ab&s;ence. If ye doubt that I am not able to govern your Hou&s;e, I be&s;eech ye, my Dear, &s;tay and be a Witne&s;s your &s;elf of my Ma|nagement, that if I do ami&s;s, I may be better inform'd by your In&s;truction. No more Words, cry'd <HI>An&s;elm,</HI> with a Matrimonial Frown; and &s;o &s;aying, flung out of her Company.</P>
<P>The next day <HI>Lothario</HI> came to vi&s;it <HI>Camilla,</HI> who receiv'd him with all the Mode&s;ty imaginable; and &s;he had taken &s;uch care, that &s;he would not be a moment in the Room, without &s;ome body by her, e&s;pecially <HI>Lyonella,</HI> a Maid that had been bred up with her, and for whom &s;he had a very great Kindne&s;s.</P>
<P>For the three fir&s;t Days <HI>Lothario</HI> &s;aid nothing to her, tho he had Oppor|tunity enough while the Servants were at Dinner. Of which <HI>Camilla</HI> being well aware, order'd <HI>Lyonella</HI> for the future to dine before the re&s;t, that &s;he might continually have her by her. But the giddy Girl, having other Crotchets in her Head, and not caring to &s;tay long in a place, many times took Occa&s;ions to leave <HI>Lothario</HI> and her Mi&s;tre&s;s alone. Neverthele&s;s <HI>Lo|thario</HI> &s;till forbore to take Opportunity by the Forelock, whether it were, that he could not find in his heart to injure his Friend, or whether he thought it too much below a Gentleman to wrong a Lady that treated him with &s;o much Civility; or perhaps becau&s;e, tho <HI>Camilla</HI> were beautiful and free in her Behaviour, yet the Gravity and Re&s;erv'dne&s;s of her Carriage &s;truck &s;uch an Awe into him, that re&s;train'd the loo&s;e Attempts of his irregular De&s;ires. But at length this Con&s;traint that <HI>Lothario</HI> put upon him&s;elf, and all his long Silence, produc'd an Effect quite contrary to his laudable In|tentions. For at length the Charms of her Beauty made that Impre&s;&s;ion in his Mind, which he had been all along &s;o much afraid of; and while
<PB N="179" REF="101"> he only thought to behold her with a mode&s;t and becoming Re&s;pect, he began to admire her, and to look upon her with &s;o much Delight, that he could not unfix his Eyes from their beloved Object. In a word, Love &s;tole in&s;en&s;ibly into his Heart, and had made a great Progre&s;s before he perceiv'd it. But when he found him&s;elf over <HI>Shoes,</HI> over <HI>Boots,</HI> and that his Heart was all of a Blaze, beyond the Quenching of the City Engines; then what a Toil, what a Bu&s;tle, what a Clutter was there? What eager Di&s;|putes and Conte&s;ts, fiercer then the&s;e of <HI>Whigg</HI> and <HI>Tory,</HI> between Trea|chery and Honour? What Duels and Combats between growing Pa&s;&s;ion, and Breach of Friend&s;hip? What Hiccups and Checks of Con&s;cience, and Reproaches of common Morality? Piety al&s;o and Religion were come as far as the Groun&s;el of his Heart; but <HI>Satan</HI> &s;pying 'em, pre&s;ently &s;tept to the Door, and barr'd it again&s;t 'em. He repented a thou&s;and times his ra&s;h Compliance with the Folly of his Friend. So that at length it came to a pitch'd Battel between his <HI>Vertues</HI> and his <HI>Pa&s;&s;ions,</HI> under the Command of <HI>Honour</HI> and <HI>Fidelity</HI> o' the one &s;ide, impatient <HI>De&s;ire</HI> and lawle&s;s <HI>Plea&s;ure</HI> on the other &s;ide; and the Conflict was ob&s;tinately maintain'd, till <HI>Camilla</HI>'s Beauty and <HI>An&s;elm</HI>'s De&s;tiny, to puni&s;h his Imprudence, coming in with a fre&s;h Reinforcement, put <HI>Virtue</HI> and <HI>Chri&s;tianity</HI> to flight, with the lo&s;s <HI>Honour</HI> and <HI>Fidelity</HI> &s;lain upon the place. And now <HI>Lothario,</HI> believing the Re&s;i&s;tance of three Days &s;ufficient to excu&s;e his Di&s;loyalty to his Friend, as one that thought him&s;elf no longer oblig'd to hold out, where he &s;aw no po&s;&s;ibility of being reliev'd, let loo&s;e the Reins of his Pa&s;&s;ion, and boldly di&s;cover'd the Violence of his Love to <HI>Camilla.</HI> On the other &s;ide, <HI>Camilla,</HI> &s;trangely &s;urpriz'd to find her &s;elf &s;o vigorou&s;ly, &s;o &s;udden|ly, and &s;o unexpectedly a&s;&s;ail'd, &s;aid not a word, but ri&s;ing ha&s;tily from her Chair, retir'd into her Chamber. But this di&s;dainful Repul&s;e nothing daunted <HI>Lothario,</HI> rather it begat in him a higher E&s;teem of her Per&s;on; and that e&s;teem adding Fewel to his Flames, he re&s;olv'd to pro&s;ecute his De|&s;ign. In the mean time <HI>Camilla,</HI> after a long Con&s;ultation with her &s;elf what Cour&s;e to take, at length concluded to withdraw her &s;elf from <HI>Lo|thario</HI>'s Company; and in the Evening &s;ent a Lacquey away to her Husband, with the following Letter to recall him home.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="7" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. VII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">The Sequel of the <HI>Novel</HI> of the <HI>Curious Impertinent.</HI></HEAD>
<LETTER LANG="eng">
<OPENER><SALUTE>My Dear;</SALUTE></OPENER>
<P>YOU have &s;hew'd an extraordinary Confidence in leaving me alone, and I find my &s;elf highly oblig'd to ye for it. But I cannot think it &s;o di&s;creetly done, or that you are &s;o jealous as you ought, of a Happine&s;s, which you pretend &s;o highly to e&s;teem. For my own part, con&s;idering the real and tender Affection I have for yee, I am not able any longer to endure your Ab&s;ence, finding my &s;elf &s;o melancholy, and &s;o di&s;turb'd i' my Thoughts, that if you do not &s;peedily return, I mu&s;t be forc'd to go home to my Fa|ther. For, to tell ye Truth, I am afraid that the per&s;on, whom yee have entru&s;ted with the care of your Family, minds more his own, then your Concerns. But you are wi&s;e and prudent, and therefore I &s;hall &s;ay no more.</P>
</LETTER>
<PB N="178" REF="102">
<GAP DESC="duplicate" EXTENT="1 page">
<PB N="179" REF="102">
<GAP DESC="duplicate" EXTENT="1 page">
<PB N="180" REF="103">
<P>By this Letter <HI>An&s;elm</HI> &s;aw that <HI>Lothario</HI> had been true to his Promi&s;e, and that <HI>Camilla</HI> had done her Duty; and being overjoy'd at &s;o happy a Beginning, &s;ent back word to his Wife, That &s;he &s;hould by no means &s;tir from her Hou&s;e, for that it would not be long before he terurn'd.</P>
<P><HI>Camilla</HI> was in an Amaze to read <HI>An&s;elm</HI>'s An&s;wer, as that which put her into a greater Confu&s;ion then &s;he was in before. For neither could &s;he well &s;tay at home, where her Cha&s;tity was &s;o brisk'ly a&s;&s;ail'd by <HI>Lothario,</HI> neither dur&s;t &s;he return to her Father, for fear of di&s;plea&s;ing her Husband. At length, after long Debate with her own Thoughts, unfortunately &s;he cho&s;e the wor&s;t Re&s;olution, which was, to &s;tay in her Hou&s;e, and to keep <HI>Lothario</HI> Company, as &s;he was wont to do, for fear of giving an Oc|ca&s;ion of Su&s;picion to the Servants. She repented al&s;o, that &s;he had writ|ten to her Husband, afraid that &s;he had thereby made him jealous of <HI>Lo|thario;</HI> e&s;pecially believing her &s;elf &s;o &s;ecure of her &s;elf, that &s;he could be in no danger of any Attempts that he could make: So that by writing to her Husband, &s;he had only di&s;cover'd her Weakne&s;s and the Mi&s;tru&s;t &s;he had of her own Con&s;tancy. With this Re&s;olution, &s;o prudent in Appea|rance, but &s;o fallacious in the Event, <HI>Camilla</HI> &s;uffer'd her Ears to lie open to <HI>Lothario</HI>'s Temptations; and he &s;purr'd on by his Pa&s;&s;ion, and finding the Opportunity &s;o favourable, manag'd his Artillery &s;o like a cunning Marks|man, that he never mi&s;s'd a Shot; and &s;o mollify'd her with the Charms of his endearing and amorous Di&s;cour&s;es, that <HI>Camilla</HI>'s Con&s;tancy began to totter; in&s;omuch that &s;he had much ado to &s;tifle the Di&s;coveries of a &s;ur|rendring Compa&s;&s;ion, which <HI>Lothario</HI>'s Tears, and tender Expre&s;&s;ions had wrought in her Brea&s;t. All which being diligently ob&s;erv'd by <HI>Lothario,</HI> redoubl'd his Pa&s;&s;ion, and gave him full a&s;&s;urance that he &s;hould not find <HI>Camilla</HI> &s;o invincible as <HI>Penelope.</HI> Upon this, <HI>Lothario</HI> fell on Pell-mell a|gain, and cunningly &s;torm'd her weake&s;t, and mo&s;t defencele&s;s part, with the tickling Prai&s;es of her Beauty. For there is nothing &s;ooner lays in Ruins the lofty Towers and Fortre&s;&s;es of female Vanity, then when that Vanity it &s;elf is the Engine dextrou&s;ly manag'd by Adulation and Flattery. So that had <HI>Camilla</HI> been a Tower of Bra&s;s, I que&s;tion whether &s;uch Underminings as the&s;e would not have levell'd her with the Earth. He wept, he begg'd, he vow'd, he &s;wore and for&s;wore; yet with &s;uch a rarely counterfeited &s;hew of Truth and Reality, that at length, eluding all <HI>Camilla</HI>'s Care of her Honour, he vanqui&s;h'd that which he never dreamt, tho mo&s;t de&s;ir'd, to triumph over. <HI>Camilla</HI> &s;urrendred, <HI>Camilla</HI> yielded: An evident Example, that the Pa&s;&s;ions of Love are only vanqui&s;h'd by flight, and that there is no encountering hand to hand &s;uch potent Adver&s;aries. However, <HI>Lionella</HI> the Chamber-maid, for&s;ooth, was only privy to her Mi&s;tre&s;s's failings; from whom 'twas impo&s;&s;ible for tho&s;e two fal&s;e Friends, and new Lovers to conceal the Secret. Nor would <HI>Lothario</HI> di&s;cover <HI>to Camilla,</HI> that <HI>An&s;elm</HI> had laid this Trap for him&s;elf, le&s;t &s;he &s;hould think his Sollicitation to have been meerly accidental, and what he never intended, had not the Op|portunity been thrown into his Hands.</P>
<P>Soon after <HI>An&s;elm</HI> return'd, and wonderfully pleas'd with <HI>Lothario</HI>'s ful|filling his Promi&s;e, with his u&s;ual Impatience, went to vi&s;it his dear Friend, to know of him, what farther Progre&s;s he had made. <HI>An&s;elm,</HI> &s;aid <HI>Lo|thario,</HI> embracing him, thou may&s;t boa&s;t thy &s;elf the Husband of a match|le&s;s Wife, and one whom all other Women ought to look upon as the Or|nament of their Sex, and a Pattern by which to govern them&s;elves. S'life&mdash; I ha' been all this while ba&s;ting Flints with Butter, talking and &s;wearing to the Wind&mdash; She laugh'd at my Tears&mdash; and &s;corn'd my Pre&s;ents&mdash; I found
<PB N="181" REF="103"> her cha&s;t, even to Admiration&mdash; and immoveable as <HI>Pen-men Maur.</HI> In a word, her Vertue is equal to her Beauty, and thou art happy among Men&mdash; And therefore here, my dear Friend&mdash; here's your Money again&mdash; for, alas! had it been a whole Mine&mdash; or the whole <HI>Cargo</HI> of the Plate-fleet, I found <HI>Camilla</HI> was not to be tempted by all the Gewgaws in both <HI>Ex|changes.</HI> And therefore <HI>An&s;elm,</HI> &s;atisfie thy &s;elf with the peaceable Enjoy|ment of thy happy Fortune, without making any farther Trials; which is the be&s;t Coun&s;el I can give thee, as a Friend, and the only fruit which I de&s;ire to reap by my Complai&s;ency to thy extravagant Humour.</P>
<P><HI>An&s;elm</HI> having heard this plea&s;ing Fable, was ready to leap out of his Skin for Joy, extoll'd his Friend to the Skie, and gave him more Thanks, then if he had redeem'd him from the <HI>Turki&s;h</HI> Gallies; but not being as yet fully &s;atisfy'd, he de&s;ir'd him to continue his Court&s;hip, tho not with the &s;ame Importunity as before; and in regard that Ver&s;es would co&s;t him nothing, he likewi&s;e intreated him to &s;end her now and then a Copy, under the borrow'd Name of <HI>Cloris;</HI> of which he would take no farther Notice, then as only &s;ent to his Wife for her Approbation, as being intended to another. To which, <HI>Lothario,</HI> who&s;e Court&s;hip was no longer now a bur|then to him, readily con&s;ented. And thus the impertinent Cully, and the di&s;loyal Friend being both agreed, <HI>An&s;elm</HI> went home; and after he had em|brac'd and ki&s;s'd his Wife; Honey, quo he, what's the rea&s;on you &s;ent me &s;uch a Letter into the Country&mdash;? Why truly, my Dear, an&s;wer'd <HI>Camil|la,</HI> methought at fir&s;t, that <HI>Lothario</HI> began to be a little more familiar with me in your Ab&s;ence then became him; but afterwards I found 'twas a meer Fancy o' my own; however, I was glad of any Pretence to ha&s;t'n your Return&mdash; Puh&mdash; cry'd <HI>An&s;elm!</HI> a meer Fancy indeed&mdash; for to my Knowledge he's up to the hard Ears in Love with a young Lady i' the Town here, to whom he writes Ver&s;es under the Name of <HI>Cloris;</HI> be&s;ides, I am &s;o well a&s;&s;ur'd of his Vertue and Friend&s;hip, that there's no room for the lea&s;t Su&s;picion of <HI>Lothario</HI>&mdash; Who, my Friend <HI>Lothario&mdash;!</HI> I'le tru&s;t him, tho 'twere as long as an <HI>Ea&s;t-India-Voyage</HI>&mdash; This Fable of <HI>Cloris</HI> might have bred ill Blood between <HI>Camilla</HI> and her new Gallant, had not <HI>Lothario</HI> told her before of his Intention to put this &s;ame <HI>Sham</HI> of <HI>Cloris</HI> upon <HI>An|&s;elm,</HI> that he might have the more Liberty to write to her at any time, with|out being &s;u&s;pected by her Husband. And &s;ome few Days after, as they were &s;itting all three together, <HI>An&s;elm</HI> de&s;ir'd <HI>Lothario</HI> to repeat &s;ome of tho&s;e Ver&s;es which he had made in the Prai&s;e of <HI>Cloris;</HI> which he might be the more bold to do, in regard that <HI>Camilla</HI> knew not who &s;he was. What if &s;he did, reply'd <HI>Lothario?</HI> I &s;hould be ne're a whit the more &s;cru|pulous for that; &s;eeing a Lover never injures the Per&s;on he loves, tho he complain of her Rigour, at the &s;ame time that he prai&s;es her Beauty. How|ever, let 'em be good or bad, here they be, &s;uch as they are, which I made Ye&s;terday upon <HI>Cloris</HI>'s Ingratitude&mdash; They're &s;hort you &s;ee, but whether as &s;weet, that you mu&s;t judge.</P>
<Q><LG N="1">
<HEAD>I.</HEAD>
<L>IN depth of &s;ilent Night,</L>
<L>When all men are a&s;leep;</L>
<L>Or each one ki&s;&s;ing of his own Delight,</L>
<L>I lie alone and fondly weep</L>
<PB N="182" REF="104">
<L>For <HI>Cloris,</HI> my dear Jewel.</L>
<L><HI>Cloris,</HI> ah <HI>Cloris</HI>&mdash; that &s;ame &s;acred <HI>She!</HI></L>
<L>That for to bauk a common <HI>Simile,</HI></L>
<L>No Tygre&s;s is;</L>
<L>But yet as fierce a Leoparde&s;s,</L>
<L>All cover'd o're with Beauty-&s;pots, but cruel.</L>
</LG>
<LG N="2">
<HEAD>II.</HEAD>
<L>When Morning comes, the &s;ame Complaints I make,</L>
<L>And half a&s;leep, and half awake,</L>
<L>I make enquiry where the charming Whore is?</L>
<L>Streight my thoughts check me for abu&s;ing <HI>Cloris</HI>&mdash;</L>
<L>And I confe&s;s, 'twas ra&s;hly done&mdash; for why?</L>
<L><HI>Cloris,</HI> that I'd &s;o fain enjoy,</L>
<L>Has but one Fault,</L>
<L>She's lovely, but confounded coy.</L>
</LG>
<LG N="3">
<HEAD>III.</HEAD>
<L>Then up I get, and go to vi&s;it <HI>Cloris</HI>&mdash;</L>
<L>But Mrs. <HI>Mary</HI> with her Flim-flam Stories,</L>
<L><HI>Cloris</HI> is &s;ick, quo &s;he, not to be &s;een,</L>
<L>Or gone to <HI>Temple-Church</HI> or <HI>Lincoln's-Inn.</HI></L>
<L>Thus I return'd undone,</L>
<L>And come again i' the Afternoon;</L>
<L>But then &s;he's got to <HI>Lantralow,</HI></L>
<L>And Hell can't move her for an hour or two.</L>
</LG>
<LG N="4">
<HEAD>IV.</HEAD>
<L>Thus <HI>Phoebus</HI> &s;ets, and Night comes on again,</L>
<L>And then of <HI>Cloris</HI> I to Heav'n complain,</L>
<L>Of Heav'n to <HI>Cloris,</HI></L>
<L>For mu&s;tring in her Face tho&s;e killing Glories;</L>
<L>Believing too,</L>
<L>The Gods might remedy the Matter;</L>
<L>But after all, I'm ne're the better:</L>
<L>I <HI>Cloris</HI> woe,</L>
<L>And pray the Gods to mollifie her Heart;</L>
<L>But, Oh! what &s;ignifies it? not one F&mdash;t:</L>
<L>The Gods are deaf, and <HI>Cloris</HI> will not hear,</L>
<L>And all becau&s;e &s;he's coy, that is &s;o fair.</L>
</LG></Q>
<P>The Ver&s;es pleas'd <HI>Camilla,</HI> but <HI>An&s;elm</HI> extoll'd 'em to the Skies. For he thought it unrea&s;onable, as one who thought he had not been &s;erv'd &s;o him|&s;elf, that a young Lady, becau&s;e &s;he was a little more then ordinary Snout-fair, &s;hould be &s;o cruel to a Gentleman that &s;ought her early and late with &s;o much Affection. Why, &s;aid <HI>Camilla,</HI> do all Lovers &s;peak truth in their Ver&s;es? As Poets, an&s;wer'd <HI>Lothario,</HI> perhaps they may &s;train a little, but as Lovers, they &s;peak le&s;s then they might do. 'Tis too true, reply'd <HI>An|&s;elm,</HI> as being re&s;olv'd to ju&s;tifie <HI>Lothario</HI> whatever he &s;aid, and to keep up his Reputation with <HI>Camilla.</HI> A needle&s;s Toil, God wot, to di&s;gui&s;e his
<PB N="183" REF="104"> Thoughts to her, that was already &s;o much devoted to <HI>Lothario,</HI> that &s;he never minded her Husbands Artifices to ruin him&s;elf. For now <HI>Camilla</HI> was de&s;perately in Love with <HI>Lothario,</HI> and whatever he &s;aid, was acceptable to her, without any need of the witty Cuckold's blind Apologies. Which was the rea&s;on that &s;he de&s;ir'd <HI>Lothario,</HI> if he had any more Ver&s;es about him, to let her hear 'em. Why Faith, <HI>Madam,</HI> an&s;wer'd <HI>Lothario,</HI> I have one Copy more i' my Pocket; of which I have no better Opinion then of the former, however, they're at your Service.</P>
<Q><LG>
<L><HI>I</HI> Can't believe, that ever Men could bear</L>
<L>The pains and torments which they &s;wear</L>
<L>They &s;uffer for a Womans Beauty.</L>
<L>Then they mu&s;t dye, as now</L>
<L>Poor I re&s;olve to do.</L>
<L>For <HI>Cloris</HI> fal&s;e Di&s;dain is &s;uch a Cur&s;e,</L>
<L>That could a Bea&s;t but love, 'twould kill a Hor&s;e.</L>
<L>Go hang your &s;elf&mdash; th' ingrateful <HI>Cloris</HI> cries.</L>
<L>What Lover now, but up wou'd puke</L>
<L>His very Soul at &s;uch a fierce Rebuke?</L>
<L>Be&s;ides &mdash; the Man that never ly'd,</L>
<L>Has &s;worn he can't out-live fair <HI>Cloris</HI> Pride;</L>
<L>And &s;hall I be for&s;worn,</L>
<L>When I can dye&mdash;and laugh at <HI>Cloris</HI> &s;corn?</L>
</LG>
<LG N="2">
<HEAD>II.</HEAD>
<L>No&mdash;now I think on't, I will dye</L>
<L>To &s;hew the World the Rigour of the Maid&mdash;</L>
<L>That I &s;hould be &s;o ill repay'd</L>
<L>For all my Services and Trouble,</L>
<L>Thus to be made a meer Town-Bubble.</L>
<L>And then that &s;he &s;hould have a Heart</L>
<L>So quite regardle&s;s of my &s;mart,</L>
<L>While panting, ga&s;ping on the Ground I lye,</L>
<L>To &s;ee me at her Velvet Slippers dye.</L>
</LG>
<LG N="3">
<HEAD>III.</HEAD>
<L>But when by Death I have thrown off her Fetters,</L>
<L>Then let her &s;ee</L>
<L>My Love and Con&s;tancy</L>
<L>Deeply engrav'd upon my Heart,</L>
<L>In <HI>Poticary's</HI> Letters.</L>
<L>Then like &s;ome Si&s;ter, Sermon-terrify'd,</L>
<L>Reflecting on thy Murd'rous Pride,</L>
<L><HI>Cloris,</HI> make ha&s;t into thy Clo&s;et,</L>
<L>And there take off a Rats-bane Po&s;&s;et,</L>
<L>To expiate my injur'd Gho&s;t,</L>
<L>That for thy &s;ake an Amorous Body lo&s;t.</L>
</LG></Q>
<P><HI>An&s;elm,</HI> who to the unmarrying of him&s;elf, was &s;till wedded to his own De&s;ign, applauded the&s;e Ver&s;es no le&s;s then he had done the former. Like a kind Cuckold, that never thinks the Chain of his entanglement long
<PB N="184" REF="105"> enough, continually care&s;&s;ing the Per&s;on that daily lickt his Cream-Pot, and left him only the Whey; while the <HI>Legerdemain</HI> his Wife play'd him all the while, only &s;erv'd to advance her the more in the good Opinion and Affection of the Knight of the Forked Order.</P>
<P>A while after, <HI>Camilla</HI> being alone with her tru&s;ty <HI>Lionella,</HI> Nothing vexes me, quo &s;he, but that I'm afraid I yielded up my Fort a little too &s;oon; and that <HI>Lothario,</HI> when he con&s;iders my weakne&s;s, will de&s;pi&s;e the Happine&s;s that co&s;t him &s;o little. And yet his Enchantments were &s;uch, that I don't believe St. <HI>Winifred</HI> her &s;elf could have with&s;tood 'em &mdash; Lord! Madam, why &s;hould you think &s;o? quo <HI>Lionella</HI> &mdash; Rather believe your ea&s;ie kindne&s;s mu&s;t redouble his acknowledgment. Let me tell ye, Madam, if the Gift be worth giving, the Gift is never a whit to be the le&s;s e&s;teem'd, becau&s;e ea&s;ily parted with by the Donor &mdash; Come &mdash; come &mdash; Mi&s;tre&s;s, <HI>That which is readily given, is twice given</HI> &mdash; That's an&s;wer'd by another Proverb, cry'd <HI>Camilla, The more Co&s;t, the more Wor&s;hip</HI> &mdash; That's nothing to the purpo&s;e, an&s;wer'd <HI>Lionella;</HI> for if it be true What I have heard, Love ob&s;erves no certain Rules: Sometimes it flies, &s;ometimes it goes a foot &mdash; Sometimes runs, &s;ometimes walks, as if he were following a Her&s;e &mdash; Sometimes as cool as a Blood-&s;tone, &s;ometimes all Fire and Tow &mdash;And here the Wood and the Flame met as it &s;hou'd do &mdash; The fuel was dry, and the flame was hot &mdash; Nature will have its cour&s;e &mdash; If you the &s;ooner yielded, 'twas becau&s;e <HI>Lothario</HI> was the more violent. <HI>An&s;elm</HI> was gone, but no body knew how &s;oon he might return &mdash; And therefore Love, like a Politician, always takes Opportunity by the fore-lock. And this, Madam, I know as well by Experience, as by Hear-&s;ay &mdash; for I &s;hall give ye to under&s;tand one day, that I am made of Fle&s;h and Blood as well as others. Nor did you yield &s;o &s;oon neither, till you &s;aw his very Soul in his Eyes, in his Sighs, in his Vows, Promi&s;es, and Pre&s;ents; and you beheld him in his Vertues, and the Perfections of his Mind, a Per&s;on fit for your Embraces. And therefore, Madam, never cling up your Guts with the&s;e Hypochon|driacal Scruples, but be merry and chearful; and believe <HI>Lothario</HI> has the &s;ame e&s;teem for you, as you have for him. Believe that he does not only Challenge the three <HI>F F F</HI>'s, which all true Lovers ought to have, but you may run through the whole Alphabet in his Prai&s;e. As for Example: He is Amorous, Bountiful, Courtly, De&s;perate, Enamour'd, (I omit the <HI>F</HI>'s, as unque&s;tionable) Gallant, Hair-brain'd, Jocund, Lu&s;ty, Mild, No|ble, Open-hearted, Patient, Quaint, Rich, Serious, True, Valiant, Wi&s;e, the Devil take X, there's nothing will fit him, Young, and your Zealous Adorer. And now, Madam, what would ye ha more? <HI>Camilla</HI> could not choo&s;e but &s;mile at her Maids <HI>Alphabet;</HI> yet on the other &s;ide, &s;he could not but wonder to hear &s;o young a Que&s;trel as &s;he, di&s;cour&s;e with all the Experience of an <HI>Orange-Moll,</HI> or a <HI>Betty-Mackarel.</HI> Which &s;he perceiv|ing &mdash; By my truly, Mi&s;tre&s;s, quo &s;he, don't you believe I ha' &s;pent my time idly; for I mu&s;t tell ye, I ha' brought, a Young Mercer's Prentice i' this Town to my Lure already &mdash; I warrant ye, Madam, he's my own &mdash; 'Tis true, he's not out of his Time &mdash; But what o' that? &mdash; <HI>Dukes-Place</HI> is free for all comers and goers &mdash; Nay, to tell ye the truth, Ma|dam, the bu&s;ine&s;s is done already, one way or other &mdash; 'Tis no matter which way, &s;o't be done &mdash;</P>
<P><HI>Camilla</HI> was not a little troubl'd to hear her Maid talk at that rate; but then again con&s;idering, that it was not for Satan to correct Sin, all &s;he could do, was to de&s;ire <HI>Lionella</HI> to be careful how &s;he di&s;cover'd to her <HI>Sweet-heart</HI> the Intrigue between her and <HI>Lothario;</HI> and &s;o to manage her own concerns,
<PB N="185" REF="105"> that neither <HI>Lothario</HI> nor <HI>An&s;elm</HI> might di&s;cover her <HI>Amours.</HI> Which <HI>Lio|nella</HI> not only promis'd, but al&s;o &s;wore with all Exactne&s;s and Duty to her Mi&s;tre&s;s, to perform. Neverthele&s;s the Lecherous Baggage, finding &s;he had the Key of her Mi&s;tre&s;s's Secrets, and that her Mi&s;tre&s;s was now become her Slave (a main Misfortune that attends the forbidden Plea&s;ures of Wo|men) and therefore knowing no Rea&s;on why &s;he might not have a little &s;port as well as her Mi&s;tre&s;s, became &s;o bold, as to invite her Sweet-heart to <HI>An&s;elm</HI>'s Hou&s;e, and let him into the very Apartments belonging to her Mi&s;tre&s;s; who now (&s;o &s;trangely had her own misfortunes turn d the Tide) afraid of her own &s;hadow, was forc'd to turn Pandre&s;s to her Servant, and to be &s;erviceable to her, in a&s;&s;i&s;ting her to conceal her Paramour, le&s;t her Husband &s;hould come to know it.</P>
<P>Yet all her care and caution could not &s;o contrive it, but that one morn|ing <HI>Lothario</HI> di&s;cover'd <HI>Lionella's</HI> Gallant coming out of <HI>An&s;elm</HI>'s Hou&s;e: Which &s;o &s;urpriz'd <HI>Lothario</HI> at fir&s;t, that not believing his Eyes, he took it for an <HI>Apparition;</HI> but perceiving the fellow rid Ground, like one with his No&s;e muffl'd up in his Cloak, newly di&s;imbogu'd out of <HI>Whet&s;tone</HI>'s <HI>Park;</HI> and thereby conjecturing that he was one who was unwilling to be known, and at the &s;ame time never dreaming of <HI>Lionella,</HI> no more then he did of the Empre&s;s of <HI>Morocco,</HI> &s;u&s;pected him to be &s;ome body that <HI>Camilla</HI> treated with no le&s;s Courte&s;an Civility then him|&s;elf. Which awaken'd &s;uch an inveterate Jealou&s;ie in his Soul, that he re|&s;olv'd to be forthwith reveng'd of the poor Lady. To which purpo&s;e, quit|ting all his former Con&s;iderations, and his reflective Humour, he briskly enters <HI>An&s;elm</HI>'s Hou&s;e, and going up into his Chamber, without giving him time to ri&s;e, <HI>An&s;elm,</HI> &s;aid he, I have been for &s;ome days &s;triving with my &s;elf to conceal from thee a Secret, which it highly imports thee to know; but at length the Friend&s;hip which I ow'd thee, will no longer &s;uffer me to conceal it. Know then, in &s;hort, that I have won the Fortre&s;s, and <HI>Ca|milla</HI> can no longer boa&s;t her Con&s;tancy. If I did not &s;ooner make thee this Di&s;covery, 'twas, becau&s;e I was not well a&s;&s;ur'd whether it were the weakne&s;s of thy Wife, or a trick to try whether I &s;poke in earne&s;t. There|fore I &s;taid a while, expecting &s;he would have told thee of my Importunity; but when I found &s;he kept the Secret clo&s;e, then I made no further que&s;tion, but that &s;he re&s;olv'd to keep her word, in allowing me the Liberty which I de&s;ir'd, as &s;oon as thou wert gone into the Country. However, <HI>An&s;elm,</HI> let not this Secret, which I have entru&s;ted in thy Bo&s;om, tran&s;port thee to Ex|travagance; for after all, <HI>Camilla</HI> has not yet in Act offended; &s;o that per|haps &s;he may recollect her &s;elf, and repent the Conde&s;cen&s;ion &s;he has made. And therefore, as thou ha&s;t follow'd my Coun&s;el hitherto, be rul'd by me yet a little more: Pretend to go into the Country for two or three days, and find &s;ome way to hide thy &s;elf in the Chamber, then we &s;hall &s;ee how &s;he will behave her &s;elf, and what Re&s;olution it will become thee to take.</P>
<P><HI>An&s;elm</HI> &s;tood like one that had met his Father's Gho&s;t, to hear <HI>Lothario</HI> thus di&s;cour&s;e, at a time when he lea&s;t expected &s;uch a Morning <HI>Salem;</HI> when his Thoughts began to be at re&s;t, as being fully &s;atisfy'd in <HI>Camilla's</HI> Conque&s;ts. But then, as one that had lo&s;t his Sen&s;es, &s;adly beholding <HI>Lo|thario,</HI> You have done, &s;aid he, what I expected from your Friend&s;hip: now advi&s;e me what cour&s;e to take; for I depend entirely upon your Di&s;cre|tion. <HI>Lothario,</HI> on the other &s;ide, not knowing what to &s;ay to him in that pen&s;ive Condition, embrac'd <HI>An&s;elm,</HI> and bru&s;h'd away in ha&s;t out of the Room. But when he was gone, he began to repent of what he had done, by expo&s;ing <HI>Camilla</HI> &s;o incon&s;iderately, of whom he might have taken his
<PB N="186" REF="106"> Revenge with le&s;s Danger, and le&s;s to her Reproach. However, not be|ing able to recall Ye&s;terday, nor to find any Expedient to reconcile the mat|ter, he re&s;olv'd to tell <HI>Camilla</HI> him&s;elf, and that with all the &s;peed he could, as one that had free Acce&s;s to her at all times.</P>
<P>And now was <HI>An&s;elm</HI> ju&s;t gone abroad, when <HI>Lothario</HI> enter'd; to whom <HI>Camilla,</HI> finding they were both alone together, My dear <HI>Lothario,</HI> &s;aid &s;he, I have a thing to tell thee in thy Ear, that troubles me more then any thing i' the World; and the rather, becau&s;e I dread the Con&s;equences of it. <HI>Lio|nella</HI> has a Sweet heart, and the Baggage is grown &s;o impudent, that &s;he brings him into her Chamber every Night, and there keeps him till Morn|ing: Judge ye now how this wicked Wench expo&s;es me to &s;candal; for what will People think, to &s;ee a Young Fellow let out at the Back-door at &s;uch un&s;ea&s;onable hours? And that which vexes me mo&s;t is, that I dare not &s;o much as murmur again&s;t this in&s;olent Slut, for fear of bringing an Old Hou&s;e over my own Head: For if &s;he once begins to open again&s;t me, I am a lo&s;t Woman &mdash; Sweet Meat has always &s;owre Sawce, <HI>Lothario</HI> &mdash; Prethee con&s;ider and &s;tudy my Repo&s;e. At fir&s;t, <HI>Lothario</HI> thought that this &s;ame &s;tory had been onely a Device of <HI>Camilla's,</HI> to make him believe that the fellow he &s;aw come out of the Hou&s;e, was <HI>Lionella's</HI> Sweet heart; but when he &s;aw her all in Tears, and found what &s;he &s;aid to be true, he was no le&s;s perplex'd then <HI>She.</HI> However, at length he gave her to under&s;tand that there was a wor&s;e mi&s;chief had befall'n 'em then all that; and after he had begg'd her a hundred Pardons, he up and told her what the tran&s;|ports of his Jealou&s;ie had bewitch'd him to di&s;cover to <HI>An&s;elm;</HI> and that he had per&s;waded him to hide him&s;elf in his Clo&s;et, that he might be a Witne&s;s of their farther Proceedings.</P>
<P>Such a terrible Thunder-clap as this had like to have over-whelm'd <HI>Ca|milla</HI> to the Earth: But as if her Indignation had &s;upported her, &s;he flew out in a great rage again&s;t <HI>Lothario;</HI> call'd him ten thou&s;and Traytors, and upbraided his ra&s;h and incon&s;iderate Folly; and began de&s;perately to threaten her own Life; in&s;omuch that <HI>Lothario</HI> threw him&s;elf at her feet, like one in de&s;pair, not daring &s;o much as to look up, or &s;peak a word. Till at length his Tears and his Sighs mollify'd <HI>Camilla,</HI> who having a prompt and ready wit, as mo&s;t Women have, who tho they cannot write like <HI>Sco|tus</HI> or <HI>Thomas Aquinas,</HI> yet are plaguy nimble at an Amorous Contrivance, began to take heart a' grace, and having thought upon an Invention to re|pair the folly of her Gallant, &s;he the more ea&s;ily pardon'd him a fault which he had never committed, but out of too much Affection: Only &s;he bid him be &s;ure to keep <HI>An&s;elm</HI> &s;teady to his Re&s;olution, of hiding him&s;elf in the Chamber; a&s;&s;uring him that it would be a means to procure a Liberty to enjoy one another with more freedom then ever. <HI>Lothario</HI> pre&s;s'd her to tell him her De&s;ign, that he might be the better able to ob&s;erve her Directi|ons; but &s;he excus'd her &s;elf, only bid him come when &s;he &s;ent for him, and an&s;wer to every Que&s;tion that &s;he &s;hould propo&s;e, punctually, as if he thought <HI>An&s;elm</HI> did not hear him. The next day <HI>An&s;elm</HI> got a Hor&s;e-back, under pretence of going to vi&s;it a Friend in the Country; and pre&s;ently returning home again, went and hid him&s;elf privately in his Wives Chamber, where he &s;ettl'd him&s;elf to his hearts content, without being di&s;turb'd by either his Wife or <HI>Lionella,</HI> who had no de&s;ire to trouble him.</P>
<P>And now <HI>Camilla</HI> and <HI>Lionella,</HI> being well a&s;&s;ur'd that he was &s;afe in his lurking-hole, enter'd the Chamber; where <HI>Camilla</HI> had no &s;ooner &s;et her foot over the Thre&s;hold, but after &s;he had fetch'd a deep &s;igh, Ah! <HI>Lionella,</HI> quo &s;he, thou never could'&s;t divine, I know, why I have &s;o often ask'd
<PB N="187" REF="106"> thee for thy Ma&s;ter's Dagger; but now what think&s;t? Were it not better for me to &s;trike it to my Heart, then thus be expos'd to his continu'd Importunities&mdash;? But &s;tay, I'le fir&s;t &s;end for this per&s;idious <HI>Lothario,</HI> and know of him, what he &s;aw in my Face, that &s;hould encourage him to make his debauch'd Addre&s;&s;es to me, &s;o offen&s;ive to my Ears, and no le&s;s injurious to the be&s;t Friend he has in the World. Look out, <HI>Lionella,</HI> into the Street, and call him, for I am confident the Traitor &s;tands watching under the Window for this Opportunity, &s;o favourable as he thinks for the Satisfa|ction of his lewd De&s;ires; but he &s;hall find that my De&s;ires and his are not the &s;ame&mdash; For God's-&s;ake, Madam, cry'd the witty <HI>Lionella,</HI> what d' ye intend to do with that &s;ame Dagger&mdash;? Will you kill your &s;elf, or <HI>Lothario?</HI> Forbid it Heavens! for either way you lo&s;e your Credit, and your Reputa|tion&mdash; Alack-a-day, Madam, you will do much better to di&s;&s;emble the In|juries offer'd you by a leacherous <HI>Ruffian,</HI> then to let in a lu&s;tful <HI>Hector</HI> upon a couple of feeble Women, not able to help them&s;elves. Who knows, when he finds us thus all alone, but that he may bind us both, and then ra|vi&s;h us&mdash;? Or if he &s;hould be a little civil to you for my Ma&s;ter's &s;ake, he will be &s;ure to fall upon my poor Bones. And o' t'other &s;ide, &s;uppo&s;e we &s;hould kill him&mdash; for I find that's your De&s;ign&mdash; what good will you get by't, <HI>Madam?</HI> Never go, <HI>Madam</HI>&mdash; if I don't tremble to think on't. Let <HI>An|&s;elm</HI> do as he plea&s;es, an&s;wer'd <HI>Camilla,</HI> for my part, I am re&s;olv'd upon Re|venge: Nay, methinks the time that I lo&s;e makes me guilty of the Affront I have receiv'd; and that I commit as many Defilements of my Husband's Bed, as I tarry Minutes from Revenging his Di&s;honour and mine.</P>
<P><HI>An&s;elm</HI> heard all the&s;e female <HI>Rodomantado's</HI> behind the Tap'&s;try, and &s;till made various Comments to him&s;elf upon every word <HI>Camilla</HI> &s;poke: But when he &s;aw her &s;o fully bent to kill <HI>Lothario,</HI> he was then about to have di&s;cover'd him&s;elf, to &s;ave his Friend. But at length re&s;olving to &s;ee what Mettle his Wife was made of, he determin'd to &s;tay till there might be a real Occa&s;ion for him to interpo&s;e. In the mean while <HI>Camilla,</HI> having over-&s;train'd her &s;elf with the Violence of her Pa&s;&s;ion, threw her &s;elf up|on her Bed, and dropp'd into a Swoon; or at lea&s;t, <HI>An&s;elm</HI> took it to be &s;o; at what time <HI>Lionella</HI> fell a &s;creaming, as if her Mi&s;tre&s;s had been breathing her la&s;t Ga&s;p; and made &s;uch pitiful Moans and Lamentations, that no Man&punc; but would ha' thought her the mo&s;t afflicted Dam&s;el upon Earth. Pre&s;ently <HI>Camilla</HI> recovering out of her Trance, would to God, Wench, cry'd &s;he to <HI>Lionella,</HI> thou would&s;t go and call this Infidel, for a &s;econd Fit will utterly di&s;inable me to take my Revenge, and then my Re&s;entment will vani&s;h in fruitle&s;s words. I run, Madam, reply'd <HI>Lionella,</HI> wiping the Tears from her Eyes. But I be&s;eech ye, Madam, give me the Dagger out o' your Hands fir&s;t&mdash; Do as I bid thee, cry'd <HI>Camilla,</HI> make ha&s;te, and fear nothing&mdash; I am re&s;olv'd to revenge my &s;elf&mdash; I am willing to die&mdash; but fir&s;t <HI>Lothario</HI>'s Blood &s;hall give me &s;atisfaction for the Inju&s;tice he has done me. However, <HI>Lionella</HI> was loath to leave her Mi&s;tre&s;s alone, nor would &s;he &s;tir till <HI>Camilla</HI> began to rate her for her &s;lowne&s;s. While &s;he was gone, <HI>Ca|milla</HI> fell a walking about the Chamber like a Dunner that had over &s;lept him&s;elf, trudging to find the Gentleman at home: by and by &s;he flung her &s;elf upon her Bed; then up again; di&s;covering her &s;elf &s;o &s;trangely nettl'd, as if &s;he had had a Gad-Bee cling'd to her Tail&mdash; No, no, cry'd &s;he, no more Con|&s;ideration&mdash; hang pondering and thinking, his Death is determin'd&mdash; he has co&s;t me &s;howers of Tears, and his Life mu&s;t pay me Intere&s;t&mdash; He &s;hall never boa&s;t unpuni&s;h'd, that he has attempted <HI>Camilla</HI>'s Virtue. Ut|tering the&s;e words, up &s;he got again, and about the Room, with her Dag|ger
<PB N="188" REF="107"> in her Hand, her Eyes &s;parkling with Fury, and enlivening her words with ga&s;tly Looks, that would ha' cheated <HI>Beelzebub</HI> him&s;elf. <HI>An&s;elm,</HI> &s;truck with Admiration to &s;ee what his Eyes beheld, de&s;ir'd no more to cure him of tho&s;e Jealou&s;ies with which <HI>Lothario</HI> had turmoil'd his Brea&s;t; yet fearing, le&s;t the Fury of his Wife might prove fatal to his Friend, or at lea&s;t, not knowing how far her Pa&s;&s;ion might attempt upon her &s;elf, was about to have made his per&s;onal Appearance to attone her Rage; at what time <HI>Lionella</HI> return'd, with <HI>Lothario</HI> in her Hand. No &s;ooner <HI>Lothario</HI> enter'd, but <HI>Stop,</HI> &s;he cry'd, <HI>Lothario,</HI> venture no farther at your Peril; for if ye &s;tir a foot, expect this Dagger in your treacherous Heart. Budge not then a hair's breadth, till thou ha&s;t an&s;wer'd me the&s;e two Que&s;tions; and an&s;wer me quick and &s;hort, without Quirks, and Tricks, and Circumlocu|tions, mental Re&s;ervations, or Eva&s;ions. In the fir&s;t place, Do&s;t thou know <HI>An&s;elm,</HI> and what Opinion ha&s;t thou of him&mdash;? In the next place, Do&s;t thou know me? <HI>Lothario</HI> was not &s;uch an Oufe, but that he knew <HI>Ca|milla,</HI> being privy to <HI>An&s;elm</HI>'s being hid in the Chamber, under&s;tood how to play her Game; and therefore to corre&s;pond di&s;creetly and opportunely with her De&s;ign; Madam, &s;aid he, I could not imagine, that you had &s;ent for me upon this raving Account, I was wrapp'd up in a better Conceit of my Happine&s;s; &s;o that if you did not intend to have kept the Promi&s;e that you made me la&s;t Night, you might have &s;ent me word &s;o, and not have laid a Snare for me, to the Breach of your word, and va&s;t Inju&s;tice to my injur'd Affection. However, Madam, to an&s;wer exactly to your Que&s;tions, I do know <HI>An&s;elm;</HI> he and I have known one another from our Infancy; I forbear to &s;peak of our Friend&s;hip, you are a &s;ufficient Judge of it; and if I may be thought to have &s;urpa&s;s'd the Limits of that cordial Amity, blame that &s;ame Deity call'd <HI>Love,</HI> that obeys no Laws but his own. And for you, <HI>lovely Camilla,</HI> had I not known ye &s;o well, I &s;hould ha' been more in|nocent, and my Soul had been at more Repo&s;e&mdash; If &s;o, unju&s;t and trea|cherous Friend, cry'd <HI>Camilla,</HI> if thou wert &s;o well acquainted with us both, why do&s;t thou violate a Friend&s;hip &s;o &s;acredly ob&s;erv'd by my Hu&s;|band? And how do&s;t thou dare to appear in my &s;ight, after &s;uch a piece of Trea&s;on committed, no le&s;s offen&s;ive to me, then to him&s;elf? What was in your Thoughts to court <HI>me</HI> with your <HI>Lutener</HI>'s <HI>lane</HI> Addre&s;&s;es? Who had inform'd ye, that I was &s;uch a light Hu&s;&s;ey&mdash;? When did I ever give thee the lea&s;t Encouragement, that might flatter thy Hopes? On the other &s;ide, Did I not always di&s;dain thy Pre&s;ents? Did I not always with a &s;e|rious Indignation, reject thy Vows and Prote&s;tations? 'Tis true, I was to blame for not cha&s;tizing thee &s;everely; but tho my &s;otti&s;h Prudence would not then permit me to complain to <HI>An&s;elm,</HI> for fear of &s;etting two &s;uch lo|ving Friends together by the Ears, and &s;ending ye both to <HI>Barn-Elms,</HI> wi' your Seconds, yet finding now my &s;elf too guilty of that Crime, I'le be my &s;elf my Judge and Executioner; yet e're I die, I'le tear that treacherous Heart of thine from thy ingrateful Brea&s;t, to gratifie my Vengeance&mdash; And &s;o &s;aying, &s;he flew with that incredible &s;wiftne&s;s upon <HI>Lothario,</HI> and coun|terfeited her Malice &s;o exactly, that he him&s;elf could &s;carce tell what to think; e&s;pecially &s;eeing him&s;elf &s;o hardly put to't, that he was forc'd to u&s;e his utmo&s;t Skill and Strength to defend him&s;elf. For certainly, ne're did Woman paint out her De&s;pair in &s;uch lively and natural Colours, as would ha' deluded the Supreme Arch-devil of Delu&s;ion him&s;elf: Nay, &s;he went &s;o far as to breath a Vein, and draw Blood to confirm her Impo&s;ture. At length, like one that found &s;he could not have her Ends of <HI>Lothario,</HI> Well&mdash; &s;aid &s;he &mdash; then live a Mi&s;creant as thou art, &s;ince I have not Strength to
<PB N="189" REF="107"> rid the World of &s;uch a Pe&s;t&mdash; However, thou &s;halt not hinder me from that Revenge I owe my own di&s;loyal Heart&mdash; and with that, flying out of <HI>Lothario</HI>'s Arms who held her, like one that had as yet &s;ome Wit in her An|ger, &s;he &s;truck the Dagger &s;lightly into the fle&s;hy part of her Arm next her Shoulder, and at the &s;ame time fell flat upon her Back in a Swoon. This la&s;t part of the Show, &s;o rarely well acted, e&s;pecially when they &s;aw the Vermillion Liquor of Life come trickling down her Smock-&s;leeves, &s;tartl'd even <HI>Lothario</HI> and <HI>Lionella</HI> them&s;elves: <HI>Lothario</HI> was for &s;ending for the Sur|geon, <HI>Lionella</HI> lookt as pale as <HI>Bagg'd-Holland;</HI> but not finding the Wound to be of much more Con&s;equence then a Pendant-hole i' the Ear, they could not chu&s;e but &s;mile one upon another; nor could <HI>Lionella</HI> forbear whi&s;pering <HI>Lothario</HI> i' the Ear, <HI>Match me now this,</HI> quo &s;he, <HI>at either of the two The|aters.</HI></P>
<P>On the other &s;ide, <HI>Lothario</HI> believing it no le&s;s proper for him to act his Part, fell a cur&s;ing the day of his Birth, the Nur&s;e that gave him &s;uck, the Air that afforded him Breath, and imprecated a thou&s;and Maledictions not only upon him&s;elf, but the Per&s;on who had been the Cau&s;e of all this Mi&s;|chief; then thumping his Brea&s;t, as if he had been beating Hemp upon his Ribs, he roar'd and howl'd, and with a million of <HI>Woe is me's,</HI> lamented, wept, and blubber'd over <HI>Camilla</HI>'s Body; and this with a Pa&s;&s;ion &s;o lively, and with a Grief &s;o real, to all outward Appearance, that you would have &s;worn him to have been the mo&s;t forlorn and &s;orrowful Per&s;on that e're was overwhelm'd in Mi&s;ery. In the mean time <HI>Lionella</HI> took up her dear Mi|&s;tre&s;s in her Arms, and having laid her upon the Bed, beg'd of <HI>Lothario</HI> to go fetch a Surgeon; and withal, ask'd his Advice, what Excu&s;e they &s;hould make to <HI>An&s;elm,</HI> &s;hould he return before &s;he was cur'd. To which, <HI>Lothario,</HI> knowing that <HI>An&s;elm</HI> heard him; Do what you think fit, &s;aid he, for I am &s;o unable to give Coun&s;el to others, that I know not what cour&s;e to advi&s;e my &s;elf, only take care &s;he do not bleed to death; and as for my own part, farewel Mankind, for I'm re&s;olv'd to go where mortal Eye &s;hall ne|ver &s;ee me more; and &s;o &s;aying, he flung out of the Room, with all the Marks of De&s;pair, that <HI>&V;rbin,</HI> with all his Fancy, could have pencil'd. But when he was alone, where no body &s;aw him, he could not forbear to cro&s;s him&s;elf from his Forehead to his Stomach, in Admiration of <HI>Camilla</HI>'s Subtilty, and to &s;ee how rarely <HI>Lionella</HI> humour'd the whole, as if the Jade had been begot a' purpo&s;e for &s;uch Intrigues.</P>
<P>Nor did <HI>Lionella</HI> trouble her &s;elf to &s;tanch <HI>Camilla</HI>'s Blood, till &s;he had bled enough to ratifie the Cheat; and then wa&s;hing the Wound, which was not &s;o big as a Sparrow's Eye, all the while &s;he was dre&s;&s;ing and bind|ing it up, manag'd her di&s;&s;embling Tongue with that admirable Di&s;cre|tion, that <HI>An&s;elm</HI> wou'd ha' &s;worn his Wife had been a &s;econd <HI>Lu|cretia.</HI></P>
<P>On the other &s;ide, <HI>Camilla</HI> lay raving and reviling her &s;elf, for having mi&s;s'd her Revenge, and &s;eem'd to be enrag'd, that her Misfortune had pre|&s;erv'd a Life, which &s;he &s;o much dete&s;ted. Which Scene being over, <HI>Ca|milla</HI> advis'd with her Maid, whether or no 'twere proper to inform <HI>An&s;elm</HI> of what had happen'd? Heav'ns forbid, an&s;wer'd <HI>Lionella;</HI> for he'll be &s;ure to be challenging <HI>Lothario;</HI> and what Woman of Vertue would venture the Life of a Husband, whom &s;he &s;o entirely lov'd? 'Tis very true, quo <HI>Camilla,</HI> and therefore I'le follow thy Coun&s;el. But, &s;aid &s;he, thou mu&s;t invent me &s;ome Story or other to tell him, when he &s;hall come to &s;ee the Wound. Troth, Madam, reply'd <HI>Lionella,</HI> you mu&s;t pardon me for that&mdash; for I could never tell a Lye l' my life, tho it were to deny the pinching of a
<PB N="190" REF="108"> Box of Marmaled, when I went to your Clo&s;et&mdash; If a Bottle o' Wine be not mi&s;s'd, I can be &s;ilent, and drink it with the Cook-maid and the Coach|man&mdash; but if it be ask'd for&mdash; I can as well be hang'd as deny it. Neither would I, reply'd <HI>Camilla,</HI> tell a Lye for all the World, tho it were to &s;ave my Honour; and therefore I think it be&s;t to make an ingenious Confe&s;&s;ion without any more ado. For to tell ye the truth, an hone&s;t Woman ought to make as ab&s;olute Confe&s;&s;ion to her Husband, as to her Gho&s;tly Father him|&s;elf. Madam, reply'd <HI>Lionella,</HI> never trouble your &s;elf; I make no que&s;tion but your Wound will be cur'd before he returns: And therefore let it only be your Care to &s;ettle your Mind, and calm the Di&s;orders of your Coun|tenance; and for the re&s;t, leave it to God and a good Con&s;cience, that never de&s;ert the Innocent.</P>
<P>While the&s;e two Female Hypocrites were thus &s;porting with <HI>An&s;elm</HI>'s Credulity, poor <HI>Jack Adams,</HI> who had not lo&s;t one Tittle of a Word they &s;aid, felt his Soul caper in his Brea&s;t for Joy, that he was now the hap|pie&s;t Man under Heaven's blew Canopy; and waited impatiently for Night, that he might go and make his tru&s;ty faithful Friend, the full Partaker of his Felicity, whom he look'd upon as the &s;ole Authour of his Life's Con|tent; and to congratulate with him for the precious Pearl which he had found, in being thus undeceiv'd, and a&s;&s;ur'd of the Vertue of his undefiled Spou&s;e. On the other &s;ide, <HI>Camilla</HI> and <HI>Lionella</HI> finding them&s;elves at the End of their fifth Act, let fall the Curtain, and made their <HI>Exit,</HI> to give him the Opportunity which he de&s;ir'd, and which he as greedily laying hold of, po&s;ted away to <HI>Lothario</HI>'s Lodging; and finding him at home (as one that expected his Vi&s;it) he threw his Arms about <HI>Lothario</HI>'s Neck, and af|ter he had giv'n him more Thanks then there are Pebbles upon <HI>Goodwin</HI>-Sands, thunder'd out &s;uch a Volley of <HI>Encomiums</HI> in prai&s;e of <HI>Camilla</HI>'s Ver|tue, that <HI>Lothario</HI> check'd and peach'd by his own guilty Con&s;cience, as knowing how he had betray'd him, and unju&s;tly ta&s;ted of his forbidden Fruit, could not tell what An&s;wer to make him; nor could he any way com|ply with his Friend's Joy, which he &s;aw to be &s;o exce&s;&s;ive.</P>
<P>On the other &s;ide, <HI>An&s;elm</HI> could not chu&s;e but take notice of his Friend's Indifferency, but believing it proceeded from his Sorrow, that his nown dear <HI>Camilla</HI> had hurt her &s;elf; a Misfortune, of which his Friend could not but in &s;ome mea&s;ure think him&s;elf the Occa&s;ion; he beg'd him not to afflict him&s;elf, for that her Wound was but very &s;light; and a&s;&s;uring him be&s;ides, that both &s;he and her Maid were re&s;olv'd to &s;ay nothing of it. And therefore it became him to be &s;o far from perplexing him&s;elf at &s;uch an incon&s;ider|able Accident, that he ought rather to rejoice with him, as one that had not only contributed to marry him to one of the faire&s;t young Ladies in <HI>Florence,</HI> but by his Indu&s;try and fidelity had convinc'd him, that he was owner of the mo&s;t vertuous and beautiful Wife in the World; a Woman that for her Vertue, if &s;he had her due, ought to be the Theme of all the Poems and Sonnets of the Age, to eternize the Memory of her Cha&s;tity. To which <HI>Lothario</HI> reply'd, That there was nothing more ju&s;t, and that there|fore it &s;hould be the &s;ole Imployment of his Mu&s;e, to &s;erve her in the rai&s;ing of &s;o noble a Monument. This was the I&s;&s;ue of <HI>An&s;elm</HI>'s Politick De&s;ign, now a notorious Cuckold, but the mo&s;t joyfully couzen'd to his Heart's content, of any Man that ever Midwife handed into the World: And at the &s;ame time he took <HI>Lothario</HI> by the Hand, and led him home to his Hou&s;e, fully believing the Subverter of his Honour to be the In&s;trument of his Hap|pine&s;s. <HI>Camilla</HI> receiv'd him with a lowring Countenance, but an amo|rous Heart; and for &s;ome time they enjoy'd the Benefit of their wanton
<PB N="191" REF="108"> Treachery, till at length <HI>Fortune</HI> turning hone&s;t, di&s;cover'd the Fraud that had been with &s;o much Artifice conceal'd; and <HI>An&s;elm</HI>'s impatient Curio|&s;ity co&s;t him his Life.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="8" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. VIII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">The Conclu&s;ion of the <HI>Novel</HI> of the <HI>Curious Impertinent.</HI></HEAD>
<P>THE <HI>Curate</HI> had not much more to read of the <HI>Novel,</HI> before he came to the Conclu&s;ion, when <HI>Sancho,</HI> like a Fellow frighted out of his Sen&s;es by a Cow in a Church-yard, came thundring down from the Gar|ret, where <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was taking his natural Re&s;t, and crying out as loud as if the Hou&s;e had been a' fire, <HI>Help, help,</HI> for the Lord's &s;ake, come a|way quickly, for I have left my Ma&s;ter engag'd in one of the mo&s;t de&s;perate Combats that e're was undertook by human Force. I am the arrante&s;t Lyer that ever &s;poke with a Tongue, if at the fir&s;t Blow which he gave the mon&s;trous <HI>Giant,</HI> my Lady the Prince&s;s <HI>Micomicona</HI>'s mortal Enemy, he did not pare off his Head as cleverly as I ha' &s;een a Gardiner &s;hip a Cab|bage from the Stalk. How! <HI>Sancho,</HI> cry'd the <HI>Curate,</HI> what&mdash; ha&s;t thou lo&s;t thy Wits? How the Devil can this be, when the Giant is not within two thou&s;and Leagues o' this Place &mdash; Are thy Ma&s;ter's Arms two thou|&s;and Leagues long? With that, they heard his Ma&s;ter i' the Garret tearing his Throat, and crying out, Lie there, Cut-throat &mdash; Villain &mdash; Tray|tor&mdash; I ha' thee fa&s;t now&mdash; Dog in a Doublet&mdash; What's become o' thy terrible Scimitar&mdash;? No, no, not &s;o invincible neither as thou thought&s;t thy &s;elf: And all the while they heard the Noi&s;e of <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Sword cla&s;hing again&s;t the Wall, as if he had been hewing down that &s;ide of the Hou&s;e. Why don't ye &s;tir, Gentlemen, quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> what d' ye &s;it gaping one upon another for? Pox on ye for a Company o' Cowards, why don't ye go and part the Fray? Tho I believe there's no need o' your A&s;&s;i&s;tance&mdash; for, if I mi&s;take not, the Giant is already gone to give an Account of his wicked Life i' the other World; for I &s;aw his Crim&s;on Blood run about the Room like a River, and the Stream was &s;o &s;trong, that it carry'd his Head along with it, which was as big as a Bu&s;hel, or at lea&s;t, as an Elephant's. Now all the Plague's of <HI>Egypt</HI> light upon him, quo the <HI>Ho&s;t,</HI> for I'le be burn'd, if this <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> or <HI>Don Devil,</HI> have not been quarrelling with the <HI>Boracho's</HI> of Wine that &s;tand in his Cockloft; and this &s;ame <HI>Beetle-head</HI> takes the Wine for Giant's Blood. With that, he follow'd the re&s;t of the Company into the field of Battel, where they found <HI>Don Quixote</HI> in the &s;trange&s;t Equipage that ever Mortal appear'd in. For he was in his Shirt, if &s;o it might be call'd, and not rather a Shift, con&s;i&s;ting of two foul Napkins, which being tack'd together over each Shoulder, hung like a Herald's Coat. As for that before, it hardly cover'd the half of his Hips, and that behind wanted a full Foot of the t'other's length: So that his Shanks were ea&s;ie to be &s;een long and lither, hairy as an old Baboon's, and as dirty as a Kennel-rakers. Upon his Head he had a Woollen-Cap &s;o black and grea&s;y, that you could only di&s;cover, by the help of a Magnifying-gla&s;s, that <HI>in diebus illis</HI> it had been red. He had the Coverlet of his Bed wrapp'd about his left Arm, and his Sword drawn in his right Hand, with which he laid about him Fore-&s;troke and Back-&s;troke, and all the while rending his Throat, and
<PB N="192" REF="109"> vowing Ma&s;&s;acre and De&s;truction, as if he had been engag'd with Millions. But the greate&s;t wonder was, that all this while his Eyes were &s;hut, for he was perfectly a&s;leep; only in a Dream, no doubt, that he was battering the Mazard of the Giant <HI>Pandafilando.</HI> Or el&s;e, as his Imagination was wholly po&s;&s;e&s;s'd with the&s;e Fancies, he might in his Sleep have tak'n an ea&s;ie Voyage to <HI>Micomicon,</HI> where he thought him&s;elf Rib-roa&s;ting the Prin|ce&s;s's Enemy; and whatever he had heard tumble, he took for the Leg or Shoulder of &s;ome vanqui&s;h'd Giant. But by Misfortune, the mo&s;t of the&s;e Mon&s;ter-murdering Blows fell upon certain <HI>Boracho</HI>'s of Wine that &s;tood in the Chamber; &s;o that the Room would have carry'd an ordinary Wherry. Which &s;o enrag'd the Vintner, that he flew like a Mad-man upon <HI>D. Quixote,</HI> and beat &s;uch a <HI>Reveillez</HI> with his double Fi&s;ts upon his dry Bones, that the Knight's War with the Giants had &s;oon been at an end, had not <HI>Car|denio</HI> and the <HI>Curate</HI> &s;tept in to the Hero's Re&s;cue. And yet for all the Vintner's Thumps and Brui&s;es, did not this poor Frantick wake (well for the Vintner, who perhaps might el&s;e ha' &s;lept the Sleep of Death) till the <HI>Barber</HI> with a Pailful of cold water wa&s;h'd not only his Linnen, but his whole Body from top to toe, and then he began to open his Eyes; yet did not that wake him neither &s;o fully, as to make him perceive the Con|dition he was in; &s;o that Mrs. <HI>Dorothy</HI> entring the Garret, and &s;eeing her Champion in his Cobweb Lawn, and &s;hort Mea&s;ure to boot, mourning for his Lawndre&s;s, tript out o' the Room again, as unwilling to behold her Protector's Infirmities.</P>
<P>During this Hurly-burly, <HI>Sancho</HI> had been looking for the Giant's Head, which he &s;aw drop to the Ground, but not being able to find it; Now, &s;aid he, I &s;ee there is nothing but Enchantment in this Hou&s;e. For in this very place it was, that not long &s;ince I receiv'd in dry Kicks and Fi&s;ty-cuffs about &s;ome two Thou&s;and Marks, wanting three, for which I never gave any Ac|quittance, and yet could never &s;ee from whence they came, or who were my liberal Benefactors: And now the Devil will not let me find the Head of this Giant, tho I &s;aw it cut off with both my two Eyes, and the Blood gu&s;h out like the water from a Brewer's Pump. Enemy to Heaven, and all the Saints, what do&s;t mean by all this <HI>Pedlers French,</HI> cry'd the Inn-keeper? Do&s;t not &s;ee, Blockhead as thou art, that the Pump and the Blood are nothing el&s;e but my <HI>Boracho's</HI> that are bor'd like &s;o many Cullenders, and that the Chamber is all over-flow'd with Wine? I wi&s;h a' were &s;wim|ming in Hell that has done me this Spoil&mdash; That's no bu&s;ine&s;s of mine, re|ply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> but this I know well, that this &s;ame Head, could I find it, would be worth to me a good Earldom, and now for want of it, my Earl|dom is &s;unk again to the bottom o' the Sea, for ought I know. Upon which the Vintner, no le&s;s enrag'd at the Stupidity of the Squire, then for the Damage the Knight had done him, &s;wore by the Religion of all his An|ce&s;tors, they &s;hou'd not e&s;cape as they had done the time before, but that in de&s;pite of all their Huffing, and Bouncing, and vapouring, and hectoring, maugre all the Priviledges of their Knighthoods and <HI>Shitehoods,</HI> they &s;hould pay him to the utmo&s;t Farding for mangling his <HI>Boracho's</HI> and &s;pilling his Wine.</P>
<P>At the &s;ame time the <HI>Curate</HI> held <HI>Don Quixote</HI> by the Hand, who belie|ving he had fini&s;h'd his Adventure, and that he was in the Pre&s;ence of the Prince&s;s <HI>Micomicona,</HI> fell upon his Knees before the <HI>Curate,</HI> and with a &s;ubmi&s;&s;ive Voice; <Q>Your Grandeur, &s;aid he, is now &s;ecur'd, mo&s;t Renown|ed and Sovereign Lady. No longer need you fear the U&s;urpations of that fell and barbarous Tyrant, that would have di&s;po&s;&s;e&s;s'd ye of your
<PB N="193" REF="109"> Native Right; and I am di&s;charg'd of my Promi&s;e, &s;eeing that through Heaven's A&s;&s;i&s;tance, and by the Favour of Her, by whom, and for who&s;e &s;ake I live, I have re&s;tor'd ye to the Scepter of your Ance&s;tors.</Q> Now, Gentlemen, cry'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> what d' ye think on't, was not I in the right on't, when I told ye how he was in Combat with a Giant? I was &s;ure I was not drunk; and now I think the Town's our own, and my <HI>Earldom</HI> is &s;e|cure&mdash; At which the whole Company, all but the Inn-keeper, fell out a laughing till the Tears trickl'd down their Cheeks, as big as Pea&s;e. Only the Inn-keeper could find nothing to be merry at, but curs'd and bann'd the Knight, and the Giant, and all the Generation of Knights and Gi|ants, &s;o enrag'd was he again&s;t the whole Progeny of Combatants-Errant, for the lo&s;s of his Wine. However, at length the <HI>Curate,</HI> the <HI>Barber,</HI> and <HI>Cardenio,</HI> per&s;waded <HI>Don Quixote</HI> to go to bed, where he lay with the great|e&s;t Satisfaction that ever Mortal had, who had vanqui&s;h'd his Adver&s;ary in <HI>Chancery;</HI> but they had much ado to appea&s;e the Inn-keeper, who wou'd fain ha' been anatomizing <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for the Slaughter of his <HI>Boracho's.</HI> On the other &s;ide, the Ho&s;te&s;s tore her Hair with both Hands, howl'd and took on, as if her Father, and Mother, and all her Kindred had been car|ry'd into Captivity by the <HI>Moors.</HI> Could this <HI>Devil-Errant,</HI> quo &s;he, find no way to break his Neck before he came to my Hou&s;e. Ten thou&s;and Gan|greens devour his Entrails&mdash; I never &s;aw the Peer of him&mdash; the Leathern-jaw'd Rake-hell is like a Monkey broke loo&s;e in a Dairy&mdash; he never comes to my Hou&s;e, but to ruine me&mdash; The la&s;t time they rid away with the Reckon|ing, he and that Dog's-head i' the Porridge-pot, his Squire&mdash; pretending them&s;elves <HI>Knight-Errants,</HI> with a million a' Poxes to 'em; and that it was contrary to their <HI>Wild Iri&s;h</HI> Laws of Diabolical Chivalry, to pay for what they call for&mdash; All the Misfortunes that A&s;trology and Palmi&s;try fore-tell, bring 'em &s;afe to the Gallows&mdash; and may their Order, and all their Laws be burn'd under their No&s;es as they hang &mdash; and now here he's come again with his Knighthood and his Valour to encounter my <HI>Boracho's,</HI> hack the poor Goat-skins to pieces, and &s;pill me more Wine, then all his Knighthood was worth&mdash; I wi&s;h I could &s;ee as much of his Blood&mdash; He a Knight! he a Rat-catcher&mdash;! But I'le be reveng'd on him, or el&s;e let me be carted for a Bawd, and lo&s;e the Name of hone&s;t Woman&mdash; Nor could he &s;cape the Prayers of <HI>Maritornes,</HI> who, to comply with her Mi&s;tre&s;s, wi&s;h'd heartily that he might never meet with a Mi&s;tre&s;s hand&s;omer then her &s;elf, and die under the Rigour of her Scorn to boot. But the <HI>Curate,</HI> a Man of Peace, found out a way to heal all the Wounds, and make amends for all the Blood that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> had &s;hed, by promi&s;ing Payment for all the Da|mage he had done. And as for <HI>Sancho,</HI> who was a little down i' the Mouth, becau&s;e he could not find the Head, Mrs. <HI>Dorothy</HI> a&s;&s;ur'd him by way of Con&s;olation, that if the Knight his Ma&s;ter had cut off the Giant's Head, &s;he would give him the be&s;t Earldom in her Kingdom. Thereupon <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;wore by his fir&s;t Night's Lodging with his Wife, that he &s;aw the Head fall, by the &s;ame token, that it had a Beard above an Ell long; but the Rea&s;on why he could not find it was, becau&s;e the Hou&s;e was enchanted, as he had found by Experience.</P>
<P>And now the <HI>Curate</HI> finding the Hou&s;e re&s;tor'd to its former Tranquility, de&s;ir'd leave to conclude the <HI>Novel of the Curious Impertinent;</HI> which being granted, he thus read on:</P>
<P><HI>An&s;elm</HI> being &s;o well a&s;&s;ur'd of the Vertue of his Wife, was the mo&s;t con|tented Cuckold i' the World. On the other &s;ide, <HI>Camilla</HI> purpo&s;ely lower'd and frown'd upon <HI>Lothario;</HI> and <HI>Lothario</HI> reque&s;ted <HI>An&s;elm</HI> to excu&s;e him
<PB N="194" REF="110"> from frequenting his Hou&s;e, as one that found his Company was no way acceptable to <HI>Camilla.</HI> But the deluded <HI>An&s;elm</HI> could by no means endure &s;uch a Separation, and therefore would not let his Wife be quiet, till he had brought her to a perfect Reconciliation.</P>
<P>In the mean time <HI>Lionella,</HI> &s;way'd by the frailty of her fle&s;h, in&s;atiable in her de&s;ires; and as &s;he was grown Lawle&s;s beyond her Mi&s;tre&s;&s;es Con|troul, being re&s;olv'd to make u&s;e of her time, gave tho&s;e Reins to her impotent heat, that preferring the Precept of <HI>Gather your Ro&s;e-buds,</HI> before all the Commandments, &s;he care&s;s'd her Paramour Day and Night in her Ma&s;ter's Hou&s;e, without any con&s;ideration of what might happen either to her Mi&s;tre&s;s or her &s;elf. And unluckily it fell out, that one Night <HI>An|&s;elm</HI> heard a noi&s;e in her Chamber. Upon this, his Curio&s;ity inqui&s;itive to know what was the matter, he perceiv'd the Door held again&s;t him: which re&s;i&s;tance kindling new &s;u&s;picions in his &s;ick and weak Brain, his Jealou&s;ie forc'd open the Door, at what time he ob&s;erv'd a certain Mortal in Breeches leap out of the window into the &s;treet. Hoytie toytie, quo he, what's here to do? And with that he &s;tept to the window, thinking to lay hold o' the Per&s;on, or at lea&s;t to have a &s;ight of his Phy&s;iognomy: But mi&s;&s;ing both his aims, by rea&s;on that <HI>Lionella</HI> held him fa&s;t in her Arms, he be|gan to grow angry. <HI>Lionella</HI> be&s;ought him not to make a bu&s;tle, a&s;&s;uring him, that it was only a concern of her own; and that the Gentleman was her Legitimate Husband, lawfully and duly e&s;pous'd, as ever two Beggars were marry'd at the <HI>Minories. An&s;elm</HI> would not believe her, but tran|&s;ported with Fury, or at lea&s;t &s;eeming &s;o to be, vow'd to &s;tick her to the wall with a Dagger which he had in his hand, if &s;he did not tell him the truth. <HI>Lionella,</HI> who was more accu&s;tom'd to other &s;ort of Weapons then to &s;teel Poniards, was &s;o di&s;may'd to &s;ee the bright In&s;trument of Death gli&s;s'n at her Brea&s;t, that all her quick Inventions, all her Excu&s;es, and Chamber-maid Eva&s;ions having left her, and her con&s;tant Friend, the De|vil, not having an Opportunity to whi&s;per her i' the Ear, &s;he had not one word to &s;ay; but falling at her Ma&s;ter's feet in &s;uch a Pannick Dread, that &s;he hardly knew what &s;he &s;aid, &s;he be&s;ought him to &s;pare her Life, and &s;he would make him &s;uch Di&s;coveries, as &s;hould make his Ears tingle. Be quick then, Baggage, cry'd <HI>An&s;elm,</HI> or by this Candle that burns&mdash; And then heaving up his Dagger-hand&mdash; Oh, for the Lord's &s;ake, cry'd <HI>Lio|nella,</HI> have mercy on a Sinner, but till to morrow morning &mdash; And then if I do not di&s;clo&s;e the very in-&s;ide of my Brea&s;t, do you your &s;elf rip it open for me&mdash;Only this I &s;wear i' the mean time, and you may believe me upon the words of a dying Maid (and I may &s;afely &s;o now call my &s;elf, my Soul being almo&s;t frighted out of my Body) that the Per&s;on that &s;hot him|&s;elf out of the window, was only a Sweet-heart of mine, that has pro|mis'd me Marriage &s;o faithfully, that I could not deny him a &s;mall Kind|ne&s;s before hand &mdash; I am &s;orry with all my heart, Sir, the noi&s;e di&s;turb'd ye. <HI>An&s;elm</HI> finding the fir&s;t part of her Confe&s;&s;ion &s;o ingenious, granted her the time &s;he de&s;ir'd. However, fearing &s;he &s;hould make her E&s;cape, like a half-witted Fool, he &s;ecur'd her by halves; for he only lock'd her Cham|ber Door, and took the Key in his Pocket, never minding the Ca&s;ement; and &s;o believing her as &s;afe as the <HI>Wi&s;e Men a' Gotam</HI>'s Cuckow, away he went to bed to his <HI>Camilla,</HI> told her what had happen'd, and what Ear-tingling Di&s;coveries her Maid was to make him next Morning. <HI>Camilla,</HI> on the other &s;ide, never que&s;tioning, but that tho&s;e Ear-tingling Di&s;coveries would deeply concern her, &s;aid nothing; but having tyr'd poor <HI>An&s;elm</HI> by her more then u&s;ual Care&s;&s;es, and laid him in a profound &s;leep, up &s;he gets,
<PB N="195" REF="110"> &s;lips on her Morning-dre&s;s, pockets up all the Gold and Jewels &s;he could find, and away &s;he trips to <HI>Lothario;</HI> tells him the whole &s;tory, and con|jures him by all the Kindne&s;s he had for her, and by all their &s;toll'n Plea|&s;ures, to &s;ecure her &s;omewhere, where &s;he might be &s;afe from her Hus|bands fury; vowing to follow him, tho it were in the Habit of a Page, all over the World; believing, that &s;ince &s;he had lo&s;t her Honour, &s;he could make an excellent Mi&s;tre&s;s for a Commander in a long Campaigne. The &s;ight of <HI>Camilla,</HI> and the &s;tory &s;he told him, put <HI>Lothario</HI> into &s;uch a Con|&s;ternation, that he had much ado to catch his Wits again, that flutter'd about the Room like Birds got out of a Cage. But finding the Ca&s;e to be &s;uch, as would admit of no delay, he Saddl'd his double Gelding, and away he troop'd with her, and carry'd her to much &s;uch another Hou&s;e as Mother <HI>Cre&s;wel's,</HI> and left her in the Cu&s;tody of an Aunt of his, not &s;o mean as <HI>Mrs. Buly,</HI> and yet a little below the Degree of <HI>Madam Bennet.</HI> Tho others &s;ay, he carry'd her to a Nunnery, and de&s;ir'd his Si&s;ter, who was the Abbe&s;s, to take care of her. However it were, <HI>An&s;elm</HI> was no &s;ooner wak'd, but never minding his <HI>Camilla,</HI> out he jumps from his Bed, &s;lips on his Breeches, and hey for new Di&s;coveries &mdash; which he found, I think, with a venge|ance. For in the fir&s;t place, having unlock'd <HI>Lionella's</HI> Chamber-door, he di&s;cover'd that the Bird was flown: For <HI>Lionella</HI> had let her &s;elf down out of the Window into the &s;treet by the help of a long Sheet; or if one were not long enough, you mu&s;t &s;uppo&s;e &s;he made u&s;e of two&mdash; Humph &mdash; quo <HI>An&s;elm,</HI> this 'tis not to ob&s;erve Old Proverbs; &mdash; For in&s;tead of locking fa&s;t, <HI>had I bound fa&s;t, I had found fa&s;t.</HI> &mdash; Well &mdash; di&s;covering that he had mi&s;s'd that Di&s;covery, <HI>An&s;elm</HI> returns to di&s;cover his misfortune to <HI>Ca|milla:</HI> But looking into the Bed, he di&s;cover'd that <HI>Camilla</HI> was not to be di&s;cover'd neither &mdash; There was the <HI>Form,</HI> but <HI>Pu&s;s</HI> was &s;tarted &mdash; Away goes <HI>An&s;elm,</HI> and vi&s;its every Room within doors, Buttery, Kitchen, Cellar, Garrets &mdash; Calls <HI>Millie,</HI> why <HI>Millie</HI> &mdash; Nay, he did not leave the Hou&s;e of Office at the lower end o' the Garden un&s;earch'd &mdash; Still no <HI>Camilla</HI> &mdash; At length returning to his own Chamber, and finding <HI>Millie's</HI> Clo&s;et-door open, and her Cabinet unlock'd, he made another Di&s;covery; for all the Jewels and Money were gone &mdash; All the Queen <HI>Elizabeth's,</HI> Two and Twenties, Ro&s;e Nobles, even to the <HI>Edward</HI> Shillings, and <HI>Harry</HI> Groats, all were vani&s;h'd &mdash; But then to &s;ee how poor <HI>An&s;elm</HI> look'd like a Dog that has lo&s;t his Tail! &mdash; He &s;tood indeed, but like one o' the Heads upon <HI>London-Bridge</HI> &mdash; able neither to &s;peak nor breath &mdash; You might ha' heard his Heart-&s;trings &s;nap like Virginal wires in a wet &s;ea&s;on &mdash; There were only two or three that held, or el&s;e t' had fallen to the bottom of his Belly &mdash; Well, in this condition away he creeps to his <HI>dear, dear, dear</HI> Friend <HI>Lothario</HI> &mdash; But when they told him he was gone too; nay, rid away, rid away a Hor&s;e-back &mdash; And that he borrow'd a Pillion of one of his Neigh|bours &mdash; Then he fell a &s;cratching his Head, as if a' would ha' digg'd up all his hair by the Roots &mdash; The&s;e new Di&s;coveries, and no Di&s;coveries, that would ha' made all the &s;even Wi&s;e Men o' <HI>Greece</HI> run mad &mdash; Di&s;co|veries that he had lo&s;t his Wife, his Friend, and his Honour &mdash; No Di&s;|coveries, becau&s;e he knew not where to find, or how to regain either the one or the other. Now, what would yee have had a poor Gentleman ha' done in his condition? Would ye have had him ha' gone to the <HI>Civilians</HI> for a <HI>Divorce</HI> to Cancel his Marriage? Would ye have had him ha' gone to <HI>Furnival</HI>'s <HI>Inn,</HI> or <HI>Staples-Inn,</HI> for a Writ of <HI>Clau&s;um fregit</HI> again&s;t <HI>Lothario?</HI> Or would ye have had him repair'd to St. <HI>Ant'lin's</HI> for &s;ome Drams of Con|&s;olation, or a Lecture of Patience? No &mdash; he was &s;till for a Friend in a cor|ner,
<PB N="196" REF="111"> where he might unload the Burthen of his Grief: And it &s;eems he had &s;uch a one in the Country. To that purpo&s;e therefore, he cau&s;es his Hor&s;e to be Saddl'd, and away he rides to find him out. But 'ere he was got half way, not able to bear the weight of his Affliction, he alights, and holding his Hor&s;e by the Bridle, down he lays him&s;elf at the foot of a Tree. Where he had not re&s;ted long, but a Gentleman riding by, he de&s;ir'd him to &s;top, and ask'd him, what News? News! reply'd the Gentleman; why, did you not know two &s;uch Per&s;ons as <HI>An&s;elm</HI> and <HI>Lothario;</HI> two &s;uch Friends, that the like Patterns of Friend&s;hip were never known i' this World? Yet for all this, the News this Morning in all the Coffee-Hou&s;es i' the Town is, that <HI>Lothario</HI> la&s;t Night ran away with <HI>An&s;elm</HI>'s Wife. And this was fir&s;t di&s;cover'd by <HI>Camilla's</HI> Chamber-maid, who was taken by the Watch &s;liding down by a long Sheet from a window in <HI>An&s;elm</HI>'s Hou&s;e into the Street, like a <HI>Cupid</HI> de&s;cending from the top of a Play-hou&s;e. But is it not known, Sir, reply'd <HI>An&s;elm,</HI> which way <HI>Lothario</HI> and <HI>Camilla</HI> rode together? Troth, Sir, you ask me a Que&s;tion I am not able to re&s;olve ye &mdash; Nor is it to be thought they were &s;uch Fools, but that they knew whither to go, before they went; for a Plot's no Plot, unle&s;s it be well laid. And having &s;o &s;aid, he rode on. But no &s;ooner was he got out of &s;ight, when poor <HI>An&s;elm,</HI> over-whelm'd with a thou&s;and Thoughts, Well &mdash; quo he, ill News is like a Train of Gun-powder, no &s;ooner is the fire at one end, but 'tis as &s;oon at the other. From what a <HI>Salisbury-Steeple-height</HI> of Happine&s;s am I fallen to the lowe&s;t Aby&s;s of Mi&s;ery? And then looking up with an Eye of Reflection upon the va&s;tne&s;s of the Precipice, &s;uch a Dizzine&s;s &s;eiz'd his Brain, that had it not been for &s;ome few gulps of Dr. <HI>Stevens</HI>'s Water, that he had in his Pocket, he had dy'd i' the High-way.</P>
<P>Finding him&s;elf therefore to be &s;omewhat reliev'd by his Cordial, up he got again, and rode the t'other half way, which brought him to his Friends Door; where being arriv'd, he was met by his Friend, who &s;eeing him look like a &s;olitary Widow of a week's &s;tanding; melancholy, pen&s;ive, &s;orrow|ful, dejected, pale and wan, he prudently forbore the u&s;ual Complement of, <HI>I am glad to &s;ee yee well,</HI> and more di&s;creetly ask'd him, What he ayl'd? To which <HI>An&s;elm</HI> return'd no other An&s;wer, but only de&s;ir'd him to Order his Bed to be got ready, and to lend him a &s;heet of Paper, and a Pen and Ink. I do not find but that his Friend was a civil well-bred Gentleman; and there|fore &s;eeing him in that condition, he would not trouble him with un&s;ea|&s;onable and impertinent Con&s;olations; but that after he had &s;hew'd him up to his Lodging, he left him to his Soliloquies. So that <HI>An&s;elm</HI> finding him|&s;elf alone, began to reflect upon his former Felicities and his pre&s;ent Cala|mities. But then the &s;ad Ideas of his misfortune repre&s;ented them&s;elves &s;o lively before his Eyes, that finding his Heart no longer able to &s;upport the weight of his Head, an Inundation of fatal Apprehen&s;ions over-whelm'd his Vital Spirits. So that now perceiving him&s;elf Sentenc'd to Death by his Folly, and that he was to end his days upon the Scaffold of his own Curio&s;ity; and knowing how greedy People are of Harangues upon &s;uch Occa&s;ions, he thought it expedient, according to the Mode (as being the &s;horter and le&s;s trouble&s;om way) to leave a Paper behind him, to &s;hew the Occa&s;ion of his Death, and how wrongfully he dy'd. Induc'd by the&s;e motives, he began to write; but <HI>Grief,</HI> his <HI>Executioner,</HI> in a niggardly hu|mour, unwilling to &s;ee &s;o much Paper wa&s;ted, &s;trangl'd him before he could fini&s;h his Speech. Soon after, his Friend, officious to know what he wanted, and what he would have to Supper, &s;oftly enter'd the Chamber, and there found poor <HI>An&s;elm</HI> with half his Body fallen upon his Brea&s;t,
<PB N="197" REF="111"> his Face upon the Table, and his Feet re&s;ting upon the Ground, with a Pen in his Hand, that was Key-cold, and re&s;ting upon a &s;heet of Paper, be|&s;crawl'd with the&s;e few lines.</P>
<P><HI>An Impertinent Curio&s;ity has co&s;t me my Life. If the News of my Death &s;hall reach</HI> Camilla's <HI>Ears, let her know, that I Pardon her, &s;ince I never ex|pected I had marry'd into the Family of Perfection, or ever took her for Nature's Miracle. For if &s;he yielded, and I my &s;elf was the Ma&s;ter-Wheel that mov'd the Devils Temptation, tis but ju&s;t&mdash;</HI></P>
<P>Thus far had <HI>An&s;elm</HI> written; and here, 'tis probable, that by &s;ome mi|&s;take i' the Sign, his Executioner was quicker then the poor Sufferer in|tended. However, 'tis no wonder, that a man in his Condition &s;hould be thus over-whelm'd by Death. For they &s;ay, that Cuckolds breeding Horns, are like Children breeding Teeth: Some breed their Teeth with little trou|ble, others with &s;o much pain, that it kills 'em.</P>
<P>The next day <HI>An&s;elm</HI>'s Friend gave notice of his death to his Parents, who, for ought I find by the Story, were nothing concern'd at it.</P>
<P>As for <HI>Camilla,</HI> &s;he was in the &s;ame condition, ju&s;t ready to follow her Husband; but don't mi&s;take me, 'twas not for the death of her Husband, but for the ab&s;ence of her dear <HI>Lothario.</HI> Some &s;ay, &s;he liv'd pretty hone&s;t, till hearing that <HI>Lothario</HI> was &s;lain, either in <HI>Europe,</HI> or <HI>A&s;ia,</HI> or <HI>Africa,</HI> or <HI>America,</HI> or &s;omewhere; but &s;he then lanch'd into the World, and proving a <HI>Soul,</HI> &s;plit again&s;t the two common Rocks of Clap and Brandy; &s;o far from being the Theam of all the Poets of the Age, that there was not &s;o much as one Ballad-maker at her Funeral.</P>
<P>This Novel, &s;aid the <HI>Curate,</HI> &s;eems to me a &s;trange <HI>Party per pale</HI> Bu&s;ine&s;s. For a Man to tempt, and for a Woman to be tempted, is no wonder; nay, for a Woman to be overcome by that Temptation, tho &s;he were one of tho&s;e that &s;tand &s;o demurely at the <HI>Bull and Mouth</HI> a Sundays, is no News&mdash; But for a man to labour and toyl &s;o indu&s;triou&s;ly to Cuckold him&s;elf, is to me a My&s;tery. Yet if there be any that are &s;uch Widgeonly Dolts, 'tis my Opinion, they ought to be &s;erv'd the &s;ame &s;awce that <HI>An&s;elm</HI> was &mdash; However, as long as I live, they &s;han't &s;cape my Almanack. For tho a Lover might be &s;o over-&s;een, for a Husband to be &s;uch a Coxcomb, is hard|ly to be imagin'd.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="9" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. IX.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Recounting &s;everal Rare Adventures that happen'd in the Inn.</HEAD>
<P>AT the &s;ame time, the Inn-keeper, &s;tanding at the Inn-door, to &s;ee what Company he could &s;py upon the Road; A hey-boys, cry'd he: Here they come Trill-lill, y fackins &mdash; A jolly Crew I'le warrant &mdash; If they do but &s;top here now &mdash; By St. <HI>George,</HI> and his fair Lady <HI>Sabrina</HI> to boot, we'l &s;ing <HI>Old Ro&s;e</HI> to Night &mdash; What a noi&s;e does that bawling Oat-&s;tealer make there, quo the Curate &mdash; What Company's that which is com|ing? Four Gentlemen, reply'd the Inn-keeper, a Hor&s;e-back, upon the <HI>ran dan,</HI> like young Citizens between <HI>London</HI> and <HI>Brainford</HI> &mdash; Gentlemen!
<PB N="198" REF="112"> They may be Knights, for ought I know, for they have Lances and Bucklers all, and every one a black Mask over his No&s;e&mdash; Hoy-day&mdash; there's a Gentlewoman too upon a Gonhelly follows behind 'em a Tittop, a Tittop, but whether foul or fair, no body can tell; for &s;he's under a black Cloud as well as the re&s;t&mdash; How far are they off, quo the <HI>Curate?</HI>&mdash; Clo&s;e at hand, reply'd the Inn keeper. Pre&s;ently Mrs. <HI>Dorothy</HI> clapt on her Mask too; and <HI>Cardenio,</HI> that was not a&s;ham'd to &s;hew all that he had, but a little before, now not thinking his Clothes good enough, went up to <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Chamber. Pre&s;ently the Ma&s;querades came thund'ring into the Inn-yard, and alighting, immediately the per&s;on that &s;eem'd to be the mo&s;t &s;parki&s;h above all the re&s;t, went to the Lady, and taking her down from her Side-&s;addle in his Arms, &s;eated her in a Chair ju&s;t at the entrance into the Chamber where <HI>Cardenio</HI> was gone to hide him&s;elf. All this while not one of the Company had pull'd off their Masks, or &s;o much as &s;pok'n a word, only the Lady fetch'd a deep Sigh as &s;he &s;ate, and at the &s;ame time let fall her Arms, as if &s;he had been dropping into a Swoon. The <HI>Curate,</HI> who&s;e Curio&s;ity was &s;trangely heighten'd by this Di&s;gui&s;e and profound Silence, follow'd the Lacquies into the Stable, and enquir'd of one of 'em, who the&s;e Sparks were? As I'm a Sinner to Heav'n, an&s;wer'd the Lacquey, I know not how to &s;atisfie ye farther then this, That I be|lieve 'em to be all Per&s;ons of Quality, e&s;pecially the Per&s;on that help'd the Lady down, becau&s;e the re&s;t give him a world a' Re&s;pect. But who is the Lady, quo the <HI>Curate?</HI> Nay, Sir, he mu&s;t be a Conjurer that can tell ye, for me, reply'd the Lacquey; for all along as we came, I never &s;aw &s;o much as the tip of her Chin; but tho &s;he hid her Face from my &s;ight, &s;he could not &s;top my Ears, for they were Witne&s;&s;es of her continual Complaints, and her Sighs, &s;o loud and &s;o mournful, as would ha' made a Crocodile to weep in earne&s;t. Nor is it a wonder we &s;hould know &s;o little, having &s;erv'd 'em but two days, from the time they met us upon the Road, when they told us, they were going to <HI>Andaluzia,</HI> and would pay us well for our Pains, if we would attend 'em thither. What! quo the <HI>Curate,</HI> did they never talk, nor call one another by their Names? No, Sir,&mdash; they travell'd to|gether more &s;peechle&s;s then their Hor&s;es; for they did not &s;o much as <HI>neighie</HI> one to another. So that we heard nothing but the &s;ad and doleful Lamen|tations of the poor Lady, whom we &s;uppo&s;e to be &s;ome <HI>Fortune,</HI> whom the&s;e Gentlemen have &s;toll'n out of &s;ome Boarding-School, and are carry|ing her away to be marry'd again&s;t her Con&s;ent. That may very well be, reply'd the <HI>Curate,</HI> nor is it the fir&s;t time &s;uch Pranks have been plaid i' this Country. And &s;o leaving the Stable, he return'd to Mrs. <HI>Dorothy,</HI> who, out of a Female Compa&s;&s;ion of her Sex in di&s;tre&s;s, was officiou&s;ly profering her Service to the Lady, and whi&s;pering her i' the Ear, as may be &s;uppos'd, to know whether &s;he had any Occa&s;ion for private Retirement (for the Hou&s;e of Office is a Place where the Female Sex at the &s;ame time frequently di&s;|charge their Back-&s;ides, and disburden their Hearts.) Truly Mrs. <HI>Dorothy</HI> was pa&s;&s;ing kind, &s;he proffer'd to attend her into her Chamber, unlace her Stays, pull off her Stockins, and help her to bed: But after all, the Devil a word would the Gentlewoman in the Mask &s;peak. Upon which, Mrs. <HI>Dorothy</HI> concluded, that &s;he was tak'n with a dangerous Di&s;ea&s;e call'd the <HI>Mullegrubs.</HI> And at length the Spark that had tak'n her off from her Hor&s;e, addre&s;&s;ing him&s;elf to Mrs. <HI>Dorothy,</HI> Madam, &s;aid he, you may &s;pare your &s;elf the Labour&mdash; All the Kindne&s;&s;es you proffer that Lady, are but Fi&s;h of two days old&mdash; There's no more Gratitude in <HI>her,</HI> then there grows Plum-pudding in a Bean-&s;hell; and therefore, Madam, unle&s;s ye have a mind to
<PB N="199" REF="112"> hear a Company of Stories and Lyes, never de&s;ire her to open her Lips. The Spark had better a' held his Peace&mdash; for upon his &s;o &s;aying, the di|&s;tre&s;&s;ed Lady found her Tongue again. No, no, Mr. <HI>Foul-mouth,</HI> &s;aid &s;he, you that never &s;poke Truth i' your life, never found me &s;uch a Lyar, as you pretend to make me. But becau&s;e you can't make a Fool of me, and have your Will, therefore I tell Stories&mdash; But I mu&s;t tell ye, Sir, 'tis my Con&s;tancy, and Scorn of your Treats, your Guinies, your Point-Laces, and your Gold Watches, that has reduc'd me to this Condition. Mercy upon me! cry'd <HI>Cardenio,</HI> who di&s;tinctly heard every word the Lady &s;aid, What Voice is this I hear? Pre&s;ently the Lady hearing <HI>Cardenio</HI>'s Exclamation, gave a &s;udden Start, and ri&s;ing from her Chair quite another Woman, would have enter'd the Chamber from whence the Voice came, but was prevented by the Spark that &s;tood by her. However, in the mid&s;t of that re&s;tle&s;s Commotion of mind &s;he was in, her Veil fell from her Head, and notwith&s;tanding her inward Angui&s;h, and the Palene&s;s of her Cheeks, di&s;cover'd a mo&s;t incomparable Beauty. On the other &s;ide, the Spark that rudely held her down by the Shoulders, was &s;o earne&s;tly bu&s;y'd to keep her from ri&s;ing, that his Mask dropt from his No&s;e, not daring to &s;tir his Hand; at what time Mrs. <HI>Dorothy</HI> &s;tanding by the Di&s;con&s;olate Lady, and looking up in the Spark's Face, pre&s;ently knew him to be <HI>Don Ferdinand,</HI> as one that had not only &s;een, but felt him too more then once or twenty times before that. This caus'd &s;uch a Fermentation of various Pa&s;&s;ions, and that Fermentation brought &s;uch a Qualm over Mrs. <HI>Dorothy</HI>'s Heart, that &s;he fell down in a Swoon. Immediately the <HI>Curate,</HI> for young Par&s;ons are generally very handy about Women, pulls off her Mask from her Face, to give her Air; at what time <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI> was no le&s;s a&s;toni&s;h'd to &s;ee that it &s;hould be Mrs. <HI>Dorothy.</HI> Never was Bell-founder &s;o confounded when his Mettle mi&s;carries; however he wou'd not let <HI>Lucinda</HI> &s;tir, for &s;he it was that he held all this while (&s;ee by the way how Murder begins to come out) and &s;he it was, who &s;truggl'd with all her might to get out of <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI>'s Clutches, as mad as a Cow to come to her Calf, to get to her <HI>Cardenio,</HI> whom &s;he knew by his Bleating. On the other &s;ide, <HI>Car|denio</HI> hearing the Shriek that &s;wooning Mrs. <HI>Dorothy</HI> gave, and believing it had been his <HI>Lucinda,</HI> whom he al&s;o &s;melt by a particular Steam that &s;he had about her, flung out of the Chamber like one half har'd out of his Wits; 'twas a thou&s;and to one his Soul had not broke her Neck for ha&s;te out at his Ears. For he never could endure that any body &s;hould handle <HI>Lucinda,</HI> but him&s;elf. And now the Game begins: A&s;toni&s;hment upon A&s;toni&s;hment, Amazement upon Amazement, VVonder upon Won|der. <HI>Lucinda</HI> &s;tar'd upon <HI>Cardenio,</HI> He upon Her&mdash; Is't thou, quo he? Is't thou, quo &s;he? <HI>Ferdinand</HI> &s;tar'd upon Mrs. <HI>Dorothy,</HI> &s;he upon him. <HI>Car|denio</HI> &s;tar'd upon <HI>Ferdinand, Ferdinand</HI> upon <HI>Cardenio;</HI> and &s;o they &s;tar'd upon one another to the end o' the Chapter. At length, after they had &s;tar'd out their Stare, <HI>Lucinda</HI> was the fir&s;t that brake &s;ilence, and addre&s;|&s;ing her &s;elf to <HI>D. Ferdinand;</HI> Hands off, for &s;hame, quo &s;he, good my Lord <HI>Ferdinand;</HI> and at la&s;t, if ye know how to be &s;o, be civil, &s;hew your &s;elf a Gentleman, and don't think to hector me out of my Maiden-head that I re&s;erve for one that better de&s;erves it. You know that all your Prodigali|ty, nor all your Menaces could ever move me&mdash;my Re&s;olution is fix'd; and therefore be a&s;&s;ur'd I'le rather marry a <HI>Small-coal-man</HI> or a <HI>Chimney-Sweeper,</HI> and cry Hogs-Puddings about the Streets, then marry &s;uch a Roi|&s;ter as your Wor&s;hip&mdash; Here &s;tands <HI>Cardenio,</HI> to whom I have long &s;ince demis'd my Heart, with all its Appurtenances, <HI>to have and to hold in Fee-Tail</HI>
<PB N="200" REF="113"> to Perpetuity. Give him therefore quiet Po&s;&s;e&s;&s;ion, as Law and Ju&s;tice requires, or if you intend to be a continual Plague to me, terminate my Life and my Misfortunes both together.</P>
<P>During the&s;e Expo&s;tulations, Mrs. <HI>Dorothy</HI> being by this time come to her &s;elf, and under&s;tanding 'twas <HI>Lucinda</HI> that &s;poke, yet finding that <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI> would neither let go his hold, nor give any An&s;wer to the rea|&s;onable Reque&s;ts <HI>Lucinda</HI> made him, up &s;he ro&s;e, and advancing towards him with her Handkerchief before her Eyes&mdash; <Q>Sir, &s;aid &s;he, if y' have any &s;park of Grace or Gentility, look upon a Woman, whom your Perjuries have made &s;o&mdash;a Woman, to whom once you promis'd Mountains of Hap|pine&s;s, but have now render'd mi&s;erable. Con&s;ider, Sir, that in the &s;ight of Heav'n, you are my lawful Husband&mdash; You cannot forget the time when you enter'd into the Obligation&mdash;and tho there were no Wit|ne&s;s to it, you cannot but know, that you &s;eal'd it at the &s;ame time with your own Seal&mdash; What a murrain&mdash; how many Wives would ye have&mdash;? As many as the ancient <HI>Jews</HI>&mdash;? If &s;o, Sir &s;tay till the Law allows it&mdash; the We&s;t-Country Knight has not yet got his Bill pa&s;t&mdash; In the mean time con&s;ider what an Injury you do your own Sex&mdash; for what Maid will ever tru&s;t a young Man again, for your &s;ake? I pity'd your Sighs, your Sobs, your Tears, and your Lamentations&mdash;I had Compa&s;&s;ion upon your Moans, and your Groans, and the mournful Out-cries of your Impatience, and be|lieving I might believe a Per&s;on of your Quality, I was at length, tho you well know it was a long time fir&s;t, prevail'd with by my Commi&s;eration, and tru&s;ted to your Hone&s;ty&mdash; But what Maid will ever pity a Per&s;on of Quality more? 'Twas this Compa&s;&s;ion of mine, that for the Relief of your crying Nece&s;&s;ities, and impatient Di&s;tre&s;&s;es, made me venture the Di&s;|graces of a great Belly, and who knows but that I might ha' come to the Misfortune of being hang'd for &s;tifling the poor Baby in a Hou&s;e of Office? And can you turn away your ungrateful Eyes from one that has &s;o deeply hazarded her Honour and her Life, upon the Confidence &s;he had of your Vertue, and your Ju&s;tice? If I were more forward then I &s;hould ha' been, were not you more ha&s;ty then I? And therefore do but marry me, 'tis all I de&s;ire&mdash; then keep as many Mi&s;&s;es afterwards as you plea&s;e, I'le never &s;ay, <HI>Love, why d' ye &s;o?</HI> I'le never be moody when ye come home fuddl'd, nor upbraid ye for lo&s;ing your Money at Play; but marry me, I be&s;eech ye&mdash; &s;ave my Life, and take my Goods&mdash; When you fir&s;t courted me, you told me I was fair; and am I &s;o much older &s;ince that? Be not &s;o &s;crupulous, Sir, e&s;pecially in &s;uch an Age of Liberty as this is, when any thing will &s;erve for a Wife&mdash; And your VVife I am as &s;ure as Eggs be Eggs, if you are but half as true and real to me, as one Pick-pocket is to another. As for <HI>Lucinda,</HI> you &s;ee &s;he belongs to another Man. And why &s;hould you that have a Park o' your own, be &s;o &s;trangely ab&s;urd, that nothing will &s;erve ye, but to hunt in another man's Enclo|&s;ure? If this that I have &s;aid will not prevail, read <HI>Baxter's Saints Ever|la&s;ting Re&s;t,</HI> and &s;ee what Re&s;t you are like have either in this, or the other VVorld, after &s;o many fal&s;ify'd Oathes and Perjuries as you ha' committed.</Q></P>
<P><HI>D. Ferdinand</HI> being thus rally'd between <HI>Je&s;t</HI> and <HI>Earne&s;t,</HI> found him&s;elf &s;hot between wind and water. On the one &s;ide, her undeniable mat|ter of Fact had vanqui&s;h'd all the Arguments of his libertine Folly, and the Tears and Sobs that &s;econded her &s;erious Admonitions, had &s;tuck &s;o many Crums in the Throat of his Con&s;cience, that finding him&s;elf &s;o run down both by Rea&s;on and Morality, he quitted <HI>Lucinda,</HI> and ran with his Arms ex|panded
<PB N="201" REF="113"> like the VVings of a Cherubim, and embracing Mrs. <HI>Dorothy;</HI> My dear <HI>Dolly,</HI> quo he, no longer now plain <HI>Dorothy,</HI> but lac'd Madam <HI>Dorothy,</HI> live and be a Lady, &s;ince <HI>Fate</HI> will have it &s;o. 'Tis true, I did debauch thee&mdash; but before all this Company, here's my hand upon't, I'le mend thee up again as &s;ound in Law, as e're thou wert i' thy life. For thine, my dear <HI>Dolly,</HI> is only a Stitch fall'n i' thy Reputation, which the Needle and Thread of Wedlock will repair at any time. With that he gave her a Ki&s;s, and at the &s;ame In&s;tant breath'd a new Soul into her Body.</P>
<P>On the other &s;ide, <HI>Lucinda</HI> had been &s;o long &s;upported by <HI>D. Ferdinand,</HI> that finding her &s;elf at Liberty, &s;he was like to ha' fall'n to the Ground, had not <HI>Cardenio,</HI> who all the while &s;tood behind <HI>D. Ferdinand,</HI> becau&s;e he wou'd not be &s;een, caught her up in his Arms For tho &s;he were glad to &s;ee that all things fadg'd &s;o well with Mrs. <HI>Dorothy,</HI> yet &s;ome little Qualms of Envy at that good Fortune in another, which &s;he thought as due to her &s;elf, made &s;uch a deep Impre&s;&s;ion upon her Spirits, as made the whole Frame of her <HI>Microco&s;m</HI> begin to totter. But then, fair <HI>Lucinda,</HI> cry'd <HI>Car|denio,</HI> con&s;idering the Feeblene&s;s of your Condition, you cannot be better then in the Arms of him that has always lov'd ye from his Infancy. VVith that, <HI>Lucinda</HI> turning her Head, and perceiving him to be her beloved <HI>Car|denio,</HI> Heav'ns! &s;he was ready to jump out of her Skin; up &s;he leapt as nimble as a Bird, and darting her &s;elf about <HI>Cardenio</HI>'s Neck; And is it thee, my dear Husband, quo &s;he? What Miracles are the&s;e? Did I ever think, by &s;uch a &s;trange Accident as this, to meet again the Joy and Comfort of my Life? And then &s;econding her amorous Expre&s;&s;ions with amorous Actions, forgetful quite of either Time or Place, &s;he joyn'd her Lips &s;o clo&s;e to his, that <HI>Cardenio</HI> might ea&s;ily feel her Mind, and know what &s;he wou'd ha' been at, had the Opportunity been favourable.</P>
<P>But the&s;e Endearments between <HI>Lucinda</HI> and <HI>Cardenio,</HI> did no way plea&s;e <HI>D. Ferdinand:</HI> For, notwith&s;tanding all his new Engagements to Mrs. <HI>Do|rothy,</HI> he had &s;till an aking Tooth after Mrs. <HI>Lucinda.</HI> And he could not but think he had &s;ome Right to her too, con&s;idering the Money &s;he co&s;t him. So that he began to change Colour, and fall a handling the Hilt of his Sword with his Right Hand; cur&s;ed Symptoms of Mi&s;chief in his Mind. Which my Lady <HI>Dorothy</HI> ob&s;erving&mdash; ran to him, and catching him about the Middle, Sir, &s;aid &s;he, &s;ince you have now been pleas'd to own me for a Wife, be pleas'd to hear me when I utter Rea&s;on&mdash; How! quo <HI>D. Fer|dinand,</HI> what, breaking Covenants already! <Q>No, Sir, quo my Lady <HI>Do|rothy</HI>&mdash; I neither chide ye for being fuddl'd, nor tax ye for lo&s;ing your Mo|ney; nor am I going about to per&s;wade ye from keeping a Mi&s;tre&s;s; be as modi&s;h as you plea&s;e, Sir, but never meddle with other Men's Wives. There are &s;ingle Gentlewomen enow i' the World, that would be glad to &s;erve ye&mdash; And therefore why &s;hould you meddle with Madam <HI>Lucinda?</HI> In the fir&s;t place, you &s;ee &s;he can't endure ye: And by my new recover'd Happine&s;s, I &s;wear, were I a Man, I'd not give my old Shoe-&s;trings for a Woman that did not love me as well as I lov'd her&mdash;Be&s;ides, Sir, you &s;ee her Affections at pre&s;ent are engag'd quite another way&mdash; So that you may as well think to remove <HI>Bow-Steeple,</HI> with all the Bells in't, to <HI>Highgate,</HI> as think to un&s;ettle her Love in the Honey-moon of her doating fondne&s;s. And therefore &s;eek not to &s;under thus an amorous Pair, that Heaven &s;eems to have &s;o plea&s;ingly united. Surely your heat for me cannot as yet be &s;o extingui&s;h'd, but that you may find Diverti&s;ement &s;uf|ficient, at lea&s;t, till you find my Pa&s;&s;ion begin to cool&mdash; Come try me, Sir, I'le find ye Sport enough, I'le warrant ye; for I may talk a little freely
<PB N="202" REF="114"> now&mdash; We were &s;ever'd by Di&s;a&s;ter, and now here we are met again together by a Miracle; which, as it is the Work of a Superiour Power, never oppo&s;e Fate, nor &s;eek to unravel a Bottom, which the <HI>De&s;tinies</HI> are &s;o harmoniou&s;ly winding up; nor &s;poil the la&s;t Scene of a Tragi-Comedy, that begins to conclude &s;o naturally, that all the Poets in Town, could never ha' brought it &s;o exactly to pa&s;s.</Q></P>
<P>While my Lady <HI>Dorothy</HI> was thus laying the Law to <HI>D. Ferdinand, Car|denio</HI> who held his <HI>Lucinda,</HI> as the <HI>Lob&s;ter</HI> held the <HI>Hair</HI> upon <HI>Salisbury-Plain,</HI> watch'd <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI>'s Sword-hand, for fear of being &s;urpriz'd, as being re&s;olv'd before he would part with <HI>Lucinda</HI> again, to have ventur'd half a dozen Oylet-holes in his Skin. But <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI>'s Friends and the <HI>Curate</HI> perceiving how the two <HI>De&s;perado's</HI> look'd one upon another, like two Boar-Cats, ready to di&s;pute the Po&s;&s;e&s;&s;ion of Madam <HI>Grey-Maulkin,</HI> to prevent Mi&s;chief, ran to <HI>D. Ferdinand,</HI> and be&s;ought him to con&s;ider, that he had already before 'em all acknowledg'd Madam <HI>Dorothy</HI> for his Wife; and therefore to hinder another from what he could not enjoy him&s;elf, was like Hunt's <HI>Dog, that would neither go to Church, nor &s;tay at home.</HI> Then the <HI>Curate</HI> &s;tept in, and de&s;ir'd him to con&s;ider what would become of him, &s;hould he be Lungs or Liver-tapp'd in an unju&s;t Quarrel; That he did ill to &s;hew his boi&s;trous Propen&s;ity, and his ranging Humour to a young Lady, that had the &s;ame Advantages of Form and Beauty with the per&s;on for whom he contended&mdash; withal, the <HI>Curate</HI> bid him beware what he did, for that &s;uch Rudene&s;&s;es as tho&s;e would bring him within the Verge of the Spiritual Court&mdash; and that the Law took its Cour&s;e as well a|gain&s;t the Lord as the Pea&s;ant&mdash; That he mu&s;t be forc'd to come in a Witne&s;s again&s;t him, upon his Promi&s;e to Madam <HI>Dorothy,</HI> which would go a great way in her Cau&s;e, and would procure her Alimony in &s;pite of his Teeth&mdash;and therefore it would be much better to perform that wil|lingly which he had promis'd to do, then to be forc'd to it to his Di&s;honour, and for the whole Court to cry out &s;hame upon him.</P>
<P><HI>D. Ferdinand,</HI> who was not &s;o re&s;ty neither, but that he might be curb'd by Rea&s;on, finding that his own Friends for&s;ook him, and that no body took his part, &s;urrendred at length to Rea&s;on and Nece&s;&s;ity; and then em|bracing once more his almo&s;t-forgotten Object of Matrimony, Lady, &s;aid he, dry up your Tears, for I can no longer &s;uffer her to weep, to whom I have giv'n my Heart; forget the Injuries and Inju&s;tice I ha' done thee, for which my Repentance and <HI>Lucinda</HI>'s Beauty, may in &s;ome mea&s;ure excu&s;e me. But &s;ince I now perceive there is not a T&mdash; to chu&s;e, let <HI>Lucinda</HI> contentedly enjoy her dear <HI>Cardenio,</HI> and let my Nut-brown <HI>Dolly</HI> be the Ble&s;&s;ing of my Life; Boys and Girls be the Con&s;equences of our Amours, and be thou &s;ure to &s;ave a Portion for thy &s;econd Daughter, out of Hou&s;e-keeping. And with that, he embrac'd his beloved Madam <HI>Dorothy</HI> with &s;uch an a|morous Heat, and &s;uch a tender Affection, that he who breath'd nothing but <HI>Duels</HI> and <HI>Sa-Sa's</HI> but ju&s;t now, him&s;elf was ready to melt into a De|luge of Cow-baby Tears.</P>
<P>On the other &s;ide, <HI>Lucinda</HI> and <HI>Cardenio</HI> had no &s;uch Command over the Sluces of their Eyes, but that the Surplu&s;age of their Joy caus'd a kind of <HI>April-Shower</HI> in the mid&s;t of the Sun-&s;hine of their Content, to trickle down their Cheeks; &s;o &s;trangely overjoy'd they were for the Felicity of their Friend, no more expected then their own &s;udden Ac|cumulations of Happine&s;s. But tho&s;e Tears of Affection being &s;oon dry'd, all their Sorrows were as &s;oon forgot, and they fell a ki&s;&s;ing, <HI>Ferdi|nand</HI> and <HI>Dolly, Cardenio</HI> and <HI>Lucinda,</HI> like young Citizens and their
<PB N="203" REF="114"> Wives in an <HI>Ep&s;om-Coach.</HI> Only <HI>Sancho,</HI> who wept for Company's-&s;ake, could not &s;o &s;oon recover from his Melancholy, in regard it pro|ceeded from another Cau&s;e. For he, alas! was &s;orely griev'd, that Mrs. <HI>Dorothy</HI> was not the Prince&s;s of <HI>Micomicona,</HI> and that he had lo&s;t all the hopes of his &s;o long gap'd-for Earldom.</P>
<P>At length <HI>Lucinda</HI> and <HI>Cardenio</HI> return'd a thou&s;and Thanks to <HI>Don Ferdinand</HI> for all his Favours in the Surrender of his Copy <GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="UOM" EXTENT="1 letter">old, which they did in that Courtly Language, that <HI>Don Ferdinand</HI> being at a &s;tand for verbal Complements, repaid 'em in &s;ilent Embraces on|ly, and clo&s;e Hugs; which was all he could do at that time to di&s;|play the Te&s;timonies of his Satisfaction. At the &s;ame time <HI>Don Fer|dinand</HI> reque&s;ted Madam <HI>Dorothy</HI> to tell him how &s;he came into a Coun|trey &s;o far di&s;tant from her own; who thereupon repeated to him all that &s;he had recounted to the <HI>Curate</HI> and <HI>Cardenio,</HI> with &s;uch a Grace, that her Husband in <HI>Po&s;&s;e</HI> was ravi&s;h'd at her Di&s;cour&s;e, and vow'd, That if all her Curtain-Lectures prov'd no wor&s;e then her Story-telling, he &s;hould think him&s;elf ble&s;t in a Bed-fellow.</P>
<P>After that, <HI>Don Ferdinand</HI> related what had befall'n him at <HI>Lu|cinda</HI>'s Hou&s;e the Night that he &s;hould have been marry'd; how he found the Letter in her Bo&s;om, wherein &s;he declar'd, that &s;he was marry'd to <HI>Cardenio;</HI> which tran&s;ported him to that degree of Rage and Fury, that he would ha' kill'd her, but that her Parents prevent|ed him (for to &s;ay the Truth, 'twas an ugly Di&s;appointment.) That after this confounded Baulk, he flung out of the Hou&s;e, and re&s;olv'd to be reveng'd upon her, the fir&s;t time he met with her. That afterwards he was inform'd, how that <HI>Lucinda</HI> had taken a Ramble, and was run a Wild-goo&s;e Cha&s;e, but whither all the Conjurers and <HI>Saffolds</HI> in <HI>London</HI> could not tell&mdash; but that at length he heard &s;he had &s;helter'd her &s;elf at a famous Boarding-School i' the Country, where he lay perdue for &s;ome Days, to watch her Motions; and ob&s;erving that &s;he was wont to walk out i' the Evening to a certain Chee&s;e-cake Hou&s;e, about a Mile from her Habitation, to &s;pend her Six-pence with &s;ome of her Companions, in Tarts and Bottle-drink, he got three of his Acquaintance, be&s;ides him&s;elf, well mounted, with a leer Hobby for <HI>Lucinda;</HI> and meeting her returning i' the mid-way home, notwith&s;tanding all her &s;quealing, and her &s;qualing, having fix'd her in her Saddle, he led her &s;uch a Race, while the Gentleman that follow'd, whipp'd on the Hobby behind, that they &s;oon got out of the reach of Pur&s;uit. After which, they wander'd up and down from place to place, till guided by their good Fortune, they arriv'd in that Inn, where &s;o many miraculous Accidents had befall'n 'em.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="10" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="204" REF="115">
<HEAD>CHAP. X.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Being a Continuation of the Hi&s;tory of the Famous Prince&s;s of <HI>Mico|micona,</HI> with other Delightful Adventures.</HEAD>
<P><HI>SAncho,</HI> who li&s;ten'd attentively to every word was &s;aid, was almo&s;t at his Wits end, to find all his Hopes blown up like a Chymi&s;t's Furnace, when he thought him&s;elf &s;ure o' the Philo&s;opher's Stone; and that the Prin|ce&s;s of <HI>Micomicona</HI> was metamorphos'd into <HI>Mrs. Dorothy,</HI> and the Giant <HI>Pandafilando</HI> into <HI>Don Ferdinand;</HI> while <HI>Don Quixote</HI> lay &s;norting and &s;no|ring at his ea&s;e, regardle&s;s altogether of the important Intere&s;ts of his poor Squire. In this forlorn, afflicted, and melancholy Condition <HI>Sancho</HI> entring <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Chamber, who now began to be awake; Your Wor|&s;hip now, <HI>Sir Knight of the Ill-favour'd Countenance,</HI> &s;aid he, may take a Nap for &s;even Years together, if you plea&s;e, without vexing or torment|ing your Soul about re&s;toring the Prince&s;s <HI>Micomicona</HI> to her <HI>Throne,</HI> or fighting any more Giants; for your <HI>Quietus</HI> is already Sign'd, the bu&s;ine&s;s is done, and all things are concluded. I believe what thou &s;ay'&s;t, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> for it is not above three minutes &s;ince I had &s;o much lei&s;ure as to take a little breath: For I have been engag'd for the&s;e fifteen hours in the mo&s;t di&s;mal, de&s;perate, dreadful, furious, terrible Encounter with a huge, horrid, grizzle-bearded, Sawcer-ey'd, Whale-mouth'd Giant that ever was recorded in Story, true or feign'd: The Father of all the Devils made me &s;weat for't, as if I had been i' the <HI>Bagnio.</HI> But at length, with a true right <HI>Bear-Garden</HI> Butcher's back-&s;troke, I fetch'd off his Head &s;o &s;mooth, and &s;o clean, and hit the Joynt &s;o like a <HI>Shrieves Carver,</HI> that were the Giant alive again, I am confident ha' wou'd thank me for putting him &s;o &s;oon out of his pain. The Rogue was vengeance full of Blood too, <HI>Sancho;</HI> for it &s;pouted out of his <HI>Vena Cava,</HI> and <HI>Vena Porta,</HI> the great <HI>Aorta,</HI> the <HI>Axillaries, Pulmonaries,</HI> and <HI>Jugulars,</HI> like &s;o many Rivers, and made &s;uch an Inundation, as wou'd ha' carry'd a We&s;tern Barge&mdash; Vengeance full of Blood! Vengeance full of T &mdash; quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> for the mon&s;trous Giant that you &s;lew was no other then a great black Boracho, with above forty flasks of Red Wine in his flagitious <HI>Wemb.</HI> I &s;ay Flasks, becau&s;e they are a little bigger then your ordinary Quart-Bottles. As for the Blood that made &s;uch an Innundation i' the Room, 'twas nothing but that &s;ame Red Wine which your hair-brain'd Wor&s;hip &s;pilt &mdash; I wi&s;h your VVor&s;hip choak'd when you did it &mdash; And then for the Head you cut off, 'twas the Whores that brought me into the world, I think, for <HI>Satan</HI> has carry'd it away &mdash; Hoy day, <HI>Sancho</HI> &mdash; quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> what's the matter? why &s;ure the fellow's not in his wits &mdash; what! ha'&s;t been eating o' wild Par&s;enips? &mdash; I' my wits, quo <HI>Sancho!</HI> yes, and out o' my wits too, to &s;ee what a Reck'ning your Wor&s;hip has to pay &mdash; Pray now ri&s;e, will ye&mdash; and &s;ee how the face of the world is chang'd below. The Queen is chang'd into an ordinary Chamber-maid, that they call plain <HI>Doroty;</HI> and &s;everal other wonders, that will make your hair &s;tand an end. No Wonders at all, <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> for as I told thee before, &s;o I tell thee again, there is nothing but Enchantment in this Hou&s;e. All this I &s;hould be wil|ling to believe, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> had my to&s;&s;ing in a Blanket been an En|chantment; but it was not &s;o, for it was real and true. I remember that
<PB N="205" REF="115"> the very Inn-keeper below &s;tairs held one corner of the In&s;trument of my Mi&s;ery; and to&s;s'd and laugh'd, and laugh'd and to&s;s'd more then any of the re&s;t. Now, I'le never believe, tho I am no Schollard, but an ignorant Sinner, that when a man knows the faces of the Per&s;ons again, there can be any Enchantment i' that ca&s;e, but bare ill Luck, &s;uch as mine was.</P>
<P>Well &mdash; well &mdash; quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> let 'em be Enchantments, or no En|chantments, I'm &s;ure there's &s;omething more then ordinary i' the matter; and therefore gi' me my Clothes; for when I come to examine the bu&s;ine&s;s, I &s;hall &s;oon &s;mell it out.</P>
<P>While <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was dre&s;&s;ing him&s;elf, the Curate gave <HI>Don Ferdinand</HI> and the re&s;t of his Friends a &s;hort account, what a &s;ort of Per&s;on this Fa|mous Knight was; and how they had laid their Plot to cure him of his Extravagancy. But now, added the Curate, our fir&s;t De&s;ign is &s;poyl'd, and we mu&s;t &s;eek out &s;ome other way to get him home, in regard that <HI>Ma|dam Dorothy</HI> is otherwi&s;e now concern'd. To which, <HI>Cardenio</HI> reply'd, that <HI>Lucinda</HI> &s;hould act her part. But <HI>Don Ferdinand</HI> was re&s;olv'd that <HI>Madam Dorothy</HI> &s;hould go on with her Cue; the rather becau&s;e that being Neigh|bours in a manner, they might be more ready to a&s;&s;i&s;t one another. While they were thus confabulating, enters <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> in his one likene&s;s, buckl'd up in Iron from top to toe, as if <HI>Vulcan</HI> had been his Taylor, Ho&s;ier, and Shoe-maker; for as for Trimming he had none, but his Target upon his &s;houl|der, and his Lance in his fi&s;t, and <HI>Mambrino</HI>'s Ba&s;on, batter'd as it was, upon his Head: So that nothing more was to be &s;een of him but his Tann'd Countenance, his meager Cheeks, and his hollow Eyes. Such a &s;trange Figure of a Mortal Wight, &s;trangely &s;urpriz'd <HI>Don Ferdinand,</HI> and tho&s;e that were with him, who had never &s;een this Illu&s;trious Knight before. They could not but with Admiration behold his Ell-long Vi&s;age, his Box-Complexion, and the &s;trange di&s;order of his Whiskers; and with a kind of awful Silence li&s;ten'd to hear what the Ru&s;ty Apparition had to &s;ay to 'em. Pre&s;ently <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> re&s;ting again&s;t his Lance, and fixing his Eyes upon Madam <HI>Dorothy,</HI></P>
<P>Madam, &s;aid he, I under&s;tand by my Squire, that you are fall'n from the Garret into the Coal-hole; that is to &s;ay, that from a <HI>Queen,</HI> you are come to plain <HI>Mrs. Doroty:</HI> Which if it be done by the malicious Contri|vance of the Grand Enchanter, the King your Father, if he were afraid I could not give you that A&s;&s;i&s;tance which was requi&s;ite; I &s;ay, the King your Father was deceiv'd, like an Old Dotard as he was, and little read in the Hi&s;tories of Chivalry. For had he read 'em but as often and as &s;eri+ou&s;ly as I ha' done, he would ha' found, that they are full of Accide<GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="UOM" EXTENT="3 letters"> much more &s;urprizing, and incomparably more difficult to be perform<GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="UOM" EXTENT="2 letters"> which yet have been accompli&s;h'd by Knights far inferiour, tho I &s;ay it th<GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="UOM" EXTENT="2 letters"> &s;hou'd not, to me in Reputation. 'Tis no &s;uch great difficulty, as People think, to lop off the Head of a Giant, tho he were as big about as the <HI>Duomo</HI> i' the <HI>Stocks-Market,</HI> and as high as the <HI>Monument.</HI> 'Tis not long &s;ince I prov'd the truth of this in an Encounter with two of the&s;e <HI>Heav'n-Scalers;</HI> of which I &s;ay no more, becau&s;e I hate to be caught in a Lye. Not with two Giants, with your good leave, Sir, but with two harmle&s;s <HI>Boracho's</HI> of Wine, quo the Inn-keeper: And &s;o &s;aying, he up with a Bottle to have thrown at <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Head, had not <HI>Don Ferdinand</HI> commanded him to be quiet. And then <HI>Don Quixote</HI> proceeding; I &s;ay then in &s;hort, Thrice Illu&s;trious and Di&s;-inherited Lady, that if this be all the Rea&s;on, why your Father has thus tran&s;mogrify'd your Per&s;on, you need not fear to depend upon me; for there is not any Danger, Peril, or Hazard in the world, that
<PB N="206" REF="116"> I do not &s;urmount by the &s;harp edge of this Sword; and with this Sword it is, that after I have laid at your feet the Head of your &s;o redoubted Ene|my, I will re&s;tore ye to the Throne of your Ance&s;tors, and be the daring Under-Sheriff that &s;hall put ye into the quiet Po&s;&s;e&s;&s;ion of your own.</P>
<P>Here <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;topt, in expectation of the Prince&s;&s;es An&s;wer: At what time, <HI>Madam Dorothy,</HI> knowing &s;he &s;hould plea&s;e <HI>Don Ferdinand</HI> in carrying on the De&s;ign &mdash; with a Princely Air, and Maje&s;tick Seriou&s;ne&s;s, Whoever told ye, &s;aid &s;he, that I was Transmogrify'd, mo&s;t Valiant <HI>Knight of the Ill-favour'd Face,</HI> deceiv'd ye with a vile Untruth; for I am the &s;ame to day that I was ye&s;terday. 'Tis true, perhaps &s;ome Change in my For|tune may have happen'd to me for the better &s;ince I &s;aw ye la&s;t; but for all that, I have &s;till the &s;ame Nece&s;&s;ity to be beholding to the force of your Invincible Arm. And therefore, I be&s;eech ye, good Sir Knight, of your accu&s;tomed Genero&s;ity, re&s;tore my Father his Honour again, and never que|&s;tion but that he was a Per&s;on of Prudence and Fore-&s;ight, that could find out a Means &s;o ea&s;ie, and &s;o &s;ecure; nay, the very <HI>Probatum e&s;t</HI> that could Cure all my Misfortunes. And in truth it was a wonderful thing, and hap|py I'm &s;ure for me, that I met with &s;uch a Champion; as being fully &s;atis|fy'd, that had it not been for your Plea&s;antries, and the Chimera's of your Noble and Love-&s;ick Brain, I had never been in the Condition wherein I am. And I believe the greate&s;t part of the&s;e Gentlemen are of my Opinion, as having been Witne&s;&s;es of what has befall'n me &s;ince our fir&s;t meeting. In &s;hort therefore, we have nothing more now to do, then to &s;et forward to morrow Morning, and for the Succe&s;s, I leave it to Heaven and your Courage.</P>
<P>When Mrs. <HI>Doroty</HI> had thus di&s;creetly &s;poken, <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> turning to <HI>Sancho</HI> with the frowns of Choler and Indignation, Sirrah, <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;aid he, now do I find thee to be the arrant'&s;t Varlet, Scoundrel, and Ra&s;cal that ever was whelp'd in <HI>Pickt-Hatch</HI> &mdash; Did not your Rogue-&s;hip tell me, that the Prince&s;s was turn'd into plain <HI>Doroty?</HI> And that the Giant's Head which I cut off was the Whore your Mother's? What a lying Ragamuffin wer't thou to tell the&s;e Stories? By the fair <HI>Dulcinea's</HI> Virginity, a little matter would make me wring off thy Capon's Neck, and make thee an Example to all Sons a' Whore lying Squires, that ever for the future &s;hould have the Ho|nour to follow the heels of a Knight-Errant. Abate your Pa&s;&s;ion, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> for tho I might be perhaps mi&s;taken in the change of Madam the Prince&s;s of <HI>Micomicona;</HI> yet, as to the Giant's Head, or rather the head of the murder'd <HI>Boracho's,</HI> and the Blood that was &s;hed, which was no other <GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="UOM" EXTENT="1 word"> Red Wine, by all the Seven Champions I aver it to be truth what I <GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="UOM" EXTENT="1 word"> and will ju&s;tify't to the Beards of all the <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> i' the world. <GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="UOM" EXTENT="2 letters">n't tell me, Sir! for there are the wounds and ga&s;hes i' the <HI>Boracho</HI>'s &s;till to be &s;een; and if y' have any No&s;e, you may go up and &s;mell what &s;ort of Liquor 'twas made that Lake i' the Room. For my part, I wi&s;h the Prince&s;s may not be chang'd for your &s;ake, for el&s;e I'm afraid you mu&s;t pawn even <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> him&s;elf for the Reck'ning. <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> gi' me leave to tell thee, th' art a Buffle-head, and a Dunder-head, and a Cuckow-brains; and &s;o I ha' done with thee for the pre&s;ent. 'Tis more then enough, Sir Knight, quo <HI>Don Ferdinand:</HI> And now, &s;ince the Prince&s;s is re&s;olv'd to &s;tay till to morrow Morning, let's re&s;olve to &s;pend the Night as merrily as we can. To morrow we'll all accompany the Renown'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> to the end we may be witne&s;&s;es of his Prowe&s;s, and tho&s;e Acts of wonder which we make no Que&s;tion but he will perform, in the accompli&s;hment of this Enterprize.</P>
<PB N="207" REF="116">
<P>No, Gentlemen, 'tis I that &s;hall have the honour of your Company, and who mu&s;t think my &s;elf for ever engag'd to ye, for your good Opinion of me, which I &s;hall endeavour to pre&s;erve with the lo&s;s of my Life, and more then that, had I more to lo&s;e, which God knows I ha' not, con&s;ider|ing the Mortgages upon my &s;mall E&s;tate. But, Sir, for Lives, had I as many as a Cat, they were all at the Prince&s;&s;es Service.</P>
<P>In this manner how far <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Don Ferdinand</HI> would ha' gal|lop'd on in lofty Complements, the Lord of <HI>Oxford</HI> knows, had they not been interrupted by the arrival of a Traveller that enter'd the <HI>Inn.</HI> By his Habit they took him for a Slave, that had made his e&s;cape from <HI>Argier:</HI> For he was clad like a Saylor, in a &s;hort loo&s;e Jerkin without a Collar, and Drawers of blew Linnen, &s;uch as you &s;hall &s;ee hang out at the Slop-&s;ellers Shops, and a Cap upon his head of the &s;ame; with a Scymitar that hung from a Swa&s;h that was girt about his wa&s;te. He was follow'd by a woman upon an A&s;s, in <HI>Moori&s;h</HI> Habit, having a Veil upon her head, that cover'd her Face, and under her Veil a little Bonnet of Ti&s;&s;ue upon the top of her Crown. The re&s;t of her Apparel that appear'd, was only a long Simarr, that reach'd down to her heels. The Slave was a Man about forty Years of Age, proper and well &s;hap'd; and by his Meen he appear'd to be a Per&s;on of &s;ome Quality. He ask'd for a Chamber as &s;oon as he came into the <HI>Inn,</HI> and &s;eem'd to be very much troubl'd, when they told him there was ne'r a one empty. However, he took down the <HI>Moori&s;h</HI> Lady in his Arms from her A&s;s. At what time <HI>Lucinda, Madam Doroty,</HI> and the women of the Inn, attracted by the Novelty of a Habit which they had never &s;een before, acco&s;ted the Female Stranger; and after they had &s;tar'd and gaz'd upon her, as long as Breeding and Good Manners would give 'em leave: <HI>Madam Doroty,</HI> who had ob&s;erv'd that the Slave was much di&s;contented for want of a Cham|ber, addre&s;&s;ing her &s;elf to the Stranger, Madam, &s;aid &s;he, never wonder to find &s;o little Breeding in a Carrier's Inn, where only a forc'd Putt con&s;trains any Per&s;ons of Condition to &s;top; and therefore &s;ince the Woman o' the Hou&s;e has &s;o little manners, as not to proffer a Stranger her own Cham|ber; if you plea&s;e to joyn Company with us, pointing at the &s;ame time to <HI>Lucinda,</HI> you will meet with tho&s;e that will be glad to &s;erve a Stranger in your Condition. For we are neither Sluts nor Pick-Pockets, but civil hone&s;t Gentlewomen as any in all this Country. But to all this, the veil'd Lady an&s;wer'd not a word; only &s;he ro&s;e from her Seat, and laying her Arms like a St. <HI>Andrew</HI>'s Cro&s;s upon her Brea&s;t, bow'd her Head, to &s;ignifie that &s;he was &s;en&s;ible of their Kindne&s;s, and return'd 'em Thanks. By which the witty <HI>Madam Doroty</HI> rightly gue&s;s'd, that tho &s;he might un|der&s;tand &s;omewhat, yet &s;he could &s;peak nothing of the Language. At length the <HI>Slave,</HI> who had been all this while providing for his A&s;s, return|ing from the Stable, and &s;eeing the Ladies &s;o bu&s;ie about the <HI>Moor,</HI> after he had made his Obey&s;ance to <HI>Madam Doroty</HI> and <HI>Lucinda;</HI> Ladies, &s;aid he, this young Dam&s;el &s;peaks no Language but her own, which is the rea&s;on &s;he cannot an&s;wer to your Que&s;tions: O' my word el&s;e you &s;hould not find her derogate from her Sex; for &s;he has Wit at Will, and Tongue at Com|mand. Sir, &s;aid <HI>Lucinda,</HI> we ask her no Que&s;tions, only we offer her our Company, and the be&s;t Accommodation we have. Ladies, reply'd the Slave, I return ye a thou&s;and Thanks, both for her and for my &s;elf; and I put the higher value upon your Civility, becau&s;e I find it to proceed from Per&s;ons of Worth and Merit. Pray, Sir, tell me one thing, I be&s;eech ye, cry'd <HI>Madam Doroty,</HI> is this Lady a <HI>Moor,</HI> or a <HI>Chri&s;tian?</HI> For by her Silence and her Habit &s;he does not &s;eem to be of our Religion. Madam, reply'd
<PB N="208" REF="117"> the Slave, &s;he is a <HI>Moor</HI> by Birth, but a Chri&s;tian in her Heart, and de&s;ires nothing more then really &s;o to be&mdash; How! cry'd <HI>Lucinda,</HI> interrupting him, was &s;he never Chri&s;ten'd then?&mdash; And then whi&s;pering Madam <HI>Dorothy</HI> i'the Ear; Is it &s;afe, quo &s;he, to conver&s;e with a Pagan? Which the Slave over-hear|ing, Madam, quo he, the rea&s;on why &s;he is not Chri&s;ten'd, is only becau&s;e we have not had an Opportunity &s;ince &s;he came from <HI>Argier,</HI> for that's the Place of her Nativity. Be&s;ides, 'tis fit that a per&s;on of her Years &s;hould under&s;tand her Catechi&s;m before &s;he be baptiz'd. Pray, Sir, quo Madam <HI>Dorothy,</HI> is &s;he mode&s;t and vertuous? For I'le a&s;&s;ure ye, I take her &s;o to be? Cha&s;t and Spotle&s;s as the Morning light, reply'd the Slave. Why then, quo Madam <HI>Dorothy,</HI> let's never trouble our &s;elves any farther; bap|tize her as &s;oon as ye can, and i' the mean time, give me a vertuous <HI>Moor</HI> before an impudent, la&s;civious Qui&s;trel of a Chri&s;tian. This &s;hort Di&s;cove|ry of the Slave &s;et all their Curio&s;ity agog to be diving a little farther; but they did not think it &s;ea&s;onable to ask any more Que&s;tions as yet, be|lieving that Time and Conver&s;ation would bring out the re&s;t. Madam <HI>Dorothy</HI> therefore, who, for ought I find by the Story, was the cunning'&s;t <HI>Gyp&s;ie</HI> i' the Pack, taking the Female Stranger by the Hand, and &s;eating her in a Chair clo&s;e by her &s;ide, de&s;ir'd her to lift up her Veil. Whereupon the <HI>Moor</HI> looking the Slave full i' the Face, and demanding, as it were, with her Eyes, what it was the Ladies de&s;ir'd, and what it became her to do; the Slave told her in <HI>Arabick,</HI> That the Ladies de&s;ir'd her to lift up her Veil, and withall allow'd his Con&s;ent. But then, what a Magazine of Beauty did &s;he &s;hew! Madam <HI>Dorothy</HI> thought her fairer then Madam <HI>Dorothy,</HI> and <HI>Lucinda</HI> thought her fairer then <HI>Lucinda:</HI> Nay, all the Standers by con|fe&s;s'd, that if there were any difference, the <HI>Moore&s;s</HI> had the Advantage. And as it is the Prerogative of Beauty to command the Hearts and Affecti|ons of all the World, or like a <HI>Grocer</HI>'s empty Sugar-Che&s;t to draw to it all the Flies i' the Pari&s;h, the <HI>Moore&s;s</HI> had now got a new Crowd of Liquo|ri&s;h Servants, all &s;triving who &s;hould be mo&s;t ob&s;equious, mo&s;t officious, and double diligent to &s;erve her. <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI> de&s;ir'd the <HI>Moor</HI> to tell him her Name; who an&s;wer'd, that her Name was <HI>Lela Zoraida.</HI> But the <HI>Moore&s;s</HI> under&s;tanding by the An&s;wer what the Que&s;tion was, with an extraordinary Vehemency (tho &s;uch as extremely became her, becau&s;e pretty and hand&s;om) cry'd out, <HI>No&mdash;no Zoraida&mdash; Maria&mdash; Maria</HI>&mdash; as much as to &s;ay in plain <HI>Engli&s;h,</HI> her Name was <HI>Mary,</HI> and not <HI>Zoraida.</HI> For the <HI>Moore&s;s</HI> not under&s;tanding the way of Godfathers and Godmothers, had made choice her &s;elf of a Chri&s;t'n Name; or whether it were that the <HI>Slave</HI> did not think it worth while to trouble either Godfathers or God|mothers, &s;ince there were neither Midwives nor Nur&s;es to gratifie. How|ever it were, Madam <HI>Dorothy</HI> and <HI>Lucinda,</HI> who intended to have invited them&s;elves to the Chri&s;t'ning, perceiving them&s;elves di&s;appointed, fell a crying for madne&s;s. And yet who knows, but that Fortune had contriv'd it for the be&s;t, to prevent a torn Whisk, or a &s;cratch'd Face about <HI>Who &s;hould name the Child.</HI> Nor could Madam <HI>Dorothy</HI> be got out of her Pouts, nor hardly be brought to own the Name; but <HI>Lucinda,</HI> the better natur'd of the two, embracing the <HI>Moore&s;s, Ay, ay, Mary, Mary</HI>'s the word, quo &s;he, and therefore dear Madam <HI>Cake-bread</HI> &s;et your Heart at re&s;t. To which the <HI>Moore&s;s</HI> an&s;wer'd not a tittle; for indeed it had been &s;omewhat preter|natural for the Child to have &s;poke before it was Chri&s;ten'd.</P>
<P>But now 'twas Supper-time, and the be&s;t Entertainment that had been &s;een i'that Inn for many Years; <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI> having &s;ent about for all the Ra|rities to be had i' the Country. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was forc'd to take the up|per
<PB N="209" REF="117"> end of the Table, who &s;eeing he could not avoid it, would needs have the Prince&s;s of <HI>Micomicon</HI> &s;it by him, as being under his Protection. <HI>Lucinda</HI> and <HI>Zoraida</HI> &s;ate next to Madam <HI>Dorothy; Lucinda</HI> the uppermo&s;t of the two, as being the better Chri&s;tian, and <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI> and <HI>Cardenio</HI> oppo&s;ite to them. The <HI>Curate</HI> and the <HI>Barber</HI> &s;ate below the Ladies, and over-again&s;t them the Slave and <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI>'s Friends.</P>
<P>At Supper they were as merry as Mice in a Chaff heap, for they were all good Company, and every one with a full Di&s;charge i' their Minds from all Di&s;quiets and Di&s;turbances whatever, from the Beginning o' the World to the Date of the Relea&s;e. But that which augmented their Di|verti&s;ement, was the plea&s;ant Di&s;cour&s;e of <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who in&s;pir'd with the &s;ame Raptures, as when he preach'd after Supper to the Goat|herds, in a kind of <HI>Bachanalian Fury,</HI> thus began:</P>
<P><Q>Ladies and Gentlemen, they who make Profe&s;&s;ion of <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> have one great Advantage, that they are every Day accu&s;tom'd to the &s;ight of Accidents altogether wonderful&mdash; I would fain know, whether the be&s;t A&s;trologer or Figure-ca&s;ter of 'em all, that &s;hould come this very Minute into this Ca&s;tle, and &s;ee us &s;itting together, as we do, could find out with all their <HI>Scheams,</HI> and their <HI>Hou&s;es,</HI> and their <HI>Scrawls</HI> upon Pa|per, who we are. Who would imagine this Lady that &s;its here by me, to be &s;o great a Prince&s;s as we know her to be? Or, that I were the fa|mous <HI>Don Quixote, Knight of the Ill favour'd Countenance,</HI> and her Pro|tector? And now dares any Man deny, but that this Profe&s;&s;ion &s;urmounts all other the Inventions of Men? Or that it is not &s;o much the more to be e&s;teem'd, as being more expos'd to Hazards and Dangers then any Pro|fe&s;&s;ion i' the World. And therefore if any one &s;hould pre&s;ume to tell me, that Learning is to be preferr'd before Arms, I'd tell him, he was the Son of a Whore, and, a'ly'd. 'Tis true, I know, tho&s;e Champions of Learn|ing will tell ye, that the Labours of the Mind are much greater then tho&s;e of the Body; whereas there is nothing but Vigor and Strength requir'd for the Exerci&s;e of Arms: as if there were no difference between a Soul|dier and a Porter, and that there were not a great deal of Judgment and Conduct to be us'd in Fighting, as well as Strength and Vigor. For Ex|ample, as if the General of an Army, Governour of a great and con&s;ider|able Garri&s;on, had not as much heed of a cunning, contriving, plodding Head-piece and Vigour of Mind, as force of Limbs. Is it by the Strength of his Body that he finds out the De&s;igns of the Enemy, or that furni&s;hes him with &s;ubtile Artifices to oppo&s;e the Stratagems of a politick and ex|perienc'd Adver&s;ary? Can any Man deny, but that it is his Wit, his Judg|ment, his Ingenuity, and acquir'd Skill, that teaches him the over reaching Part of War? Therefore &s;aies the Proverb, <HI>Policy goes beyond Strength.</HI> Since then it is an undeniable Truth, that Wit is as requi&s;ite in a Souldier as in a Scholar, let us con&s;ider the End of both. I ha' nothing to &s;ay to tho&s;e that &s;tudy really and &s;incerely for our Salvation; I mean tho&s;e that trouble their Brains to reck'n by the <HI>Rule o' Three,</HI> how many Mites there are in the Liver of a Cod-fi&s;h, or about fixing Wings to mens Shoulders; your A&s;tro|logers and A&s;tronomers, and tho&s;e &s;ooty Refiners of Nature, call'd <HI>Chy|mi&s;ts,</HI> that lie toyling, and moyling, and watching <HI>Moors Heads</HI> and <HI>Cru|cibles,</HI> for the <HI>Philo&s;opher's Stone,</HI> till all their Gold and Silver be evapora|ted out o' their Pockets; your <HI>Fri&s;e&s;omorum</HI> and <HI>Barocho Men,</HI> your <HI>Scoti&s;ts</HI> and <HI>Aquinati&s;ts</HI> that torment their <HI>Pia Maters</HI> about how many Angels will &s;tand upon the Point of a Needle; your Men of Politicks, and E|recters of Common wealths and <HI>&V;topia</HI>'s; what do all their Studies, their
<PB N="210" REF="118"> Labours and Inventions &s;ignifie? They are only Mi&s;pendings of that lei|&s;ure and quiet which they enjoy by the Souldiers maintaining Peace, both at home and abroad. For Peace is a Ble&s;&s;ing that only God and the Soul|dier be&s;tows upon Kingdoms and Nations, &s;upported by his Valour and In|du&s;try. The <HI>Lacedemonians</HI> and the <HI>Romans</HI> were then mo&s;t victorious and fortunate, when Learning lea&s;t flouri&s;h'd among 'em. Oh! but you'l &s;ay, Learning teaches us Civility. Civility! with a Pox&mdash;as if there were more civil Men, or greater Courtiers i' the World, then your <HI>Knight-Er|rants.</HI> Whereas on the other &s;ide, there are not a more contentious, in|veterate, malicious, foul-mouth'd &s;ort of People i' the World, then your learned Men; always quarrelling and &s;cribling one again&s;t the other, re|proaching, back-biting, nick-naming, and &s;pitting their Venom one at another, like &s;o many Cats in a Moon&s;hiny-Night. Nay, you &s;hall have too Criticks ready to &s;tab one another with a <HI>Mahometan</HI> Fury, and &s;colding at each other like two Rag-women, about the mi&s;placing of a <HI>G,</HI> or an <HI>L.</HI> Whereas the Souldier before he goes to't, embraces his Enemy; and when they have pu&s;h'd and hack'd one another as long as they can, if neither fall, they embrace again like Twins out o' the &s;ame Womb.</Q></P>
<P>While <HI>Don Quixote</HI> thus di&s;cours'd, there was not any one i' the Room that took him for a Fool. For becau&s;e the greate&s;t part of 'em were Gen|tlemen of Fortune that profe&s;s'd a Military Life, and the Ladies, as gene|rally they are, being great Admirers of Souldiers, they li&s;ten'd to him, as one that was haranguing i' their own Prai&s;e.</P>
<P>Then <HI>Don Quixote</HI> proceeding; 'All the Hard&s;hips, quo he, that a Student endures, is only Poverty: Not that all Scholars are poor neither, but I lay it thus to drive the Argument as far as it will go. For he that is poor, is mi&s;erable. And Poverty may be divided into three Parts, Hun|ger, Cold, and Nakedne&s;s, and &s;ometimes all three together. Yet is this Hunger never &s;o continual, but that the Scholar &s;ometimes does eat; &s;ome|times he gets to be a Tutor, and then he eats at the Stewards Table; &s;ome|times he gets Six-pence or Twelve-pence for enditing a Love-Letter, and then he goes and &s;olaces him&s;elf at <HI>Fetter-lane</HI> end. If he be a cold, for four Farthings he may &s;mell to a Fire at the next Ale-hou&s;e; which, tho it may not roa&s;t him, will abate the Rigour of his Sufferings; and then, tho at Night he &s;leeps in a Garret, yet is he &s;afe from the Weather, not to mention tho&s;e other Trifles of Shoes out at Toes, and Stockins out at Heels, want o' Shirts, and a flapping grea&s;ie-brimm'd Felt, with a thread-bear, thin, tran&s;parent, what &s;hall I call't&mdash; for 'twill not bear the Name of Gar|ment, which, I confe&s;s, are very great Hard&s;hips; yet &s;ometimes by their creeping and cringing, their flattering and colloguing, they creep into the Affection of &s;ome Per&s;on or other, that gives 'em a gentle Lift at fir&s;t, and then helps 'em up by degrees, till at length, by a &s;trange Indulgence of For|tune, they arrive at the Haven of their Wi&s;hes, and from contemptible Poverty, and pinching Mi&s;ery, come to wallow in Plenty, and frisk it in the voluptuous Pa&s;tures of Honour and Preferment. But then, they prove the mo&s;t ingrateful, proud, imperious, un&s;ufferable Bubbles of Vain-glory i' the World; &s;o that many times, and mo&s;t frequently they forget their own Benefactors, and are not a&s;ham'd, if they want but a Stick to light their Oven, to burn the Ladder by which they fir&s;t a&s;cended to their Advance|ment.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="11" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="211" REF="118">
<HEAD>CHAP. XI.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing the farther curious Di&s;cour&s;e of <HI>Don Quixote</HI> upon Arms and Arts.</HEAD>
<P>WE have hitherto di&s;cover'd the Poverty of the Scholar, let us now examine whether the Souldier be any richer then he. How, the Souldier rich! yes, as a new-&s;hor'n Sheep&mdash; Certainly there is not a more honourable &s;ort of Mi&s;ery i' the World, then his. Gentlemen Souldiers! Gentlemen Beggers. 'Tis true, he looks a little uppi&s;h at fir&s;t, with a Months Pay before-hand, but when he has been a Month upon Service, out at Heels, out at Elbows, ragged as a Fore&s;t-Colt, Shirtle&s;s, and Pennyle&s;s, chewing over in thought the la&s;t good Meal which he eat three days ago, till he meet with another Pig, or a Flitch o' Bacon, for which he ventures his Con&s;cience, and the Cur&s;es of the poor People from whom he robs it. By this time he begins to admire, whether there be any &s;uch thing as Money in Na|ture, or no, for his Pay comes very &s;low, or never. Were he one of the Grandees of the World, he would give an Earldom or a Dukedom for a Bag-pudding, and looks upon <HI>E&s;au</HI> as the only man that ever knew how to value Victuals, when he &s;old his Birthright for a Me&s;s a' Porridge. He is bound to endure all Weather; &s;ometimes marching all the day long with his Gun fretting the Skin from his Shoulders in a &s;ultry Sea&s;on that would bathe him in Sweat, had he any Moi&s;ture to exhale from his Body, which his Stomach has &s;uck'd before from all parts to &s;u&s;tain Nature. Sometimes poaching through thick and thin up to the middle Leg, and all the while the Rain pours down upon his Thread-bare Tatters: not his alone, but the Condition of the whole Army, looking like the Picture of <HI>Pharaoh</HI>'s Ho&s;t half drown'd in pur&s;uit of the <HI>I&s;raelites;</HI> and all the day long the dry Cru&s;t new &s;oak'd with <HI>Aqua coele&s;tis</HI> in his Snap&s;ack, &s;erves him both for Meat and Drink. Yet after all this tire&s;ome March, had he but the Comfort at Night of an Inn, and a warm Chimney-corner, 'twou'd be &s;omething tolerable, nay, he might think him&s;elf happy to lie with the Hor&s;es i' the Stable; but to be chamber'd in the open Field, where tho he has the Liberty to make his Bed as wide as he plea&s;es, and to tumble from one &s;ide to t'other, without rum|pling his Sheets, yet to be plagu'd with two &s;uch Bed-fellows as <HI>Dung-wet</HI> and <HI>Hunger,</HI> and to be &s;o wretched as to be for&s;ak'n of his own Vermin, without any other Con&s;olation then certain Whiffs of <HI>Mundungus</HI> from a Pipe as black as a Brewer's Chimney; What can be more mi&s;erable then this? And yet the&s;e are the Hard&s;hips which a Souldier endures, and to which he is &s;ubject every day, as being Nece&s;&s;ities which are not to be avoided. But &s;uppo&s;e he do light by the way into a poor Man's Cottage, where he pra|cti&s;es his Courage and his Valour upon the &s;ingle Cock and Hen, the wretched Labourer has, or the only Loaf of Bread and piece of Bacon, for which three or four Children will cry when he is gone; yet that Exigency which con&s;trains him to commit &s;uch an Act of Barbari&s;m, as to tear the Bread out of the Mouths of tho&s;e that are as mi&s;erable as him&s;elf, does but li&s;t him a|mong the wor&s;t of Robbers, and entitle him to the lowe&s;t degree of &s;hark|ing Beggery. Bring him into a warm Garri&s;on, there's nothing for him but cold Comfort &s;till. If he chance to out run the Con&s;table in a Groat-Or|dinary for Dinner, he mu&s;t go &s;upperle&s;s to Bed. His Landlord &s;nips away half his Su&s;tenance in Gains. For the Chee&s;e, the hard, dry, cour&s;e Chee&s;e
<PB N="212" REF="119"> is valu'd according to Arithmetical, marked out according to Geometrical Proportion, which mea&s;ures out but a &s;hort Allowance to the poor Soul|dier's hungry Belly. All the Food he eats is &s;o cour&s;e and dry, that it turns to Excrement, while the Ferment of the Stomach can hardly extract a <HI>Chylus</HI> &s;ufficient to &s;upply the craving Functions of the Entrails. Yet all this while the poor half-&s;tarv'd Souldier mu&s;t help to repair Breaches, mu&s;t watch, mu&s;t fight, mu&s;t &s;tand Sentinel; &s;tand, do I &s;ay! yes, a' mu&s;t &s;tand, becau&s;e &s;ometimes his Feet are half frozen to the Ground; a' mu&s;t &s;tand, becau&s;e a' &s;hall be hang'd if a' &s;tirs; let him &s;tir if he dare, tho he hear the Enemy mining under his very Heels; and tho he be &s;ure at the &s;ame in&s;tant to be &s;ent of a dead man's Errant to the Stars, and never to drop down again but in a Shower of &s;hatter'd Limbs. And now would I fain help him again, if I could, with a Day of Battel, the Souldier's Harve&s;t, the ble&s;&s;ed time that he &s;hall receive the Reward of all his Labours; but in&s;tead of the Spoil and the Plunder, with which he thinks to enrich him&s;elf, comes a Bullet that makes a hole through both his Cheeks, and carrys away his Tongue along with it, or el&s;e at one Blow draws all his Teeth; a Kindne&s;s in &s;ome mea&s;ure, con&s;idering what u&s;ele&s;s things they are to him. Or, if one Bullet &s;pares his Cheeks, or his Tongue, or his Teeth, another breaks a Leg, or an Arm. Or, if he does e&s;cape &s;afe and &s;ound, what is he the richer? For he mu&s;t have &s;o many Witne&s;&s;es of his Valour, &s;o many Te&s;timonials of his Courage, that he mu&s;t be in more Battels then ever <HI>Cae&s;ar</HI> fought, be|fore he &s;hall be advanc'd to the Degree of a Serjeant. Then again, Gentle|men, I pray ye now con&s;ider how few there are that have gain'd by the Wars, how many have peri&s;h'd in Battel, and lo&s;t both their Hopes, and their Fortunes at the &s;ame time. The number of the &s;lain is innumerable, but for tho&s;e that have enrich'd them&s;elves by going a <HI>Solgeering,</HI> as they call it, not enow to fight a pitch'd-Battel at Draughts upon the back &s;ide o' the Tables. But it is not &s;o with your Men of Learning, they are never reduc'd to &s;o much Want, nor expos'd to &s;o much Hazard and Danger of their Lives. I ha' known a Man o' Letters that has been a Pri&s;oner for Debt, and wanted Bread, yet by the Favour of his Keeper, having been let out of a Sunday, has got his Noble or ten Shillings, and a good Dinner be&s;ides, for talking an Hour to the People. Be&s;ides, it is much more ea&s;ie to reward two or three thou&s;and Men of Learning, then thirty or forty thou&s;and Soul|diers. For there be tho&s;e Dignities and Places to be be&s;tow'd upon the one, of which the other are not capable; whereas the latter mu&s;t be rewarded by the Wealth and Sub&s;tance only of the Prince or Potentate, whom they &s;erve. But this does no way demoli&s;h my A&s;&s;ertion.</P>
<P>And therefore I return to my fir&s;t Undertaking, which was to prove the Preeminence of the Souldier before the Man of Learning; and this I &s;hall do by Rea&s;ons which I &s;hall produce in favour of both. Fir&s;t, the Men of Learning &s;ay, That the Men of Arms cannot &s;ub&s;i&s;t without 'em; for tho the Souldiers have their Laws among them&s;elves, to which they are &s;ub|ject, yet tho&s;e Laws were made by Men of Learning; and that they are as well the Interpreters, as the Di&s;pen&s;ers of tho&s;e Laws. But by their Par|dons, and with their good Leaves, let 'em not be &s;o nimble-chapp'd; for I &s;ay that Arms are the Support of the Laws: They defend Common-wealths and Kingdoms, &s;ecure the High-ways, pre&s;erve the Frontier-Garri&s;ons, &s;coure the Seas of Pirates and Rovers, and, in a word, are the Security of the publick Safety. Be&s;ides, is it not a general Maxim, that we e&s;teem that mo&s;t, which co&s;ts us deare&s;t? Oh, is it &s;o! pray gi' me leave then&mdash; I would fain know what it co&s;ts a Man of Letters to become learned? You'l
<PB N="213" REF="119"> &s;ay, Time, Patience, Watching, drudging at his Book, &s;pare Diet, poor Habit, and the Want and Privation of a thou&s;and Plea&s;ures and Delights of this World. Well&mdash; and what's all this to the purpo&s;e? As if a Soul|dier were not put to the&s;e, and other Hard&s;hips and Inconveniencies ten thou&s;and times more di&s;mal and di&s;a&s;trous. For what Hard&s;hip is it for a Scholar to encounter a whole Army of <HI>Celarent's</HI> and <HI>Barbara's, Came&s;tres's</HI> and <HI>Fe&s;tino's,</HI> or to be <HI>Sorbonicoficabilitudini&s;tally</HI> confounded with a Legion of <HI>Quinta E&s;&s;entia's, Genera Generali&s;&s;ima's,</HI> or an Ho&s;t of <HI>Praedicaments,</HI> that will never break his Bones, nor his Brains neither, unle&s;s the Cur&s;e of run|ning mad were entail'd upon him from his Mother's Womb, and for three Generations before? On the other &s;ide, look but through a ten foot Pro&s;pe|ctive Gla&s;s (for I'd ha' ye be &s;ure you be out of reach, for fear of <HI>Harm watch, harm catch:</HI>) I &s;ay therefore, look through a long Gla&s;s, and &s;ee a Company of Souldiers &s;torming a &s;trong Bulwark re&s;olutely defended, and &s;ee how boldly they venture up the Scaling-ladders, tho they are &s;ure to be roa&s;ted with Bombs and Fire-balls, and then ba&s;ted with whole Pail-fulls of boiling Lead, or &s;calding Oil, which, if it do chance to wa&s;h his thin Jacket, all the Honour he has, is to tumble to the Ground, and die roaring like <HI>Hercules</HI> in <HI>Deianira</HI>'s Shirt. Could ye, like <HI>Aeneas</HI> in <HI>Venus</HI>'s Cloud, &s;o &s;tand with Safety and Conveniency, as to ob&s;erve two Men of War, within a Ship's length one a' t'other, vomiting <HI>twenty Pounders</HI> one at another, till the Decks and Gun-rooms &s;wim with Blood, &s;trew'd over with whole Joynts, Heads, Arms, and Shoulders, Legs, Thighs, and Bodies equally divided i' the Wa&s;te with Chain-&s;hot, in&s;tead of <HI>Per&s;ian</HI> Carpets and &s;weet Herbs. By and by the two Spit-fires lay their Iron Claws one up|on another, and lie grappl'd Yards-Arm and Yards-Arm together: In this Condition what has the poor Souldier to do? Stand he mu&s;t, or leap into the Sea, which is no le&s;s ready to &s;wallow him, and as hungry after his Per|dition, as Death it &s;elf; and all the while upon that little piece of Timber that pre&s;erves him from one &s;urrounding Danger, he &s;ees a thou&s;and more menacing his De&s;truction; Mu&s;quets, Cutlaces, Half-pikes, Hand-Gra|nado's, and the Devil and all. All his Hopes are in the Strength of his Arm, and his Re&s;olution: He mu&s;t either make his way by main force, or die; he mu&s;t bear down all before him, or peri&s;h. However, here a man has &s;ome Sport for his Money; here is doing for receiving Mi&s;chief. But to ha' &s;een <HI>Opdam</HI> in his Chair lo&s;ing his Draught, when the Silver Tankard of <HI>Lemonade</HI> was ju&s;t at his No&s;e, and &s;ent of a &s;udden to the <HI>Coelum Empyraeum,</HI> and never know who hurt him, there's the Plague on't: That's the thing that &s;poils the Honour of <HI>Knight-Errantry;</HI> for a Per&s;on of Quality, a Man of Courage and Gallantry, that had a fair Play, would drive a Regiment before him; but to be kill'd at a di&s;tance, is that wou'd vex a Saint. Now tell me, whether the Hard&s;hips which your Men of Letters undergo, are like to the&s;e? Tell me, whether the fierce Di&s;putes between the <HI>Sorboni&s;ts</HI> and <HI>Jan&s;eni&s;ts</HI> will hold Compari&s;on with the&s;e bloody, fright|ful Encounters? O happy Age, that never knew tho&s;e dreadful Engines of Death! and a thou&s;and times more happy Ignorance, that never found out that Infernal Mixture of <HI>Sulphur</HI> and <HI>Salt-peter;</HI> and may he be well re|warded in Hell, that fir&s;t di&s;cover'd that damnable Invention that gave the ba&s;e&s;t, vile&s;t, Coward, to him that perhaps wink'd when he &s;hot, the means to bereave at a di&s;tance, the brave&s;t, the mo&s;t valiant, the &s;toute&s;t Knight that ever brandi&s;h'd Weapon, of his Life, in the full Career of his Renown; while a pocky, confounded little Gobbet of the ba&s;e&s;t Mettle i' the World, di&s;charg'd from the ru&s;ty Piece of the ba&s;e&s;t Scoundrel, Rake-&s;hame,
<PB N="214" REF="120"> Hen-roo&s;t-Robber upon the Earth &s;hall of a &s;udden, unexpected, unthought of, &s;pat out the Brains of a Per&s;on that de&s;erv'd to ha' liv'd many Centu|ries of Ages: So that when I con&s;ider the&s;e things, I begin to repent that ever I embrac'd the Profe&s;&s;ion of Knight-Errantry in &s;uch a dete&s;table and unworthy Age. For tho there is no danger, how terrible &s;oever, that can terrifie me, yet it troubles me to think that I &s;hould be &s;ubject to &s;uch an idle Hazard, lea&s;t a Thimble full of Powder, and a little lump of Lead no bigger then a Nutmeg, &s;hould put a &s;top to my Courage, and prevent me from making known to the utmo&s;t ends of the World the &s;trength of my Arm, and the keen edge of my Sword. But let Fortune di&s;po&s;e of me as &s;he plea&s;es, my Fame and Reputation mu&s;t be &s;o much the greater, &s;ince I expo&s;e my &s;elf to greater Dangers then all the Knight Errants of former Ages.</P>
<P>Thus did the Hero's Tongue run on with a <HI>Continuando,</HI> but his Teeth were idle all the while; for he was a Man that never minded his Victuals, when he was in a Di&s;cour&s;e of Knight-Errantry: Tho <HI>Sancho</HI> were &s;o kind as frequently to put him in mind of the Meat that was before him, and to follow the good Example of tho&s;e that he &s;aw &s;o &s;martly laying about 'em for their Lives; and telling him withal, that it would be time enough to talk out his Talk when his Belly was full. On the other &s;ide, they that heard him, and had given as much Attention to his Harangue, as the &s;ea&s;on would permit, could not chu&s;e but look one upon another with Admira|tion; that a Per&s;on who di&s;cours'd with &s;o much Wit and Judgment upon other Subjects, &s;hou'd lo&s;e him&s;elf &s;o ridiculou&s;ly at la&s;t, in his freaki&s;h and dete&s;table humour of Knight-Errantry. However, the Curate applauded him, and told him, that he had &s;pok'n a great deal of &s;en&s;e, in preferring the Sword before the Gown; and that for his part, tho it were again&s;t his Intere&s;t to &s;ay &s;o, as being a man of Letters, and one that had taken his Degrees; yet he could not chu&s;e but be of his Opinion.</P>
<P>At length, Supper being ended, and the Cloth tak'n away, while the Ho&s;te&s;s, her Daughter, and <HI>Maritornes</HI> were getting <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Cham|ber ready for the Ladies, <HI>Don Ferdinand</HI> de&s;ir'd the Captive to relate the &s;tory of his Life; for that in all likelihood by his coming in Company with the fair <HI>Zoraida,</HI> there mu&s;t be &s;omething in it more then ordinary. Which Reque&s;t being &s;econded by the Curate and all the re&s;t that were i' the Room, the Captive reply'd, that he could not deny to &s;atisfie their de&s;ires, only he was afraid le&s;t he &s;hould &s;poil a good &s;tory in the telling: For, &s;aid he, the Story is a good one, I mu&s;t confe&s;s, and contains &s;uch unlikely Truths, that will &s;eem to &s;urpa&s;s all the Fables that ever yet the Invention and Indu&s;try of Man contriv'd. Which words made 'em all pre&s;ently prick up their Ears, and put them&s;elves into a li&s;t'ning Po&s;ture, as if they had been to hear the La&s;t Speech and Confe&s;&s;ion of &s;ome Eminent Offender upon the Scaffold. At what time, the Captive perceiving their Attention &s;o well prepar'd, thus began.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="12" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="215" REF="120">
<HEAD>CHAP. XII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">The Hi&s;tory of the Slave.</HEAD>
<P>I Was Born in a Village &s;eated among the Mountains of <HI>Leon,</HI> of Parents that had more Wit then Money; or rather that were more beholding to Nature for Parts and Endowments, then to Fortune for Lands and Te|nements. Yet in a place where Poverty it &s;elf &s;eems to raign, my Father might have had the Reputation of being a Rich man, had he tak'n the &s;ame care to pre&s;erve, as he did to &s;pend what he had. VVhich expen&s;ive and lavi&s;h humour he learnt by being a Souldier, having &s;pent his Youth in that Pious School of VVar, which makes a Mi&s;er liberal, and a Liberal Man a Prodigal; and where one that pretends to Thrift, is lookt upon as a Mon|&s;ter, and unworthy the Profe&s;&s;ion of Arms. But at length, my Father find|ing the bad Effects of his Profu&s;ene&s;s, and how de&s;tructive it was to that Provi&s;ion which he was to make for his Children, who were all now at Age, he re&s;olv'd to rid him&s;elf of that &s;ame dirty Arable and Pa&s;ture that fed his Prodigality, and to quit that trouble&s;ome Title of Landlord, before the Taverns got all. To which purpo&s;e, calling my two Brothers and my &s;elf into his Clo&s;et, Children, &s;aid he, I know my own Infirmity, that when I am fix'd at the Tavern, with my Cronies about me, I never think of my Boys at home; I would be loath that all, or any of ye, &s;hould come to the Gallows, becau&s;e I never heard that any of your Ance&s;tors were hang'd before ye. Neither do I like the cur&s;ed Trades of Bully-rocking, or Gaming, which are both pernicious, and will bring ye to dye in a Brandy|&s;hop. But this I know, that &s;ince ye are begot, ye mu&s;t live; and ye are now all of ye of Age to &s;hift for your &s;elves; and to betake your &s;elves to &s;ome laudable Profe&s;&s;ion, that may one day advance ye both to Honour and E&s;tates. To which purpo&s;e, that I may contribute as far as my late Repen|tance will give me leave, I have re&s;olv'd to divide all that I ha' left into four equal parts; of which I intend three Divi&s;ions for you, and the fourth for my &s;elf. We have a Proverb, which in my Opinion contains a world of Truth, as all Proverbs are grounded upon long and &s;age Experience. <HI>The Church, or the Sea, or the Court.</HI> To teach us, that they who have a de&s;ign to rai&s;e their Fortunes in the World, mu&s;t apply them&s;elves either to Learn|ing, or Trade, or to the Service of his Prince. And thus I would have one of ye to follow his Studies, the t'other to turn Merchant, and the third to be a Souldier. But herein you mu&s;t advi&s;e with your own Genius's; for tho a Dunce may attain to good Preferment, yet he mu&s;t be &s;ure of Courage and Re&s;olution, that advances him&s;elf by the Sword. In eight days I will be ready with your Proportions, and give 'em ye in ready Money, which will be the lea&s;t trouble. Now, tell me what ye think of my Propo&s;als; or whether you believe my Coun&s;el worth following.</P>
<P>When my Father had done &s;peaking, I earne&s;tly de&s;ir'd him not to &s;ell his Land, of which he might di&s;po&s;e without asking us leave, and told him that we were young enough, and had the World before us; and at la&s;t, I made my choice to be a Souldier. My &s;econd Brother, filially obedient, had the &s;ame &s;entiments that I had, and cho&s;e to be a Merchant, and &s;o took his Fortunes in the <HI>Indies.</HI> The younge&s;t, and the wi&s;e&s;t of us all, made choice of the Church, a Harbour where a man of Complai&s;ance may
<PB N="216" REF="121"> be always certain to ride &s;ecure. And thus having concluded among our &s;elves, and made our Election to my Father's content, he embrac'd us all three, and at his time prefix'd he gave us our Dividends in ready Ca&s;h, which amounted to a thou&s;and pounds a piece; one of my Uncles having pur|cha&s;ed the Land, becau&s;e it &s;hould not go out of the Name. All things were now ready for our departure, and we all agreed to take our &s;everal Roads the &s;ame day; but a certain &s;cruple griping my Con&s;cience, that my Father &s;hould be left with &s;o &s;mall a pittance to &s;upport his Old Age, I return'd him &s;ix hundred thirty odd pounds of my &s;hare, a&s;&s;uring him that what remain'd, would be enough to buy me an En&s;ign's Place, and to &s;pare for bodily Furniture. My Brothers, following my Example, did the like; &s;o that we re&s;tor'd him back eighteen hundred ninety nine pounds of his Money again, like Sons full of Affection and Duty as we were, and to our Credit be it &s;pok'n. And then it was that we took our leaves of our Father and Uncle with clear Con&s;ciences and lighter Pockets then we needed, after they had laid a &s;trict Injunction upon us to &s;end 'em weekly Tydings how we throve in the World. And now, behold the three Bro|thers parted, as if one &s;hould take the Road for <HI>Oxford,</HI> the other for <HI>Ply|mouth,</HI> and I for <HI>Flanders;</HI> whither indeed I went, and there purcha&s;ed a Colours under Duke <HI>D' Alva,</HI> where, how I behav'd my &s;elf, I &s;hall not trouble this Company to relate. But hearing that <HI>Don John</HI> of <HI>Au&s;tria</HI> was made General of the Chri&s;tians again&s;t the <HI>Turks,</HI> away I po&s;ted with Let|ters of Recommendation to <HI>Genoa,</HI> and there arriv'd the &s;ame day that <HI>Don John</HI> enter'd the City; where I had pre&s;ently a Company conferr'd upon me, and was Shipp'd in a Man of War, that with &s;everal others was bound to joyn the <HI>Venetian</HI> Fleet: By which means it came to pa&s;s, that I was pre&s;ent at the Battel of <HI>Lepanto,</HI> &s;o advantageous to all Chri&s;tendom; where among &s;ome that were &s;lain, and others that enjoy'd the Honour of the Victory, I had the misfortune to be taken Pri&s;oner. For <HI>&V;chali,</HI> King of <HI>Argier,</HI> a famous and de&s;perate Pirate, being grappl'd with a <HI>Malte&s;e,</HI> wherein there were but three Knights left alive, and tho&s;e every one &s;ore wounded, our Ship bore up to their Relief; at what time, I for&s;ooth, to &s;hew my &s;elf worthy of my new Preferment, mu&s;t needs be jumping into the Enemies Ve&s;&s;el: And this happen'd ju&s;t i' the nick, when <HI>&V;chali,</HI> a cunning Game|&s;ter, having got clear of the <HI>Malte&s;e,</HI> &s;heer'd away from our Ve&s;&s;el: So that none of my Souldiers being able to follow me, <HI>Peel-Garlick</HI> was left all alone i' the power of the <HI>Turks:</HI> Who, after they had wounded me in &s;e|veral places, for I re&s;olv'd they &s;hould pay dear for their Bargain, made me a Slave; and I was carry'd to <HI>Con&s;tantinople,</HI> where <HI>Selim</HI> made my Ma&s;ter <HI>&V;chali</HI> his Admiral at Sea, for having &s;o valiantly behav'd him&s;elf in the Engagement, and brought away the Flag of the Order of <HI>Malta:</HI> For as for his running away at length, it was not imputed to him for a Crime, becau&s;e he &s;aw the Battel was lo&s;t. After <HI>&V;chali</HI>'s Death, I fell by Lot to the &s;hare of a <HI>Venetian Renegado,</HI> who&s;e Name was <HI>Aranaga;</HI> formerly one of <HI>&V;chali</HI>'s Slaves him&s;elf, but one that knew &s;o well how to plea&s;e his Ma&s;ter, that he won his very Heart, and became very Rich; but was cer|tainly one of the cruelle&s;t Rogues that ever defy'd Humanity; afterwards al&s;o advanc'd to be King of <HI>Argier,</HI> whither for that rea&s;on I was carry'd: And truly I was glad I was got &s;o near within the &s;mell of my Native Coun|try, fully per&s;waded that I &s;hould find &s;ome way or other to make my E&s;cape; for I could not find in my heart to de&s;pair. And therefore when one Project fail'd, I pre&s;ently &s;et my Brains at work for another. And thus I &s;pent my time, brewing every day new De&s;igns, being &s;hut up in one of
<PB N="217" REF="121"> tho&s;e Pri&s;ons which the <HI>Turks</HI> call <HI>Stoves,</HI> where they put their Chri&s;tian Slaves, as well tho&s;e that belong to the King, as to particular Per&s;ons. Now the King's Slaves are never put to work, no more then are they that have once treated concerning their Ran&s;om; however, they are kept clo&s;e i' their <HI>Stoves,</HI> for fear they &s;hould run away like &s;lippery Tenants, and never pay&punc; for their Hou&s;e-rent. For my own part, as &s;oon as they knew me to be an Officer, it was in vain for me to plead Poverty; I was look'd upon as a Per&s;on of Quality, and put among the Slaves for whom Ran&s;om was expected, with a Chain &s;o light, that it only &s;hew'd me to be upon Terms for my Liberty, and that I was not one who was long to wear it. Yet can I not &s;ay, that I was free from Hunger, and many other Mi&s;eries, be&s;ides that <HI>Azanaga's</HI> Cruelties continually terrify'd me. Who, be&s;ides that he was wont, for every &s;mall Offence, to hang and impale his poor Cap|tives, had a particular Humour to cut off their Ears, meerly to pickle 'em in&s;tead of Mu&s;hrooms, for Sawce to his <HI>Mahometan Frica&s;&s;ees.</HI> But to &s;ay no more of his Cruelty, nor my own Fears, and to come to the Point, you are to under&s;tand, that the Windows of a Hou&s;e belonging to a very rich <HI>Moor,</HI> very near as rich as his Kin&s;man <HI>Pluto</HI> him&s;elf, lookt into the Court belonging to our Pri&s;on; which Windows, according to the Cu&s;tom of the <HI>Moors,</HI> are very narrow holes, and tho&s;e too clos'd with wooden Lat|tices. Now it happen'd one day, as I and three others of my Compa|nions (for the re&s;t were gone forth to work) that is to &s;ay, as four of us were trying in the Court-yard how well we could leap the Almond-Jump in our Chains, ca&s;ting up my Eyes to the Window, I &s;aw de&s;cending from the Lattice a long Reed, with a Handkercheif ty'd to the end of it, which the Hand that let it down, caus'd to dance i' the Air, as it were a &s;ignal for &s;ome one of us to come and take it. Whereupon one of my Companions went to ha' laid his Paws upon it, but then it pre&s;ently mounted again out of his Reach; which he taking for a Rebuke, return'd to his Sport. Then a &s;econd try'd, and then the third, but were all tantaliz'd alike; till at length &s;eeing the Cane de&s;cend a fourth time, I re&s;olv'd to try my For|tune; but then it was ea&s;ily &s;een for whom the Handkerchief was intended; for as &s;oon as I came near the Window, the Cane fell down at my Feet. Pre&s;ently I took up the Handkerchief, and as ha&s;tily untying the Knot, I found a Ne&s;t of &s;mall pieces of Money, to the value of one of our Crown-pieces. You may well conjecture I did not weep to &s;ee &s;uch an unexpected Relief in the Condition I was in, and that I &s;hould be the only Object of the Charity. And then looking up to &s;ee from whence the Ble&s;&s;ing came, I could di&s;cover no more then only a Lilly-white Hand that clos'd the Lattice at the &s;ame time. However, we all return'd our Thanks by bowing to the Window, after the <HI>Turki&s;h</HI> manner, with our Arms a cro&s;s upon our Brea&s;ts. Which we had no &s;ooner done, but there pre&s;ently appear'd out at the &s;ame Window a little Cro&s;s made of Reeds; and then we concluded, that &s;ome Lady that liv'd in that Hou&s;e had tak'n Compa&s;&s;ion upon us; but why &s;o particularly to me, thought I; and with that I began &s;eriou&s;ly to con&s;ider with my &s;elf, whether I had ever made water under the Window, or no, but could not for my life remember any &s;uch thing. Then we ima|gin'd &s;he was &s;ome Chri&s;tian Slave, whom her Ma&s;ter had marry'd. For your <HI>Moors,</HI> as black as they are, love white Fle&s;h for all that. And then we thought again, that having been once a Chri&s;tian, &s;he might be &s;o &s;till in her Heart. But all our Divining &s;ignify'd nothing to us that were no Conjurers; and therefore we took the common Road of Enquiry. But after all the Enquiry we could make to the utmo&s;t of our Power, all that we
<PB N="218" REF="122"> could learn, was only this, That it was the Habitation of a certain rich <HI>Moor,</HI> who&s;e Name was <HI>Agimorato,</HI> who had been one of the chief Magi|&s;trates of <HI>Argier,</HI> and far richer then ever was <HI>old Audley;</HI> a meer Mi&s;er, born to get a Mountain o' Money, and leave it when he has done. Cea&s;ing therefore any farther Enquiry, we only ador'd the ble&s;&s;ed Window every Day, from whence our comfortable Benediction fell. But notwith&s;tanding all our Eye-wor&s;hip, the cele&s;tial Ca&s;ement did not open again in fifteen days; &s;o that we look'd upon our late Refre&s;hment, as only &s;ome few heat drops of Female Charity, and de&s;pair'd that ever the bli&s;sful Window would open again. But fifteen days after, when dreaming lea&s;t of any &s;uch thing, being the &s;ame <HI>all four</HI> together in the Stove, without any other Compa|ny, down came the Angelick Reed and Handkerchief a &s;econd time. Up|on which, we made the &s;ame Trial, as before, but with the &s;ame Succe&s;s; for &s;till the coy Handkerchief would not &s;uffer it &s;elf to be touch'd by any but my &s;elf, enfolding a Pre&s;ent of forty Crowns of <HI>Spani&s;h</HI> Gold, and a Letter written in <HI>Arabick,</HI> with a fair Cro&s;s at the bottom of the Writing. Upon which, we return'd to our Station, and made our Obey&s;ances, as be|fore; and after I had made a &s;ign that I would read the Letter, the white Hand vani&s;h'd, and the Lattice of Con&s;olation clos'd again. This Accu|mulation of Fortune's Favours fill'd us with new Joy and fre&s;h Hopes: But in regard that none of us under&s;tood <HI>Arabick,</HI> we were at a &s;trange Lo&s;s where to find an Interpreter, not knowing whom to tru&s;t in &s;uch a tickli&s;h Ca&s;e as this was, as being loath to hazard our &s;elves, but much more afraid to injure our Benefactre&s;s. At length my Curio&s;ity to under|&s;tand the Depth of &s;uch an Intrigue as this, con&s;train'd me to tru&s;t a Rene|gado of <HI>Mercia,</HI> who pretended a great Kindne&s;s for me. So that after I had us'd all the Caution imaginable to engage him to Secrecy, and pawn'd all the Credit I had with him in Mountains of Promi&s;es, if the Succe&s;s were an&s;werable to &s;uch a Foundation laid in Miracle, I de&s;ir'd him to read me a Letter, which I told him I had found in a hole in our Dungeon. The Re|negado took the Letter, and after he had read a Line or two, he ask'd me for a Pen and Ink, and a piece of Paper; all which I had ready prepar'd i' my Pocket (for Slaves that have Money may have any thing.) And then the Renegado retiring, in a &s;hort time gave me the Letter back again, and the Tran&s;lation of it, with this farther Adverti&s;ement, That <HI>Alla</HI> &s;ignify'd <HI>God,</HI> and <HI>Lela Marien,</HI> the <HI>Virgin Mary.</HI> The Sub&s;tance of the Letter was this.</P>
<P><Q>When I was a Child, my Father kept a Chri&s;tian Slave in the Hou&s;e, who taught me the Prayers of the Chri&s;tians, and inform'd me of many things concerning <HI>Lela-Marien.</HI> This Slave is &s;ince dead, and I know &s;he was not ca&s;t into the eternal Fire, but is with God; for &s;he has appear'd to me twice &s;ince her Death: And both times &s;he charg'd me to retire among the Chri&s;tians, to &s;ee <HI>Lela Marien,</HI> who has a great love for me. I have &s;een out at this Window, &s;everal Chri&s;tians, but I mu&s;t confe&s;s, I never &s;aw any one that lookt like a Gentleman but your &s;elf. I am young and hand&s;om, and in a Condition to tran&s;port a va&s;t E&s;tate along with me. Con&s;ider whether you will undertake to carry me away: It &s;hall be your fault, if I be not your Wife; or if you will not marry me, I make no Que&s;tion but that <HI>Lela Marien</HI> will provide me a Husband. 'Twas my &s;elf that wrote this Letter, and I would have you be careful whom you tru&s;t; no <HI>Moor,</HI> whatever ye do, who are all a Company of Traitors. For if my Father &s;hould have the lea&s;t inkling of my Project, he would thru&s;t me into a Well, and cover me with Stones. I have ty'd a Thread to the end
<PB N="219" REF="122"> of the Reed, with which you may fa&s;t'n your An&s;wer. If you can meet with no body that writes <HI>Arabick,</HI> tell me your An&s;wer by Signs, which <HI>Lela Marien</HI> will in&s;truct me to under&s;tand. God and &s;he pre&s;erve ye, and that Cro&s;s which I ki&s;s as often as the Slave commanded me</Q></P>
<P>It will be needle&s;s, Gentlemen, to tell ye how we were all tran&s;ported with Joy when we read this Letter, &s;ince every one knew they &s;hould be the better for my Succe&s;s. The Renegado too, believing it might be like|wi&s;e to his Advantage, as one that could never beat it into his Head, that we had found &s;uch a Letter by Accident, but that it was purpo&s;ely writ|ten to one of us Four, with great Importunity reque&s;ted us to tell him the Truth, and to rely upon his Fidelity, as one that would venture his Life to procure our Liberty. And &s;o &s;aying, he drew out of his Bo&s;om a &s;mall Crucifix, and &s;wore by him that &s;uffer'd upon it, that he would be &s;ecret to whatever we &s;hould entru&s;t him; to which he was the ra|ther encourag'd, becau&s;e he &s;aw &s;o great a Probability for us all to recover our Liberty by means of the Per&s;on that had written the Letter: And he accompanied his Oath with &s;uch a Shower of Tears, and &s;o many Marks of Repentance for his turning Infidel, that we di&s;cover'd the whole My|&s;tery to him, and &s;hew'd him that heavenly Window from whence our Gold'n Showers fell down. Who, thereupon, promis'd he would u&s;e his utmo&s;t Indu&s;try to learn who it was that liv'd in that Hou&s;e; and that when I had written my An&s;wer to our obliging Benefactre&s;s, he would tran|&s;cribe it into <HI>Arabick</HI> for me: The Sub&s;tance of which, I remember much to this purpo&s;e.</P>
<P><Q>The true <HI>Alla</HI> pre&s;erve ye, Madam, and the thrice happy <HI>Lela Marien,</HI> who has in&s;pir'd ye with tho&s;e ble&s;&s;ed Thoughts of turning Chri&s;tian. Your De&s;ign is pious and generous; and therefore you may be confident of our Endeavours, who are all your Va&s;&s;als to &s;erve ye with the lo&s;s of our Lives. Fear not then, Madam, to write, and give me notice of what you re&s;olve to do. We have among us a Chri&s;tian Slave who writes <HI>A|rabick,</HI> as you will find by this An&s;wer. As for your Offer of being my Wife, I &s;hould be the mo&s;t ingrateful per&s;on living, &s;hould I not accept it; and if I &s;hould not honour, while I have Breath, the Per&s;on that throws her &s;elf into my Arms. The great <HI>Alla</HI> and <HI>Lela Marien</HI> pre&s;erve ye.</Q></P>
<P>Two days after, when there was no body in the <HI>Stove,</HI> I went into the Yard, where I had not &s;taid long, before I &s;aw the Reed appear again, to which I fa&s;ten'd my An&s;wer. Nor was it many Hours after, before the Comfort of our Lives hung out another white Flag of Peace, which dropt, furl'd up at my Foot, with above fifty yellow Boys in it, which was &s;o far from being any Affliction to us, that we never que&s;tion'd a fertile Harve&s;t of our Enterprizes, when water'd by &s;uch Gold'n Showers as tho&s;e. The &s;ame Night our Renegado came to us, and inform'd us that the Hou&s;e be|long'd to <HI>Agimorato,</HI> one of the riche&s;t <HI>Moors</HI> in <HI>Argier;</HI> and that to inherit all his Wealth, he had but one Daughter, who was the mo&s;t beautiful Per|&s;on in all <HI>Barbary,</HI> and had refus'd all the con&s;iderable Matches that had been offer'd her: To which he added, That in her Infancy &s;he was bred up by a Chri&s;tian-Slave, who had been dead for &s;ome years. All which agreed with what we found in the Letter. Thereupon we con&s;ulted with this <HI>Re|negado</HI> how to make our E&s;cape, and carry away the lovely <HI>Moore&s;s.</HI> But before we came to a Re&s;ult, we re&s;olv'd to &s;tay till we heard farther News from the fair <HI>Zoraida</HI> (for that we under&s;tood to be her Name) &s;eeing
<PB N="220" REF="123"> that without her A&s;&s;i&s;tance, all our Con&s;ultations &s;ignify'd not a Straw.</P>
<P>The four following Days the <HI>Stove</HI> was full, and &s;o nothing was to be done; but the fifth, none but our own Number being left, our Paradi&s;e o|pen'd again, and down dropt the Crums of Comfort wrapp'd up in clean Linnen, but never till I was at hand to take it up. For if I were making water at what time the Hand appear'd, the Hand would never let go till I had done. And this time too <HI>Zoraida</HI> doubl'd her Files, no le&s;s then a hun|dred yellow Boys, all good Men and true, together with a Letter; of which to the be&s;t of my Remembrance, the&s;e were the Contents.</P>
<P><Q>I know not which way we &s;hall take to get into <HI>Spain,</HI> for <HI>Lela Marien</HI> has not yet inform'd me, tho I have earne&s;tly be&s;ought her in my Prayers. All that I can do, is to furni&s;h you with Gold enough to ran&s;om your &s;elf, and your Companions, and for one of the ran&s;om'd Captives to purcha&s;e a Bark to convey us all away. For my part, I in|tend to &s;pend all this Spring with my Father and our Slaves, in a Garden adjoyning to the Gate of <HI>Barbazon,</HI> near the Sea-&s;ide. Thence in the Night time you may take me without any Danger, and conveigh me to the Bark. But remember, my dear Chri&s;tian, that you have promis'd to be my Husband. For if thou fail'&s;t me, I will pray to <HI>Lela Marien</HI> to puni&s;h thee. If thou can&s;t not confide in any per&s;on to buy the Bark, ran&s;om thy &s;elf quickly, and go thy &s;elf; I know thou wilt not fail to re|turn, as thou art a Gentleman and a Chri&s;tian. Make it thy bu&s;ine&s;s al&s;o, to know where our Garden &s;tands. In the mean time do but walk in the Court when the <HI>Stove</HI> is empty, and I will give thee what Money thou de|&s;ire&s;t. <HI>Alla</HI> pre&s;erve thee, dear Chri&s;tian.</Q></P>
<P>When our Company heard this Letter read, there was not one but of|fer'd, if he might be fir&s;t ran&s;om'd, to go and purcha&s;e a Bark, and as &s;oon as he had done, to return again with all the Speed and Sincerity imaginable; and had it been po&s;&s;ible to ha' gone with their Bodies alone, wou'd ha' left their Souls behind 'em in pawn, till they came back according to their Words; but the Renegado, who knew that one Chri&s;tian was not to believe another in the&s;e nice points, would by no means con&s;ent, that any one &s;hould be &s;ingly ran&s;om'd, till all were redeem'd together. For that he had known by Experience, that &s;everal Slaves had been &s;ingly ran&s;om'd to fetch Con|veniencies for tho&s;e who tarry'd behind, in Expectation of the releas'd per&s;ons Return, who might as well have expected the Ve&s;&s;el hop'd for, to come by water out of the Clouds, as by Sea. Upon whom the love of Li|berty, and the dread of returning into Captivity &s;o far prevail'd, that when they were once free, they forgot there were ever any &s;uch things as Go&s;pels or Evangeli&s;ts, upon which they had &s;worn not to leave their Friends i' the lurch. And therefore, &s;aid he, give me the Money which you de&s;ign for the Purcha&s;e of a Bark, and I will buy one here, even at <HI>Argier</HI> it &s;elf, under pretence of trading to <HI>Tituan,</HI> and upon the Coa&s;t; &s;o that being Ma&s;ter of the Ve&s;&s;el my &s;elf, and under no Su&s;picion, it will be ea&s;ie for me to &s;erve ye all together; e&s;pecially when ye have purchas'd your Liberty by the Lady's A&s;&s;i&s;tance; for then being Free-men, you may go aboard without Interruption, at Noon-day. Nor do I fore-&s;ee but one Difficulty i' the matter, which is, That the Renegado's are not permitted to buy Barks, but only great Ve&s;&s;els to pyrate upon the Seas. But for that I have an Expedient i' my Head, which is, to take in a <HI>Moor</HI> of <HI>Tagarino</HI> for a Share both of the Ve&s;&s;el and Gains, and &s;o under-hand become &s;ole Pro|prietor my &s;elf, and by that means bring all our De&s;igns to Perfection. Truly we con&s;ider'd with our &s;elves, that Nece&s;&s;ity had no Law; that if
<PB N="221" REF="123"> we &s;hould &s;eem to mi&s;tru&s;t the Renegado, to whom we had already di&s;co|ver'd &s;o much, it might incen&s;e him, and force him to di&s;clo&s;e our whole De&s;ign; not only to our De&s;truction, but to the Ruin of the Lady, who&s;e Life was more dear to us then our own; &s;o that at la&s;t we re&s;olv'd to put our &s;elves into the hands of God and the <HI>Renegado;</HI> and to that purpo&s;e I order'd him to Tran&s;cribe a Letter, which I had written to <HI>Zoraida;</HI> that we were ready to follow her Advice, which &s;eem'd to be no le&s;s then what <HI>Lela Marien</HI> had in&s;pir'd into her Brea&s;t; renewing my Promi&s;e withall to Marry her. And I commended her, to make &s;ure of a Husband as well as of her Reli|gion.</P>
<P>The next day the Stove was empty, and then it rain'd Handkerchers; which at &s;everal times furni&s;h'd us with a thou&s;and Pieces of the &s;ame co|lour'd Metal, that reconciles and &s;ets all the World together by the Ears; makes Friends Foes, and Foes Friends. Which made me &s;o in love with Handkerchers ever &s;ince, that I can never come into a Gentlewoman's Com|pany, but I am always either &s;natching, or &s;tealing her Handkercher; nor do I ever return 'em again, tho the young Ladies beg their Hearts out, and prote&s;t never &s;o much they were pre&s;ented 'em by their Sweet-hearts, or <HI>Valentines,</HI> or any other the deare&s;t Friends they have i' the World. Such a pa&s;&s;ionate Affection for Handkerchers did <HI>Zoraida's</HI> fortunate Linnen engrave in my Memory. So that when ever I &s;ee a young Gentleman filching a La|dies Handkercher, I ask him pre&s;ently, whether he were ever i' the Stoves at <HI>Algier?</HI></P>
<P>But to return to my Story: At the &s;ame time I found a Note in one of the ble&s;&s;ed Handkerchers (for I can never &s;peak of Handkerchers without an Epithet) to let us under&s;tand, that the next <HI>Friday</HI> &s;he was to go to her Father's Garden; in the mean time, that if we had not Money enough, we &s;hould but give her notice, and we &s;hould have as much as we de&s;ir'd: For that &s;he was Mi&s;tre&s;s of all her Father's Ca&s;h. And i' my Con&s;cience &s;he &s;poke Truth: For the next Thur&s;day the t'other thou&s;and <HI>Peruvians</HI> fell down pro&s;trate at the Toes of my Shoes; at which I never murmured i' the lea&s;t, but pre&s;ently with a confiding Soul gave five hundred Crowns to our Renegado, for the Purcha&s;e of a Bark. The re&s;t of the Money I put into the Hands of a <HI>Venetian</HI> Merchant, of my Acquaintance, who ran&s;om'd me for eight hundred Crowns from the King my Ma&s;ter; promi&s;ing to pay the money upon the fir&s;t Return of a Ve&s;&s;el, which he &s;uddenly expected from <HI>Italy.</HI> For had my Friend paid down the money upon the Nail, the crafty <HI>Azanaga</HI> would have &s;u&s;pected, that he had had it a good while in his Cu|&s;tody, and had made u&s;e of it him&s;elf. The &s;ame Night I had another Note from <HI>Zoraida,</HI> to let me know, that the next day &s;he was going to the Garden, and therefore de&s;ir'd, as &s;oon as I &s;hould be redeem'd, to let me &s;ee her. To all which I an&s;wer'd as much to her Satisfaction, as lay in my Power.</P>
<P>In the mean time, I made it my bu&s;ine&s;s to agree for the Ran&s;oms of my Companions, le&s;t, &s;eeing me at Liberty, and them&s;elves &s;till in Captivity, they &s;hould &s;u&s;pect me to be forgetful of their Condition, and enter into Combinations again&s;t me. For there is no tru&s;ting to the Devil in &s;uch Ca&s;es, who takes all Occa&s;ions to work upon men in Mi&s;ery, to do mi&s;chief. To which purpo&s;e, I put all the re&s;t of my money into my Friend the Mer|chant's Hands, with Orders to Redeem my three Companions, at as low a rate as he could, upon his Credit: Which he &s;oon after accompli&s;h'd.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="14" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="222" REF="124">
<HEAD>CHAP. XIV.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Wherein the Captive goes on with his Story.</HEAD>
<P>AND now the <HI>Renegado</HI> within the &s;pace of fourteen or fifteen days had purcha&s;ed a very good Bark, that would conveniently carry thirty Per&s;ons. And fir&s;t of all, that there might be no &s;u&s;picion of his De&s;ign, together with the <HI>Moor</HI> that he had tak'n in for his Partner, he made two or three &s;light Voyages upon the Coa&s;t of <HI>Barbary,</HI> driving a Trade in dry'd Figgs; and every time he put to Sea, he never fail'd to come to an Anchor in a little Creek, within Musket-&s;hot of <HI>Agimorato</HI>'s Garden. And &s;ometimes he would go a&s;hore, and walk up to <HI>Agimorato</HI>'s Hou&s;e, to beg Fruit, which the <HI>Moor</HI> would be&s;tow upon him, tho he knew him not: which he did to try whether the Acce&s;s to the Garden were ea&s;ie or no. By which means, when he &s;aw that his Partner wholly confided in him, that he might ca&s;t Anchor where he pleas'd, and that I and my Companions were at Liberty; he came to me, and told me, that all the bu&s;ine&s;s I had to do, was to pick out a parcel of &s;turdy Fellows, that could tug at an Oar, and would help to cut a Throat or two at a dead lift; to con&s;ider who I in|tended to take along with me, and then to look after the main Bu&s;ine&s;s, which was, to get <HI>Zoraida</HI> ready again&s;t the next Friday, at what time he re&s;olv'd to be gon. As for Rowers, kind Fortune (for had not Fortune been kind, this &s;tory could never ha' gone on &s;o cleverly) I &s;ay then again, Kind For|tune help'd me to a Crew that were out of Employment, by rea&s;on their Ma&s;ter &s;taid at home from Crui&s;ing that Summer, to look after a new Ship that he had upon the Stocks; whom I order'd to &s;tay for me &s;uch a day hard by <HI>Agimorato</HI>'s Garden, where I would give 'em their Hire: For I knew Sea-men too well, to give 'em money before-hand. For then when I wanted 'em, I mu&s;t ha' been forc'd to have hunted all the Brandy holes i' the Town, before I could ha' found 'em. And now, quo I to my <HI>Brains, Brains,</HI> if ever you will &s;hew your &s;elves to be <HI>Brains,</HI> now &s;hew your Quick|ne&s;s, your Craft, your wilie Contrivance, and the Perfection of your In|vention &mdash; for now am I going about a De&s;ign, that requires the A&s;&s;i&s;tance of all <HI>Lucian</HI>'s Council of the Gods, the Subtlety of fifty Bawds, the dexterity of three&s;core Heire&s;s-&s;tealers, and the acutene&s;s of three&s;core and ten mar|ry'd Wives, that are re&s;olv'd to Cuckold their Husbands. For I mu&s;t con|fe&s;s, when I con&s;ider'd the hazards and difficulty of the Enterprize, I was at my Wits end. And &s;ometimes when I bethought my &s;elf how uncomat|table young Virgins were i' that place, De&s;pair &s;o &s;eiz'd upon my Spirits, that I was once about to ha' giv'n over the De&s;ign. But then, quo I to my &s;elf, I never yet heard i' my life, when a young Lady had re&s;olv'd upon a Bed-fellow, but that &s;he would have him by hook or by crook; and there|fore, quo I to my &s;elf, &s;ure <HI>Zoraida</HI> has laid all her Plots &s;o well before|hand, that if I am not a meer Ninny, it mu&s;t be impo&s;&s;ible for me to fail. This chear'd my Spirits, and reviv'd my Hopes again; &s;o that I re&s;olv'd, fall back, fall edge, to &s;peak with her. To that purpo&s;e, two days before our departure, I ventur'd boldly to the Garden, with an Excu&s;e ready coin'd i' my mouth, that I came to pick &s;ome green Herbs for a Sallad: And &s;o it happen'd, that the fir&s;t Attempt that I made, the fir&s;t Man I met was <HI>Agi|morato</HI> him&s;elf; who ask'd me in the Language of the Galley-Slaves, what
<PB N="223" REF="124"> I look'd for, and to whom I belong'd? To whom I an&s;wer'd, That I was <HI>Arnaut Mamy</HI>'s Slave, as being a Per&s;on that I knew to be of his familiar Acquaintance (for tho I had never convers'd with the Book-&s;eller that re|&s;olves Ca&s;es of Con&s;cience, yet I made no &s;cruple to tell a Lye to a <HI>Moor</HI>) therefore, I &s;ay, I told him I was <HI>Mamy</HI>'s Slave, and that I came to gather a Sallad: Wherein however there was &s;omething of Truth; for tho I only pretended an Errand for a Sallad, yet I was &s;ure I came for the be&s;t Flower in his Garden. After that, he ask'd me, whether I had offer'd Ran&s;om, and how much it was? And upon the &s;ame Subject put me &s;undry Que&s;tions, and I gave him &s;undry An&s;wers. But now to the Point&mdash;For as <HI>Agimorato</HI> was thus gratifying his Curio&s;ity, <HI>Zoraida,</HI> who &s;aw me at fir&s;t when I en|ter'd the Garden, appear'd her &s;elf to make it a compleat Paradi&s;e. And as the <HI>Barbary</HI> Ladies never &s;cruple to &s;hew them&s;elves to the Chri&s;tian Slaves, notwith&s;tanding my being there, &s;he came directly to her Father, who as &s;oon as he &s;py'd her, call'd her him&s;elf. 'Slife &mdash; &s;uch a Charming Beauty, and &s;o much Wealth as glitter'd upon the Ornaments of her Head, where &s;he had more Oriental Pearls to cover her Hair, then &s;he had hairs to co|ver; the &s;parkling Diamonds, and other Precious Stones about her Wri&s;ts, and on the Buskins that &s;he wore upon her Feet, brought my very Soul to &s;tare out at the Ca&s;ements of my Eyes, and with Admiration to behold the dazling &s;ight. What a Devil, thought I to my &s;elf, ayles this Virgin, that has &s;o much Beauty, and &s;o much Wealth, to quit her Native Soyl, meerly to run away with Heaven knows who, and a tatter'd, ragged, ab|ject, mi&s;erable Slave to boot? And then was I i' my Dumps again, as one that could not imagine that &s;uch a Mor&s;el was ever de&s;ign'd for my Tooth. But then recollecting with my &s;elf, that the Cele&s;tial Bodies, who are them&s;elves &s;ubject to Excentric Motions, govern the Humours of Youth and Beauty; and calling to mind, that once a Pris'ner in <HI>Ludgate</HI> became the Ma&s;ter of his Mi&s;tre&s;s, and &s;o to be Lord Mayor of <HI>London;</HI> I did not think it rea&s;onable to call De&s;tiny to give too &s;trict an Account of her Actions, but rather re&s;olv'd to lay my &s;elf at her feet, believing &s;he had &s;ome <HI>Chri&s;tmas</HI> Gambol to play, and then to &s;it and laugh at it when &s;he had done. Par|lous <HI>Zoraida</HI> therefore, as I told ye, came to her Father; to whom <HI>Agimo|rato,</HI> Look ye, Child, &s;aid he, this is one of my Friend <HI>Arnaut</HI>'s Slaves, and comes to pick a Sallad for his Ma&s;ter. Very likely, Sir, &s;aid &s;he; and then turning to me, and what, quo &s;he, have you paid your Ran&s;om then? Ma|dam, I have, &s;aid I; and I think my Ma&s;ter valu'd me &s;ufficiently, to make me pay eight hundred Crowns in Gold. I a&s;&s;ure ye, my Friend, cry'd <HI>Zo|raida,</HI> had you been my Father's Slave, he &s;hould not ha' parted wi' ye for twice as much. For you Chri&s;tians are &s;uch cunning Di&s;&s;emblers, that for the lives of us, we <HI>Moors</HI> can never under&s;tand your Qualities; &s;o that ye cozen us &s;till of above three parts of your Ran&s;oms. Y' are all Captains and Commanders after y' are redeem'd: But while y' are Slaves, you'd make us believe your Parents were &s;o poor, as if y' had all been begot upon Dung|hills. Madam, &s;aid I, I am not to an&s;wer for what others do; but for my part, I deal candidly with my Ma&s;ter, as I intend to do with all the World. And more then that, Madam, I love to be true to both Sexes, to the ut|mo&s;t of my ability, in what-ever I promi&s;e. Very good, reply'd <HI>Zoraida;</HI> and when d' ye think to be gone? To morrow, Madam, &s;aid I; for there is a Ve&s;&s;el in Port ready to &s;et Sail, and I am unwilling to lo&s;e the Oppor|tunity. Be&s;ides, I have &s;uch an eager de&s;ire once more to re-vi&s;it my Na|tive Country, and to &s;ee what are become of my Friends and Relations, that it makes me the more impatient to lay hold upon the fir&s;t Occa&s;ion.
<PB N="224" REF="125">
'Tis an even wager then, &s;aid <HI>Zoraida,</HI> that you are marry'd in your own Country. Not marry'd as yet, reply'd I; but I have pa&s;s'd my Word, to marry as &s;oon as I come there. And is &s;he hand&s;ome too, to whom y' have made this Promi&s;e? cry'd <HI>Zoraida.</HI> Madam, &s;aid I, &s;he is &s;o hand&s;ome, that I may &s;afely &s;ay, I never &s;aw a Per&s;on more like her i' the World then your &s;elf. At which words, <HI>Agimorato</HI> &s;miling: I do not wonder, Chri&s;tian, &s;aid he, thou art &s;o ha&s;ty to be gone, if thy Mi&s;tre&s;s be as hand&s;ome as my Daughter, that has not her Peer for Beauty in all the Kingdom of <HI>Barbary.</HI> Look upon her well, and thou wilt find it to be true what I &s;ay. But while <HI>Agimorato</HI> pleas'd him&s;elf to find his Daughter pleas'd with this &s;ort of Diverti&s;ement, a <HI>Moor</HI> came running towards him in all ha&s;t to tell him, that four <HI>Turks</HI> had clamber'd over his Wall, and were gathering his Fruit before 'twas Ripe. Which put him into a great Di&s;order, as he that would have rather a' had &s;o many Swine in his Garden, which he could ha' driven out again when he pleas'd. But the <HI>Turki&s;h</HI> Souldiers were a Ma&s;terle&s;s &s;ort of Bea&s;ts, of whom the <HI>Moors</HI> &s;tood almo&s;t in as much awe, as the Chri|&s;tian Slaves of their Ma&s;ters. Thereupon <HI>Agimorato</HI> order'd <HI>Zoraida</HI> to go in adoors, and bid me take what Salading I pleas'd, while he went to per|&s;wade tho&s;e Dogs of <HI>Turks,</HI> as he call'd 'em, out of his Ground; leaving me and <HI>Zoraida</HI> together, who pretending Obedience, &s;eem'd to make to|ward the Hou&s;e; but when her Father was out of &s;ight among the Trees and Currant Bu&s;hes, &s;wiftly returning with Tears in her Eyes, And are ye going then, Chri&s;tian, &s;aid &s;he; are ye going in earne&s;t? &mdash; I am going, &s;aid I; but, Madam, take me not for &s;uch an Infidel, to be gone, unle&s;s I carry along with me the Trea&s;ure of my Soul. Therefore I come to give ye notice, that all things are prepar'd again&s;t next <HI>Fryday:</HI> Manage your Bu&s;ine&s;s then &s;o, as to be ready again&s;t the Time, and fear nothing &mdash; For tho you have &s;av'd me the Expence of a thou&s;and Lovers Oaths and Pro|te&s;tations, which are often as fal&s;e as Hell, never believe I'le forfeit my Credit and my Reputation to &s;o much Love and Vertue as yours. And this I utter'd with &s;uch a Reality, and &s;o &s;en&s;ibly proceeding from the bottom of my Heart, that where my brok'n Language fail'd, the very motions of my Lips and Eyes &s;upply'd the defect of my Expre&s;&s;ion to convince <HI>Zoraida</HI> of my Sincerity. In&s;omuch, that throwing her tender Arm about my Neck, &s;he &s;lowly mov'd in that po&s;ture with a trembling pace toward the Hou&s;e; and in that po&s;ture it was that we met <HI>Agimorato</HI> returning, after he had per&s;waded the liquori&s;h <HI>Turks</HI> to quit his Garden. True it is, that we plainly perceiv'd he had de&s;cry'd the Loving Embracements of his Daugh|ter, and I trembl'd for fear of my dear <HI>Zoraida.</HI> But here it was that I found that pre&s;ence of mind, which always &s;uccours the Female Sex in their Amorous Contrivances. For in&s;tead of taking away her Arm, which would but have put <HI>Agimorato</HI> into a Jealous Pa&s;&s;ion, &s;he clung more clo&s;e to me, and re&s;ting her Head upon my Brea&s;t, gave way to the weight of her Body to fall which way it pleas'd, as if &s;he had been in a Trance; while I on the other &s;ide made a &s;hew of &s;upporting her with all my &s;trength. Pre&s;ently <HI>Agimorato</HI> came with more &s;peed then a Dog-trot, to &s;ee what was the matter; and finding his Daughter in that Condition, ask'd her, what &s;he ail'd? To which &s;he returning no An&s;wer, Alas! poor Girl, &s;aid he, 'tis only the fright which the&s;e Dogs put her into, that has brought the&s;e fits upon her; and at the &s;ame in&s;tant he took her out of mine into his own Arms. At what time, <HI>Zoraida,</HI> fetching a deep &s;igh, with her Eyes &s;till bedew'd with Tears; be gone, Chri&s;tian, &s;aid &s;he, be gone. Why, my dear Child, why would'&s;t thou have him be gone? Alas! he has done thee
<PB N="225" REF="125"> no harm, cry'd <HI>Agimorato,</HI> and for the <HI>Turks,</HI> they were &s;o hone&s;t as to quit their pilfering De&s;ign, upon my Approach. Chear up then, my Girl, and let the Chri&s;tian &s;tay, perhaps he'll tell us a Story will make us both laugh; for the Chri&s;tians &s;ometimes are notable Pratlers&mdash; No, no, &s;aid I, interrupting him, let her alone, the&s;e cur&s;ed <HI>Turks,</HI> Sir, have put her too much out of humour to hear Stories; and therefore for my part, &s;ince &s;he de&s;ires I &s;hould be gone, I do not think it proper to trouble her with Impertinencies. Only I beg of your Wor&s;hip to give me leave to come now and then as long as I &s;tay, and pick a Sallad in your Garden. As of|ten as thou wilt, hone&s;t Chri&s;tian, cry'd <HI>Agimorato.</HI> With this Liberty of his &s;o freely granted, I took my leave both of the Father and the Daugh|ter: Who, if there be any Truth in the Imagination of Lovers, &s;eem'd to me as if &s;he had been parting with her own Soul, when I parted from her. For young People in love, are like your A&s;trologers, who believe they &s;ee <HI>Bulls,</HI> and <HI>Bears,</HI> and <HI>Rams,</HI> and <HI>Lions</HI> i' the Sky, when there are no &s;uch things. But hang a Man that has no &s;hifts, and a Lover without his Poetical Fancies. Well! but what did I next, you'll &s;ay? Why, in the next place, being thus uncontroulable, and alone i' the Garden, I walk'd it round, &s;urvey'd every Corner, every De&s;cent, and every ri&s;ing Ground: I ob&s;erv'd all the Avenues to it; all the ways out of it, and where mo&s;t con|veniently to attack the Hou&s;e, if there &s;hould be Occa&s;ion, and whatever el&s;e of that Nature might &s;erve to accompli&s;h our De&s;ign: And having &s;o done, away I went to give an Account of all to my Companions and the Renegado, impatient to po&s;&s;e&s;s the Ble&s;&s;ing that Fortune offer'd me in the Enjoyment of the fair <HI>Zoraida.</HI> Well&mdash; at length the wi&s;h'd-for Day arriv'd, and we had all the Succe&s;s we could expect from a Contrivance laid with &s;o much Di&s;cretion and Con&s;ideration. For the Renegado came to an Anchor in the Evening over-again&s;t <HI>Agimorato</HI>'s Garden, and the Rowers lay ready conceal'd, with itching Fingers to be boarding the Ve&s;&s;el, and cutting the <HI>Moors</HI> Throats, knowing nothing of my De&s;ign, but ab&s;o|lutely believing they were to gain their Liberty by Surprize, and down|right Murder. Soon after I came with my Companions; at what time the Rowers ro&s;e out of their lurking Holes, and met us for Orders what to do. We &s;aw Fortune favour'd us, for by this time the City Gates were &s;hut, and all the Coa&s;t was clear a' that &s;ide. So that our fir&s;t Con&s;ulta|tion was, Whether we &s;hould fir&s;t endeavour to get <HI>Zoraida</HI> into our Po&s;|&s;e&s;&s;ion, or make &s;ure of the <HI>Moors</HI> that row'd i' the Bark. To which our Renegado, who was by this time enter'd into our Council, made An&s;wer, That the <HI>Moors</HI> i' the Ve&s;&s;el were mo&s;t of 'em a&s;leep, the re&s;t in a carele&s;s Security; and therefore the be&s;t way would be to make &s;ure of them fir&s;t, that we might be ab&s;olutely Ma&s;ters of the Ve&s;&s;el, before we went to fetch <HI>Zoraida.</HI> And &s;o &s;aying, he lead the way, and leaping into the Bark with his Scimitar in his hand; <HI>Let not a man of ye,</HI> &s;aid he, <HI>&s;o much as offer to &s;tir, unle&s;s he be weary of his life.</HI> The <HI>Moors,</HI> who had hardly the Cou|rage of &s;o many Red-Herrings, &s;urpriz'd to hear their Ma&s;ter thunder out &s;uch big words, and &s;eeing &s;o many Cutlaces drawn about their Ears, not daring &s;o much as to lay a finger upon their Arms, with which they were but ill provided neither, &s;ubmitted Hands and Feet to Chri&s;tian Rigour with the Patience of &s;o many Martyrs. So that having &s;oon bound 'em to their good Behaviour, and lock'd up their Tongues and their Throats, under the Penalties of immediate Death and De&s;truction, we left 'em with a Guard of one half of our Party, while the re&s;t, together with the Renegado, went directly to <HI>Agimorato</HI>'s Garden. Where, after we had open'd the Door,
<PB N="226" REF="126"> we went to the Hou&s;e without the lea&s;t Noi&s;e, or being perceiv'd by any body. Only <HI>Zoraida,</HI> who impatiently watch'd for our coming, with a low Voice ask'd us if we were Chri&s;tians? To whom I made an&s;wer, <HI>The &s;ame,</HI> and all your Servants, Madam; at what time, &s;he knowing my Voice, open'd the Door and came down to us, &s;o bedeck'd and gli&s;tring with Pearls and Jewels, that I know not whom to liken her to; and therefore I will lik'n her to no body.</P>
<P>I took her by the Hand and ki&s;s'd it, &s;o did the Renegado, and the re&s;t of my Companions. For by In&s;tinct of Nature in &s;uch kind of Comple|ments, Men and Sheep are alike; what one does, they all do. Nor had it been &s;afe for me to have &s;tood upon Punctilio's at that time, had I been <HI>A|madis de Gaul</HI> him&s;elf. After that, the Renegado ask'd her where her Fa|ther was? who an&s;wer'd him, a-bed and a&s;leep. We mu&s;t wake him, cry'd he, and carry him along with us, and then clear the Hou&s;e, for why &s;hould we leave any thing behind? By no means, cry'd <HI>Zoraida,</HI> I would not have a hair of my Father's head touch'd; I have fleec'd him &s;ufficiently already, for I &s;hall take along with me all that is of value i' the Hou&s;e; and there|fore pray be contented without medling with him, who will have Sorrow enough, I warrant him, when I am gone. With that, re-entring the Hou&s;e, before I could well per&s;wade the Renegado not to contradict her in the lea&s;t, &s;he return'd with a Cabinet full of Gold, as much as &s;he could lift, or rather more. At what time unluckily her Father wak'd, and hearing a Noi&s;e i' the Garden, put his head out at Window, and began to cry out <HI>Thieves, Thieves; Chri&s;tians, Chri&s;tians;</HI> which put us into a great Di&s;or|der. But the Renegado &s;eeing the Danger wherein we were, and of what Importance it was to be &s;peedy in the Accompli&s;hment of a De&s;ign of this Nature, ran up pre&s;ently into <HI>Agimorato</HI>'s Chamber, with &s;ome of my Companions, while I &s;taid below with <HI>Zoraida.</HI> And now it appear'd that our Renegado was in his Element when there was a Robbery to be done, and that he hunted, as Dogs do, for his own Ends. Never did Men act more cordially and vigorou&s;ly like Thieves in a Burglary, while he &s;tole the Father, and I the Daughter. For he had not been gone above four Minutes with his tru&s;ty Companions, 'ere they brought down poor <HI>Agimo|rato</HI> with his Hands bound behind him, and his Mouth cramm'd with a foul Handkerchief, to prevent his bawling; only they left him his Legs at li|berty, becau&s;e they would not be troubl'd to carry him. When the Daughter &s;aw her Father in that Condition, &s;he turn'd away her Eyes, and be&s;ought us to do him no harm; which was the lea&s;t of our Thoughts, provided he did us none. However, it &s;hew'd a great deal of good Na|ture in a Child to <HI>&s;pare</HI> her Father's <HI>Life,</HI> tho &s;he <HI>took</HI> his <HI>Goods.</HI> And thus having all we came for, deeming Ha&s;te and good Heels to be our &s;ure&s;t Pro|tectors, we made all the &s;peed we could to the Bark, where they that &s;taid behind, were in no le&s;s Expectation of us, as fearful of our Succe&s;s; but &s;eeing us return'd with our whole Prey, their very Hearts skipp'd i' their Bellies. It was now two a Clock in the Morning when we, being got &s;afe upon the &s;alt water, unbound <HI>Agimorato,</HI> and un&s;topp'd his Mouth, but threatning with a thou&s;and Oaths to &s;lit his Wezand, if he made the lea&s;t u&s;e of his Throat. Pre&s;ently the poor old Man beholding his Daughter, began to &s;igh, but he was more a&s;toni&s;h'd to &s;ee me hugging her &s;o clo&s;e as I did i' my Arms, and &s;he &s;uffering it with a conjugal Patience; and no que&s;tion but he wou'd ha' made u&s;e of his Lungs, but that the Renegado &s;tood over him with his drawn Hanger. However, <HI>Zoraida</HI> fuller and fuller of good Nature &s;till, when &s;he perceiv'd the Ve&s;&s;el begin to make away, be|&s;ought
<PB N="227" REF="126"> the Renegado to de&s;ire me for Love's-&s;ake, to &s;et her Father and the re&s;t of the <HI>Moors</HI> a&s;hore, for that it went again&s;t her Con&s;cience to carry her Father away, whom &s;he lov'd &s;o dearly, as not to rob him of all, but leave him his native Country to be bury'd in. To which I readily con|&s;ented, as de&s;irous of nothing more then to be rid of him. But the Rene|gado, his Craft's-Ma&s;ter in &s;uch Exerci&s;es as the&s;e, &s;hewing me the Danger of landing a Company of exa&s;perated Devils, that as &s;oon as they had their Liberty, would be calling for help, and engage the People to &s;end after us &s;ome nimble Frigat to pick us up again for Hawk's Meat; we all agreed, and <HI>Zoraida</HI> no le&s;s prudent then dutiful, con&s;ented not to deliver the <HI>Moors</HI> till we were upon Chri&s;tian Land. So that after we had recommend|ed our &s;elves to God, as well as we could, con&s;idering the undefiledne&s;s of our Con&s;ciences, and the Ju&s;tice of the Fact we had committed, we row'd on merrily, &s;teering away for <HI>Majorca.</HI> But a North-wind ri&s;ing, and the Sea beginning to &s;well, we were forc'd to bear in to the Coa&s;t of <HI>Oran,</HI> and to creep along by the Shore, not without &s;ome Apprehen&s;ions (for the Guilty are always in fear) of being di&s;cover'd from <HI>Sargel,</HI> which lies up|on that Coa&s;t, about three&s;core Miles from <HI>Argier,</HI> or el&s;e meeting with &s;ome <HI>Cor&s;air</HI> of <HI>Tituan,</HI> tho &s;hould it have happen'd to be a Merchants Ship, we had not car'd; for then we had been in our own Element again, be|lieving our &s;elves &s;trong enough to ha' tak'n her, and &s;o to have added to our Plunder. All this while <HI>Zoraida</HI> lay with her Head i' my Lap, either unwilling or a&s;ham'd to behold her Father; and yet for all that I could hear her very devout at her Prayers to <HI>Lela Marien</HI> for our Pro&s;perity. Which I lookt upon as a Sign that a little Chri&s;tianity would &s;erve her turn, to her Prai&s;e be it &s;poken.</P>
<P>Well &mdash; by this time we had row'd thirty Miles, and the day breaking, &s;hew'd us, that we were not above thrice Musket-&s;hot from the Land, and that all the Coa&s;t was clear, which embolden'd us to put out to Sea. But then&punc; a blu&s;tring Wind ro&s;e, that oblig'd us to clap on all our Sails, and &s;teer towards <HI>Oran,</HI> running eight Miles an hour, afraid of nothing but Pirates. Under the lei&s;ure of this Gale we gave the <HI>Moors</HI> to eat, a&s;&s;uring 'em, that they were no Slaves, but that we would give 'em their Liberty as &s;oon as Conveniency would permit; and having repeated the &s;ame to <HI>Zoraida</HI>'s Father; Chri&s;tians, &s;aid he, if I may &s;o call ye, that act more like <HI>Turks,</HI> never think me &s;o &s;imple to believe, that after you have expos'd your &s;elves to all this Danger and hazard to carry me away, that you will be &s;o gene|rous as to grant me my Liberty, e&s;pecially knowing what a Booty ye have. But if you will &s;et your Price, I will give ye whatever you will demand, to relea&s;e my &s;elf and my Daughter; at lea&s;t, if ye will but &s;et Her free, who is more dear to me, then my Life, and all my E&s;tate. And &s;o &s;aying, he let fall &s;uch a Deluge of Tears, as if he had been going <HI>to wa&s;h his own &s;ooty</HI> Moor's <HI>Face white;</HI> which drew from us all that little Compa&s;&s;ion we had; at what time <HI>Zoraida</HI> turning about, and beholding her Father in that State of Af|fliction to which &s;he had reduc'd him, could not forbear throwing her Arms about his Neck, and weeping to &s;ee him weep; and then to &s;ee them weep, you would ha' laugh'd to ha' &s;een all us weeping for Company. Tho <HI>I</HI> mu&s;t confe&s;s, I cannot believe that <HI>Zoraida</HI>'s Tears were any other then Tears of Cour&s;e. For &s;hould I &s;ay they produc'd any Confe&s;&s;ion to her Father, or any other &s;igns of Repentance then what I tell ye, I &s;hould lye mo&s;t incarnately. But at length <HI>Agimorato</HI> having wip'd his Eyes, ob&s;erv'd his Daughter in all her &s;umptuous Raiment, and glittering with all her high priz'd Jewels, as if &s;he had been going to a Fea&s;t: How now, Daughter,
<PB N="228" REF="127"> quo he, What's the meaning a' this? Ye&s;terday before this Misfortune be|fell us, you were i' your Worky-day Clothes, and now i' the height of our Calamity you appear in all your gorgeous Gallantry, as if you were going to a Wedding? To all which Que&s;tions <HI>Zoraida,</HI> as well &s;he might, was at a &s;tand what An&s;wer to make her Father; who at the &s;ame time perceiving the Casket of Jewels in a corner of the Bark, which he thought had been &s;afe in his Clo&s;et in <HI>Argier,</HI> &s;trangely &s;urpriz'd, he ask'd her how that came into our Hands? But then the Renegado &s;tepping in; Come, come, Sir, &s;aid he, Catechi&s;es are for Chri&s;tians, and not for you <HI>Moors:</HI> In &s;hort, Sir, your Daughter is not the Daughter you take her to be: She is turn'd Chri&s;tian, and &s;he it was that furni&s;h'd us out of your Coffers with the means to pur|cha&s;e our Liberty; and thinks her &s;elf happy in embracing a Religion as full of Truth, as yours is of Lyes and Fal&s;hood. Is this true, Daughter, cry'd the <HI>Moor?</HI> My dear Father, I cannot deny it, an&s;wer'd <HI>Zoraida.</HI> How! reply'd the <HI>Moor,</HI> turn'd Chri&s;tian! A precious Religion, by <HI>Mahomet,</HI> that teaches a Daughter to rob and en&s;lave her Father. I am truly turn'd Chri|&s;tian, an&s;wer'd <HI>Zoraida,</HI> but I was not the Occa&s;ion of your Captivity; nor did I think to di&s;plea&s;e ye, but only to withdraw my &s;elf, and take a comfortable Sub&s;i&s;tance along with me, which I humbly thank ye, dear Sir, you never deny'd me; to the end I might go &s;eek that Happine&s;s a|mong the Chri&s;tians, which I could not find among the <HI>Moors.</HI> And what Happine&s;s, confounded Devil of a Daughter, is that, quo the <HI>Moor?</HI> Nay Sir, you mu&s;t ask <HI>Lela Marien</HI> that Que&s;tion, reply'd <HI>Zoraida,</HI> &s;he'll tell ye better then I can. Upon which, the <HI>Moor</HI> thinking him&s;elf derided by his own Fle&s;h and Blood, with an incredible Dexterity flung him&s;elf head|long into the Sea, where he had peri&s;h'd without Redemption, but that his Clothes buoying him up above water, we had at length the Opportu|nity to hook him up again into the Ve&s;&s;el, half drown'd and &s;en&s;ele&s;s. Which &s;o afflicted good natur'd <HI>Zoraida,</HI> that &s;he threw her &s;elf upon her Father, Pearls and Jewels and all, and wa&s;h'd him again with a Deluge of Tears, as if, poor Man, a' had not been wet enough before; but alas! &s;he thought he had been dead, and that was only to embalm him. But becau&s;e tho&s;e vain Complaints &s;ignify'd nothing, I carry'd her off into the Cabbin i' my own Arms of Con&s;olation, and ki&s;s'd away tho&s;e Tears that had &s;ully'd her fair Cheeks, telling her, that Fathers were to be forgot, when Husbands were i' the ca&s;e: while the Re&s;t took &s;o much care of her Parent for my &s;ake, that in two Hours he was as crank again as a Body-lou&s;e. At what time the Wind changing, Fortune guided us better then we expected, to a certain Bay &s;ecur'd by a Promontory, which the <HI>Moors</HI> call <HI>Cava Roumia,</HI> or the <HI>Wicked Chri&s;tian Woman;</HI> having a Tradition among 'em, That the Daughter of <HI>Don Julian,</HI> who was the Occa&s;ion of the lo&s;s of <HI>Spain,</HI> was bury'd there. In that Place, perceiving the Wind favourable, and the Sea grown calm, we unbound the <HI>Moors</HI> and &s;et 'em a&s;hore, contrary to their Expectation But when we came to let down <HI>Agimorato</HI> into the Skiff, Wherefore is it, Chri&s;tians, d' ye think, &s;aid he, that this wicked Wo|man is &s;o de&s;irous to &s;ee me at Liberty? Think ye, 'tis out of any Love or Pity that &s;he has for me? No, no, 'tis only becau&s;e &s;he's a&s;ham'd I &s;hould be the Te&s;timony of her wicked De&s;igns. Don't you believe that &s;he has chang'd her Religion, becau&s;e &s;he thinks it better then her own, but be|cau&s;e &s;he has heard the Women have more liberty in your Country then among the <HI>Moors.</HI> She has heard what Pranks the Women play there, how they go when they plea&s;e, and come when they plea&s;e; how they crow over their Husbands, nay, how they have choice of Gallants, and the li|berty
<PB N="229" REF="127"> too to pick and chu&s;e; and that's the thing &s;he'd be at, under the pretence of changing her Devotion. But Chri&s;tian, &s;aid he, turning to my &s;elf, for I find thou art pretty intimate with her already, if it be thy Misfortune to have her, pad-lock her be &s;ure, chain her, immure her, let her never &s;ee Sun nor Moon, but only Candle-light, when thou art with her; for of all Women, there are none more dangerous, nor more certain to &s;hew a Man a &s;lippery Trick, then your Women that counterfeit Religion to cloak their mi&s;chievous De&s;igns. And then turning to <HI>Zoraida,</HI> while my &s;elf and another held him, for fear he &s;hould a' done her a Mi&s;chief; Qui&s;tril without &s;hame, &s;aid he, ingrateful, and incon&s;iderate Off-&s;pring of my Loins, whither do thy youthful Ardours &s;o impetuou&s;ly hurry thee? Think'&s;t thou all the <HI>Moors</HI> are Eunuchs but my &s;elf that gave thee life? Curs'd be the Hour I did it, and curs'd be all my Care to breed thee up. Is it for this thou &s;end'&s;t me home to empty Che&s;ts and Coffers?&mdash; Here I &s;topt the &s;tream of his Pa&s;&s;ion; for finding the Storm of his Rage begin to ri&s;e too high, I thought it be&s;t to order the Rowers to carry him away by main force, and put him &s;afe a&s;hore, knowing we &s;hould &s;oon be out of hear|ing his Exclamation; for which, to tell ye the truth, in Ju&s;tice I could not blame him. But he had no &s;ooner &s;et his foot upon dry Land, but he be|gan to pour forth his Maledictions, like Pea&s;e out of a Sack, both again&s;t us, and all the whole Race of Men and Women for our &s;akes: be&s;eeching <HI>Mahomet</HI> to beg of God to &s;ink, de&s;troy, confound and overwhelm us, Ship, and all, to the bottom of the bottomle&s;s Pit. And when he thought us out of hearing, that his Cur&s;es and Lamentations would &s;ignifie nothing, he fell a' tearing his Hair, rending his innocent Beard from his Chin, and wallowing upon the Sand with &s;uch vi&s;ible Marks of Depair, that we were all afraid he would lay violent Hands upon him&s;elf. But then again, the Remain|ders of his Affection calming the Fury of his Tran&s;ports, with all his force, Return, he cry'd, dear Child, return, I pardon all thy Folly. Leave tho&s;e Ravi&s;hers the Wealth which they po&s;&s;e&s;s, only return, the &s;ole Con|&s;olation of a Father that loves thee tenderly, and who mu&s;t die in this De&s;art, if thou for&s;ak'&s;t him. <HI>Zoraida</HI> heard him, but all the Comfort that &s;he gave him, was only this, That &s;he de&s;ir'd <HI>Lela Marien,</HI> who had made her a Chri&s;tian, to grant him Con&s;olation; withall, calling the great <HI>Alla</HI> to witne&s;s, that &s;he could not help what &s;he had done, that the Chri|&s;tians had not forc'd her away, but that &s;he could not with&s;tand the Charms of <HI>Lela Marien,</HI> who ince&s;&s;antly pre&s;s'd her to proceed in her De&s;ign, and therefore de&s;ir'd him not to be offended. I mu&s;t confe&s;s, &s;h' had as good ha' &s;aid nothing, being a&s;&s;ur'd that half the&s;e words were &s;pok'n to the Wind; only that <HI>Zoraida</HI> had a mind to &s;hew her &s;elf a dutiful Child to the la&s;t Breath. For by this time we had lo&s;t &s;ight of <HI>Agimorato,</HI> and now di&s;ingag'd from all farther Trouble, as we thought, we &s;ail'd along with &s;uch a merry Gale, that made us hope we &s;hould reach the Coa&s;t of <HI>Spain</HI> by break of Day. But as there is no good Fortune that comes pure and neat, without &s;ome Sting i' the Tail of it, whether it were our own bad luck, or whether Hea|ven had heard the Cur&s;es which the <HI>Moor</HI> had &s;o heartily be&s;tow'd up|on his Daughter, our Joy was not of long Continuance. For as we were in the open Sea, three hours of the Night being &s;pent, &s;pooming before the Wind with a brisk Gale, and all the Sail we could make, we &s;aw by the light of the Moon, a round Ve&s;&s;el bearing right upon our Lar|board-&s;ide, &s;o that we had much ado to &s;heer clear of her. At the &s;ame time they hal'd us, and ask'd us, whence our Ship? what we were, and whither bound? All which Que&s;tions being made in <HI>French,</HI> the Rene|gado
<PB N="230" REF="128"> would return no An&s;wer, a&s;&s;uring us, that they were <HI>French</HI> Pirates that made no Di&s;tinction of Friends or Foes. Upon which we held on our Cour&s;e without an&s;wering a tittle, leaving the other Ve&s;&s;el by the Lee. But they re&s;olving not to let us go &s;o, &s;ent two Me&s;&s;engers after us i' the Devil's Name, and guided certainly by his own invi&s;ible Paw. For the fir&s;t Shot brought our main Ma&s;t by the board, &s;o that it tumbl'd into the Sea, Sail and all: The &s;econd went through and through the Bark from &s;ide to &s;ide, and made &s;uch a wide Pa&s;&s;age for the Salt-water, that finding our Ve&s;&s;el ready to &s;ink, we call'd out for help. Thereupon they pre&s;ently hoi&s;ted out their long Boat, and in a trice we had no le&s;s then twelve <HI>French men,</HI> with their Muskets and Match lighted, to attend us; who perceiving the Condition of our Bark, took us into their Boat, reproaching us for our Incivility; and after they had ask'd us as many Que&s;tions as they thought fit, fell a &s;trip|ping us, as if we had been their Capital Enemies; for they took, without Compa&s;&s;ion, all that we had, from us, except the Ca&s;canet of Jewels, which the Renegado not knowing otherwi&s;e where to hide, flung into the Sea, for <HI>Neptune</HI> to pre&s;ent to &s;ome of his Concubines; chu&s;ing rather &s;o to di&s;po&s;e of 'em, then that they &s;hould fall into the Hands of tho&s;e that would ha' &s;old 'em, for <HI>Bri&s;tol-&s;tones,</HI> and &s;pent the Money upon Whores and Brandy. From <HI>Zoraida</HI> al&s;o they took the Bracelets about her Legs and her Wri&s;ts. But I did not &s;o much mind the lo&s;s of the Pomp and Vanity of the World, as I fear'd the rude, lawle&s;s Rogues would ha' been &s;crambling for another Jewel more worth the<GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="UOM" EXTENT="1 letter"> all the re&s;t, which wou'd ha' vex'd me to the Soul, that I &s;hou'd ha' taken &s;o much Pains for Sailers Leavings. But as luck wou'd have it, the Brutes were &s;o intent up|on dividing their Spoil, that they ne're minded Beauty by Moon-light. But that which put me into a deeper Con&s;ideration, was, That they con|&s;ulted among them&s;elves, whether they &s;hould not throw us all into the Sea, muffl'd up in our own Sails; for that having a De&s;ign to trade in &s;ome parts of <HI>Spain</HI> under <HI>Engli&s;h</HI> Colours, they were afraid we &s;hould di&s;co|ver the Piracy they had committed, and cau&s;e 'em to be &s;topt in Har|bour. But the Captain, to who&s;e &s;hare <HI>Zoraida</HI>'s Plunder fell, thought him&s;elf &s;o well paid for his Night's Work, that he alter'd tho&s;e violent Re|&s;olutions of his Diabolical Crew, and was &s;o kind as to give us his long Boat, and as much Victuals as would &s;erve to carry us a&s;hore, of which he found we needed no great Quantity, being now within ken of the <HI>Spani&s;h</HI> Coa&s;t; the &s;ight whereof did &s;o revive our Hearts, that we forgot our late Misfortunes. Nay, more then that, the Captain being a Man of &s;ome Compa&s;&s;ion, and out of I know not what Qualm of Genero&s;ity, believing it ungentile to leave a young Lady without any Money in her Pocket, re|turn'd her about forty Crowns of her Gold, and would not permit the Soul|diers to meddle with the Clothes that &s;he had on. So that indeed what might we not ha' &s;av'd, had we been half &s;o wi&s;e as <HI>Waltham</HI>'s Calf, when we had time to prevent the wor&s;t. However, we were very thankful, Ile a&s;&s;ure ye, for what we had; and &s;o being di&s;mi&s;s'd, away we row'd to|ward the Land, and by Midnight-Moon-light got a&s;hore. Where, as &s;oon as we had &s;et our Feet upon the firm Sand, we wept for Joy, and gave thanks to Heaven that the wor&s;t was no wor&s;e. After that, we fetch'd our Provi&s;ion out of the Skiff, and all that Night &s;helter'd our &s;elves, as well as we could, under the Covert of a Rock clo&s;e by. So &s;oon as Morning ap|pear'd, we &s;ent up &s;ome of our Company to &s;ee if they could di&s;cover any Towns, or Villages, or Steeples at any di&s;tance; but there was neither the one nor the other to be &s;een, as if we had been in a De&s;art. Thereupon
<PB N="231" REF="128"> we re&s;olv'd to foot it along, under the Guidance of Fortune, till we met with &s;omething, or &s;ome Body, that might convince us we were got into an inhabited Country. Nothing griev'd me, but to &s;ee that poor <HI>Zoraida's</HI> feet began to bli&s;ter; &s;o that I could ha' wi&s;h'd her for the time no bigger then a Pigmy, that I might ha' carry'd her at my back, as the Gyp&s;ies carry their Bantlings. I confe&s;s, &s;ometimes meer Tenderne&s;s and Affection con&s;train'd me to take her up upon my &s;houlders; but then me thought, I look'd &s;o like a Petty-Chapman, with his Potter's Shop at his back, that I could not chu&s;e but laugh at my &s;elf; be&s;ides, that it hinder'd us from keep|ing pace with our Company: So that all the help we had, was to walk Arm in Arm together, like <HI>Young Gammer,</HI> tugging her <HI>Young Gaffer</HI> along, with her Elbow in his Ribs, upon a Holy-day.</P>
<P>In this po&s;ture we travell'd along, till we heard the tinkling of a little Bell, which made us believe that there were &s;ome Sheep feeding not far off; and looking about us, we &s;aw a Shepherd lying at the foot of a Cork-Tree, plotting no Trea&s;on I dare &s;wear, but at his full ea&s;e, whitling a &s;tick with his wood'n ha&s;ted Knife. As &s;oon as we came within hearing, we call'd to him; but he, turning his Head, and &s;eeing the <HI>Renegado</HI> and <HI>Zoraida</HI> in their <HI>Moors</HI> Habit, got upon his ten Toes, and believing all the <HI>Moors</HI> in <HI>Barbary</HI> had been at his heels, fell a running as hard as his Legs could carry him; crying out, <HI>Moors, Moors, Arm, Arm.</HI> Which put us into a peck of troubles, well knowing the Cu&s;tom of the Place. For we were afraid that this &s;hould alarm the <HI>Cavalry,</HI> that lay ready to &s;cour the Country upon &s;uch Occa&s;ions. And indeed, as we fear'd, &s;o it happen'd; for about two hours after, as we were entring into a fair Plain out of a long Heath full of Brakes and Bryars, we &s;aw about fifty Hor&s;e-men galloping towards us in very good Order. Neverthele&s;s we re&s;olv'd to abide their Charge without &s;tirring a foot, believing they could not be &s;o inhumane to hurt us. But alas, they were more a&s;toni&s;h'd then we, when they found in&s;tead of the <HI>Moors</HI> which they look'd for, a &s;mall Crew of mi&s;erable, ragged, forlorn, tatter'd Chri|&s;tians. What! are you, they cry'd, the terrible black Legion of <HI>Moors,</HI> that ha' giv'n this hot Alarm? To which I was going about to give an An&s;wer, at what time, one of our Companions knowing the Hor&s;e-man again that ask'd the Que&s;tion, Ble&s;s'd be our Guardian-Angel, &s;aid he, that has brought us hither. For if I mi&s;take not, we are in the Province of <HI>Velez Malaga;</HI> and if my long Slavery has not de&s;troy'd my Memory, you are <HI>&s;uch a One</HI> my Uncle. Upon which the Hor&s;e-man, after he had look'd wi&s;tly in his face, whipt from his Saddle, and embracing the young Man, 'tis very true, &s;aid he; dear Nephew of my Soul, 'tis very true, I am that Uncle, that have a thou&s;and times bewail'd thee for dead (&s;ee now how the Story begins to thicken) and thee it is, that my Si&s;ter, and thy Mother and I have lamented and bewail'd whole hours toge|ther, believing thee buried in the Belly of &s;ome Shark or Sword-fi&s;h; but Hea|vens! what weeping now will there be for Joy, when all thy Friends, that are &s;till alive, &s;hall &s;ee thee again. When the Souldiers perceiv'd that we were Chri&s;tian Slaves, they all alighted, and proffer'd us their Hor&s;es, to carry us to <HI>Malaga,</HI> whither it was about four miles and a half. But we refu&s;ing to ride &s;ingle, they took us up behind 'em; and as for <HI>Zoraida,</HI> my Companion's Uncle took particular care of her. In this Equipage we were joyfully receiv'd by the People of the City, who having notice of our Ar|rival, came forth in heaps to meet us. But nothing &s;urpriz'd 'em &s;o much as <HI>Zoraida's</HI> Beauty, at a time when the heat of Travelling, and her joy to &s;ee her &s;elf &s;afe among the Chri&s;tians, brought &s;uch lively Colours into her Cheeks, that I may &s;afely &s;ay without flattery, I never &s;aw any thing more lovely in my life.</P>
<PB N="232" REF="129">
<P>All the People accompany'd us to the great Church, where we alighted, to return thanks to Heaven for our Miraculous Deliverance from Slavery. And I remember that <HI>Zoraida,</HI> as &s;oon as &s;he enter'd the Church, and had look'd a little about her, told us, that &s;he &s;aw Faces which re&s;embl'd that of <HI>Lela Marien,</HI> as &s;he had appear'd to her. 'Tis very true, &s;aid I, for tho&s;e are the very Pictures of her; which I inform'd her the rather, that &s;he might pay the &s;ame Veneration to 'em, that the Chri&s;tians did. Nor was <HI>Zoraida</HI> &s;o thick skull'd, as not to know what I meant; for &s;he acted the Chri&s;tian &s;o prettily, that all the People were over-joy'd to &s;ee &s;uch a Convert.</P>
<P>When we came out of the Church, the re&s;t of my Companions had Lodging appointed for 'em at Publick Hou&s;es, where you may be &s;ure they had their Diet and Being for nothing, to tell their Stories over and over to all Commers and Goers. As for <HI>Zoraida,</HI> my &s;elf, and the <HI>Renegado,</HI> the Souldier's Nephew carry'd us all three to his Father's Hou&s;e, who was a Slop-&s;eller, a very &s;ufficient Man; and one that receiv'd, and made as much of us as he did of his own Son. There we continued &s;ix days, till our Story grew thred-bare (for Stories are like Flowers, delightful when fre&s;h, but wither when too much breath'd upon,) nor was the Slop-&s;eller bound to maintain us for ever. Therefore after the &s;ix days of Honey-Moon were over, the <HI>Renegado</HI> went to &s;eek his Fortune; but whither, or how he intended to di&s;po&s;e of him&s;elf, as having now done with him, I neither enquir'd, nor car'd to know. As for <HI>Zoraida</HI> and my &s;elf, we liv'd upon the Liberality of the Courteous Pirate, of which I laid out &s;ome part to buy her a Mule, to ea&s;e her in Travelling; and now I am going to &s;ee whether my Father be alive, and whether my Brothers have met with any better Fortune i' the World then I did. Though I mu&s;t confe&s;s, I have no rea&s;on to complain of Fortune, who tho a little too unkindly &s;he has be&s;tow'd her Portion upon another, has however be&s;tow'd the Wife upon me; and the Affection of <HI>Zoraida,</HI> who&s;e Beauty and Vertues I value above all the Riches in the World. But in regard this World is govern'd by Proverbs, of which there is one that tells us, <HI>More belongs to Wedlock, then four bare Legs in a Bed:</HI> And another, that &s;ays, <HI>Sweet-heart and Honey-bird keeps no Hou&s;e;</HI> therefore it is, that I would fain find out a way to reconcile my &s;elf with this angry, frowning, wa&s;pi&s;h World; and beg of Madam, Counte&s;s, Dutche&s;s, Queen, Empre&s;s; nay, if Titles would plea&s;e her, I would call her Saint Fortune, that &s;he would conde&s;cend to favour me &s;o far, as to a&s;&s;i&s;t me to recover my &s;elf into a condition, that I may be able in &s;ome mea&s;ure, to retaliate <HI>Zoraida</HI> for the Lo&s;&s;es &s;he has &s;u&s;tain'd for my &s;ake, that &s;he may not repent her having exchang'd and abandon'd the Superfluity and Abundance of <HI>Mahumeti&s;m,</HI> for the Poverty and Mi&s;ery of Chri&s;tianity. In a word, the Patience which &s;he has &s;hewn in all the Hard&s;hips which &s;he has &s;uffer'd, and all the Misfortunes that have befall'n us is &s;uch, that I cannot but con&s;ider it with Admiration. But that which is more to be ad|mir'd then all the re&s;t, is her ardent de&s;ire to be a Chri&s;tian. So that had I receiv'd no other Obligations at her hands, her Vertue alone is that which engages me to e&s;teem and honour her as long as I live. Neverthele&s;s, in the mid&s;t of all my Joy to be po&s;&s;e&s;s'd of Her, I cannot be at re&s;t, till I am a&s;&s;ur'd to find &s;ome corner of my Country, where I may po&s;&s;e&s;s &s;o much Felicity in Tranquillity and Peace of Mind, fearing the death of my Fa|ther; and that my Brothers, if advanc'd, have found their Preferment in &s;ome places far di&s;tant from the &s;eat of their Nativity; or el&s;e that Fortune has been no kinder to them, then to my &s;elf. This, Gentlemen, is my
<PB N="233" REF="129"> Story, which if I have not rehears'd to your content, you mu&s;t pardon me, becau&s;e I am no Orator: Or if I have been too prolix, I be&s;eech ye to ex|cu&s;e me, becau&s;e I could not make it any &s;horter. Be&s;ides, Gentlemen, I have ob&s;erv'd, that when men tell &s;tories of them&s;elves, they are &s;o full of their own Conceits, and &s;o wrapt up i' their own Thoughts, that they never mind the Errors they commit; &s;o that while they are, as it were, play|ing their own Game, they make tho&s;e mi&s;takes, which they can never &s;o curiou&s;ly ob&s;erve as the &s;tanders by.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="15" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XV.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Of what happen'd in the Inn; and of other Remarkable Pa&s;&s;ages, wor|thy to be known.</HEAD>
<P>THE Story's a good Story, quo <HI>Don Ferdinand,</HI> and will &s;erve well enough over a Bottle o' Wine: But not &s;o &s;trange, nor &s;o full of Accidents or Variety, that I have heard. For my Ears meet with but one change in all the whole Relation, and that was when the Pirates chang'd your Gold for ye, and gave the Lady the re&s;t again. But gi' me leave to tell ye, for tho I ha' been a &s;inner i' my time, I am now and then a little quea&s;ie-con&s;cienc'd; I do not like the Ma&s;ter-Spring, that gives motion to the whole Watch-work of your Di&s;cour&s;e. And therefore, had I been the Surveyor of this Tale, I &s;hould ha' laid it upon &s;ome other Foundation. I cannot believe, the <HI>Alcoran</HI> it &s;elf does any where ju&s;tifie a Chri&s;tian Daughter, under a pretended inflam'd de&s;ire of turning <HI>Mahometan,</HI> to rob a dearly beloved Chri&s;tian Parent of all he had i' the World, and run away with a Gentleman-like manner o' man, that had not a rag to his back. 'Tis true, I ha' heard of a Chri&s;tian Dam&s;el, that &s;o &s;oon as her Father was dead, got the Key of his Iron Che&s;t, and cramming five hundred broad Pieces into her Apron, in her Brother's ab&s;ence, ran away with it to a Gro|cer, and marry'd him, and the Grocer marry'd her for lucre of the Money. But this Chri&s;tian Virgin was Con&s;cionable; &s;he took but five hundred out of five thou&s;and, and left her Brother the re&s;t. But this Lady robb'd her Father of all he had i' the World, and left him nothing but a Garden, and his choice of a few Trees to hang him&s;elf, when he con&s;ider'd how his own Fle&s;h and Blood had &s;erv'd him. You &s;ay, &s;he did it at the importu|nity of <HI>Lela Marien:</HI> But this is to make our Saints in Bli&s;s, no better then the Ancient Poets made their Heathen Gods and Godde&s;&s;es, meer Whores and Pilferers. For if <HI>Lela Marien</HI> advis'd <HI>Zoraida</HI> to rob her Father; nay, as far as I can hear, &s;he took a Journey to Earth a purpo&s;e to encourage and in&s;truct her, then was <HI>Lela Marien</HI> Acce&s;&s;ary to the Crime<GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="UOM" EXTENT="1 letter"> which can ne|ver enter into my thoughts. And therefore, Sir, the next time you tell your Story, I would have ye with the Pruning-knife of Di&s;cretion pare off &s;ome part of it, and only &s;ay, That the Young Lady, like <HI>Pa&s;iphae,</HI> and &s;everal others, long'd for &s;omething that Young Ladies, pent up as the <HI>Moors</HI> lock up their Daughters, by in&s;tinct of Nature long for at her Years; and that fixing her Fancy upon you, no body el&s;e would &s;erve her turn &mdash; and &s;o go on &mdash; What think you, Mr. <HI>Curate?</HI> &mdash; Truly, my Lord, re|ply'd the Curate, I have been all along of your Mind; and if I were to be
<PB N="234" REF="130"> Fore-man of <HI>Lela Marien's</HI> Grand-Jury, I would bring her in <HI>Ignoramus.</HI> However, <HI>Don Ferdinand,</HI> perceiving <HI>Zoraida</HI> to colour at his Opinion, told the Captive, that &s;ince the Lady had paid &s;o dear for her Learning, he pity'd the misfortunes of her Beauty, tho not the di&s;appointment of his own Expectations: And as for her Pious de&s;ign of turning Chri&s;tian, he was &s;o far from di&s;couraging her in it, that if both he and &s;he would be pleas'd to accept his offer, and go along with him, he would prevail with his own Brother to be <HI>Zoraida's</HI> God-father; and would him&s;elf take care to put 'em both into &s;uch an Equipage, as &s;hould Command a Welcome to his Na|tive Country, befitting <HI>Zoraida's</HI> Beauty and Merit. Which the Captive with many endearing Complements acknowledg'd for a high favour; but whether it were that he was unwilling to tru&s;t <HI>Zoraida</HI> with &s;uch a Whip|&s;ter as <HI>Don Ferdinand</HI> &s;eem'd to be, he humbly excus'd him&s;elf, alledging his de&s;ire to return with all the &s;peed he could, where his Heart was already gone before. However, the Curate, <HI>Cardenio,</HI> and the re&s;t applauded <HI>Don Ferdinand</HI>'s Genero&s;ity, and gave him a thou&s;and Thanks, as if the Offer had been made to them&s;elves.</P>
<P>By this time the Sun was ju&s;t gone down, when a Coach and Six came thundring to the Gate of the Inn, attended by &s;everal Hor&s;e-men, that rode into the Yard, and ask'd for Lodging. To whom the An&s;wer was, That the Hou&s;e was full. Full! &s;aid the Gentleman, it cannot be &s;o full &s;ure, but that there mu&s;t be room for the Judge of the Prerogative. The Inn-keeper &s;urpriz'd to hear the Title, mode&s;tly an&s;wer'd, That all his Rooms were taken up, but if the Judge had a Bed of his own, as he que&s;tion'd not but that he had, he would &s;pare him his own Chamber. Pre&s;ently appear'd a comely graceful Per&s;on, in a long Gown with tufted Buttons, leading a young Lady in his Hand, about fifteen Years of Age, to outward Appearance, in her riding Habit, neat and fa&s;hionable; but in her own Per&s;on &s;o fair and lovely withall, that &s;he dazl'd the Eyes of all that beheld her; as being nothing infe|riour to Madam <HI>Dorothy, Lucinda,</HI> or <HI>Zoraida</HI> them&s;elves. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;tand|ing at the Inn-door when the Judge alighted out of the Coach, &s;o &s;oon as he &s;aw him ready to enter, <Q>Sir, &s;aid he, you may boldly advance into this Ca|&s;tle, and &s;tay as long as you plea&s;e, tho it be not &s;o &s;pacious, nor &s;o well accommodated as it &s;hould be: But be it what it will, there mu&s;t be room for Knights and Men of Learning, e&s;pecially when accompany'd with &s;o much Beauty as you lead along; to which, not only the Gates of Ca&s;tles &s;hould flye open, but Rocks them&s;elves &s;hould know their Duty, and re|move, or el&s;e di&s;&s;olve before her; and Mountains part a&s;under, or &s;ink in|to the Earth, to give her way. Then enter, Sir, this Paradi&s;e, where you &s;hall meet with Stars fit to attend the Sun that &s;hines in your Hand; Valour and Courage in their Perfection, and Beauty in the Highe&s;t de|gree of Splendour.</Q> The &s;erious Judge, amaz'd to hear <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Bomba&s;t, &s;urvey'd him with a curious Eye, admiring his Dre&s;s and A&s;pect beyond his Words, and finding no Body to &s;atisfie his Curio&s;ity, re&s;olv'd him&s;elf to have t'other view of the My&s;terious Object, when <HI>Lucinda,</HI> Ma|dam <HI>Dorothy,</HI> and <HI>Zoraida,</HI> having heard the Ho&s;te&s;s to extoll her new Gue&s;t, went to pay her the Civilities of Strangers, and invite her into their Com|pany. And the &s;ame &s;preading News al&s;o brought <HI>Don Ferdinand, Carde|nio,</HI> the Curate, and the re&s;t of the Company to wait upon the Judge, as an unknown Per&s;on of Honour and Dignity, but more to behold the dazling Beauty of the Young Lady, and Complement her into their Society. On the other &s;ide, the Grave Judge was &s;o confounded to hear and &s;ee &s;o much in &s;o little time, that he had not lei&s;ure to con&s;ider where he was, or whe|ther
<PB N="235" REF="130"> they were Apparitions or Realities. However, he put off his Hat with both Hands, bow'd to the Right, and to the Left; and with a com|pos'd Formality, for many Complements that had been be&s;tow'd upon him, return'd a Maje&s;tick and Brief <HI>I thank ye, Gentlemen:</HI> For Gentlemen he thought 'em to be, and Per&s;ons of Quality; but as for the Countenance, Actions, Accoutrements, and Behaviour of <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> he knew not what to imagine or conjecture. However, as much Gentlemen as he took 'em to be, the Judge, who was a Man of Experience, as one that had been Young in his time, re&s;olv'd to prevent their Ki&s;&s;ing-Dances with his Niece; and therefore as &s;oon as he had tak'n his Chair at the upper end of the Table, he made a Decree i' the fir&s;t place, that the Women &s;hould keep together i' the inner Room, after the <HI>Per&s;ian</HI> manner, as being a &s;ufficient number to hold a Chat together, till they dropt fa&s;t a&s;leep, and tire the be&s;t Short-hand Writer in Chri&s;tendom: And that the Men &s;hould drink and confer Notes together i' the outer Chamber, as a Guard to the Ladies.</P>
<P>The &s;eparation being thus made, the Gla&s;s had not gone about many times, before the Slave, who had all along kept his Eye fix'd upon the Judges Face, began to have &s;trange Fancies and Imaginations in his Head, that the Judge was his own Brother; but being unwilling to tru&s;t his own Judgment, he went forth, and enquir'd of one of the Judges Servants, what was his Ma&s;ter's Name, and what Country-man he was? Who, in&s;tead of an&s;wering him, ask'd him, where he was born, that he did not know Doctor &mdash; the Famou&s;e&s;t Civilian in all <HI>Spain,</HI> who had advanc'd him&s;elf by his Learning, as being born but of mean Parentage among the Moun|tains of <HI>Leon.</HI> By which An&s;wer, the Captive was confirm'd in the truth of his Conjecture, that it was his Brother indeed, and the &s;ame that had cho&s;en to betake him&s;elf to his Studies. Thereupon he took <HI>Don Ferdinand, Cardenio,</HI> and the Curate a&s;ide, and a&s;&s;ur'd 'em the Judge was his Brother; and that he was certain of it by all the Circum&s;tances which the Judge's Servant had told him: Moreover, that the Young Lady was not his Niece, but his Daughter; who&s;e Mother dy'd in Child-bed, after &s;he had brought her forth into the World. Thereupon he de&s;ir'd 'em to advi&s;e him what cour&s;e he &s;hou'd take to di&s;cover him&s;elf, and whether it would not be his be&s;t way, to try whether his Brother would acknowledge him or no; in regard 'twas the fa&s;hion of the World to di&s;own Poor Kindred. Let me alone, quo the Curate, to try th' Experiment; my mind gives me I &s;hall ha' good luck, for I remember I ro&s;e with my Bum upward this Morning: Be&s;ides, by that skill in Phy&s;iognomy that I have, I do not find by the Judge's Face, that he is a Per&s;on of that haughty Humour, to de&s;pi&s;e People in misfortune.</P>
<P>Thereupon, Supper being &s;erv'd in, the Slave made an Excu&s;e to ab&s;ent him&s;elf; and for the Ladies, they Supp'd i' their <HI>Turki&s;h Haram</HI> by them|&s;elves. The Curate therefore watching his time, about the middle of the Repa&s;t, after &s;everal chirping Cups had gone round (for many Judges will take up their Cups pretty &s;martly at Meals, which cau&s;es 'em as often to &s;leep upon the Bench:) I &s;ay, the Curate then taking his Opportunity, and addre&s;&s;ing him&s;elf to the Judge, who was al&s;o at the &s;ame time in a plea|&s;ant Humour; <Q>Sir, &s;aid he, being formerly a Slave at <HI>Con&s;tantinople,</HI> I had then a Companion in misfortune, that bare the &s;ame Sirname as you do: And I'le a&s;&s;ure ye, Sir, he was a brave &s;tout Fellow, and one of the be&s;t Foot Officers that ever fought i' the <HI>Low-Countries:</HI> But the poor Man did not meet with that good Fortune which his Courage de&s;erv'd.</Q> To which the Judge, I well know my own Sir-name, quo he; but I pray, what was that Officer's Chri&s;t'n Name? <Q>He had two, reply'd the Curate, <HI>Ap
<PB N="236" REF="131"> Shenkin, ap Thomas,</HI> and was born, as he &s;aid, among the Mountains of <HI>Leon,</HI> or <HI>Prittain,</HI> I can't tell well which. And I remember particularly that he told me one Story of him&s;elf, and two other Brothers that he had, how his Father was given to good Company, but of &s;uch a &s;ingular good Nature, that his Liberality purchas'd him many <HI>Hangers on;</HI> by which means finding his E&s;tate begin to wa&s;te, he re&s;olv'd in time to divide what he had left among his three Sons; giving 'em withal, at the &s;ame time &s;uch proper Coun&s;el and Advice, as &s;hew'd him to be a per&s;on that under|&s;tood the World. My Companion, it &s;eems, cho&s;e the hazardous Em|ployment of a Souldier, and betook him&s;elf to the Field, where, by his Valour, he advanc'd him&s;elf to be Captain of a Foot-Company, and had a fair Pro&s;pect of a Colonel's Place, had not Fortune laid a Block in his way, at which he &s;tumbl'd, and fell into Captivity, being taken Pri&s;oner at that &s;ame famous Battle of <HI>Lepanto,</HI> where &s;o many Slaves recover'd their Liberty. From <HI>Con&s;tantinople,</HI> it &s;eems, he was carry'd to <HI>Argier,</HI> where the &s;trange&s;t Accident befell him that ever was known &s;ince the Creation.</Q> And here the Curate took an Occa&s;ion &s;uccinctly to give the Judge an Account of the whole Story of <HI>Zoraida</HI> and his Brother, till he had brought 'em to be taken and plunder'd of all they had by the <HI>French,</HI> who had reduc'd 'em to the lowe&s;t Aby&s;s of Mi&s;ery and Poverty. To which he added, that &s;ince that time he had heard no News of 'em, and whether they were arriv'd in that lamentable Condition upon the Coa&s;t of <HI>Spain,</HI> or whether taken by other Pyrats, he could give no Account. To all this the Judge li&s;ten'd with &s;uch an Attention, as plainly di&s;cover'd him to be not a little concern'd; in&s;omuch that when he found the Curate had quite done, the poor Gentleman, with the Tears &s;tanding in his Eyes, fetch'd a deep Sigh. Ah, Sir, quo he, you little think what News you have told me, nor how deeply you have pierc'd me to the Heart. That brave Soul|dier you &s;peak of, is, or was my elde&s;t Brother, who out of a generous Ambition, cho&s;e to &s;erve his Prince in the Wars, which was one of tho&s;e Profe&s;&s;ions my Father propos'd to our Election. For my part, I betook my &s;elf to the Law, an advantageous Study, if a man can but once get the knack on't, and learn to comply with his Superiours. I thank God, I hit it &s;o right, that I have advanc'd my &s;elf to the Degree of a Judge. As for our younger Brother, he went to the <HI>Ea&s;t-Indies,</HI> where he has va&s;tly enrich'd him&s;elf, and &s;o &s;upply'd my Father with his yearly Pre&s;ents, that he is in a much better Condition to &s;atisfie his liberal Humour then ever he was. The good old Gentleman is &s;till alive, and prays continually to Heaven to &s;pare him his Life, but only till he may have the Happine&s;s to &s;ee once more his elde&s;t Son, from whom he has never heard, &s;ince he la&s;t took his leave. And truly I wonder that &s;o prudent a Man as my Brother, &s;hould be &s;o long abroad, and never find &s;o much lei&s;ure as to write one &s;ingle Line, to let a tender Father know what was become of him. Alas&mdash; had we under&s;tood his Condition, he &s;hould never ha' been beholding to a ridiculous Story of <HI>Lela Marien,</HI> and a miraculous Reed for his Liberty. All that I fear, is this, le&s;t tho&s;e cur&s;ed <HI>Frenchmen</HI> &s;hou'd ha' retaken him, and flung him into the Sea, to prevent his Di&s;covery of their Villany. Poor and unfortunate Soul! knew I but where thou wer't, thy Mi&s;ery &s;hould &s;oon be at an end, if all my Wealth could redeem thee from the deepe&s;t Dungeon in <HI>Barbary.</HI> And thou <HI>Zoraida,</HI> no le&s;s bountiful then fair, what Recompence can be &s;ufficient to reward thy Kindne&s;s to my Brother? What would I give to &s;ee thee? Nay, what wou'd I not give to make two &s;uch unfortunate Lovers happy to their Satisfaction, after &s;o much Hard&s;hip and
<PB N="237" REF="131"> Fellow-&s;uffering? All which &s;oft Expre&s;&s;ions dropt with &s;uch Tenderne&s;s and Affection from the Judge's Lips, that all who heard him were deeply &s;en&s;ible of his fraternal Pity.</P>
<P>Thereupon the <HI>Curate</HI> &s;eeing his De&s;ign had &s;o well &s;ucceeded, re&s;olv'd to relea&s;e the compa&s;&s;ionate Judge from the Oppre&s;&s;ion of his Sorrows, and re&s;tore the Company to their former Mirth. To which purpo&s;e he ro&s;e from the Table, and going into the Lady's Apartment, and leading <HI>Zoraida</HI> by the Hand, attended by Madam <HI>Doroty, Lucinda,</HI> and the Judge's Daughter, brought her forth, and pre&s;enting her to the Judge, while the Captain &s;tood <HI>incognito,</HI> to ob&s;erve the Event; Dry up your Tears, Sir, &s;aid he, and enjoy your Wi&s;hes; &s;ee here the lovely Si&s;ter, whom you have &s;o ardently de&s;ir'd to &s;ee, and there behold the Captain your dear Bro|ther. You &s;ee, Sir, the mi&s;erable Condition to which the <HI>French</HI> have re|duc'd 'em; which Heaven perhaps has &s;o brought to pa&s;s, that you might have an Opportunity to exerci&s;e your Bounty. With that, the Captain ran to embrace his Brother; who having view'd him well, and finding him to be the &s;ame per&s;on, immediately threw his Arms about his Neck, while the Captain embrac'd the Judge's Wa&s;te, and both held each other &s;o clo&s;ely enfolded, that the one &s;eem'd to be <HI>Thi&s;tleworth-Steeple,</HI> and the other the Ivy that grows about it. And all the while the Judge wept, and the Captain wept, which &s;et the Company a weeping to that Degree, that you could &s;ee no Faces for white Handkerchiefs; &s;o that had a Stranger enter'd, he would ha' &s;worn it had been the Hou&s;e o' Mourning, or that the World had been at an end with 'em. At length the Judge let go, and be|ing ungra&s;p'd by his Brother, ran to embrace <HI>Zoraida,</HI> promi&s;ing her all <HI>Ignoramus</HI>'s <HI>Joynture, Gownos, Silkoatos, Kirtellos, &amp; Peticotos,</HI> for her Kind|ne&s;s to his Brother. Then he embrac'd the Captain again, and then again <HI>Zoraida.</HI> To tell ye truth, the good Gentleman was &s;o over-joy'd, that he knew not which to embrace fir&s;t, nor which to embrace la&s;t. Then <HI>Zo|raida</HI> embrac'd the Judge's Daughter, and the Judge's Daughter embrac'd her: And they two could not chu&s;e but have the t'other Bout at Weeping, to &s;hew they were of the true Female Sex. And thus you &s;ee that Tears are like the Bells, which make no Di&s;tinction between Burials and Wed|dings. As for <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> he lookt on all the while very &s;eriou&s;ly and gravely, but neither wept, nor &s;poke a Word, a&s;cribing all the&s;e &s;trange and various Events to the <HI>Chimera's</HI> of <HI>Knight-Errantry.</HI> However, he offer'd to watch the Ca&s;tle, le&s;t any Giant or other boi&s;terous Hector of a <HI>Belianis of Greece,</HI> hearing what an infinite Trea&s;ure of Beauty the Ca&s;tle enclos'd, might have a De&s;ign to &s;urprize it. For which, they that knew him re|turn'd him immediate Thanks; and for fear he &s;hould think him&s;elf &s;light|ed by the Judge, they gave the Judge a brief Account of his Humour, and told him aloud, for <HI>Don Quixote</HI> to hear, that he was the valiant <HI>Knight of the Ill-favour'd Countenance,</HI> who had promis'd to guard the Ca&s;tle that Night, and to give 'em notice how the Hours pa&s;s'd, with a <HI>Good morrow my Ma&s;ters all, good morrow.</HI> Upon which, the Judge could do no le&s;s then gravely and &s;eriou&s;ly acco&s;t him, and return him Thanks as the re&s;t had done, for his Care and Civility. Only <HI>Sancho,</HI> poor <HI>Sancho</HI> in the mid&s;t of all this general Rejoycing, &s;tood fretting, and fuming, and cur&s;|ing to him&s;elf, to be kept &s;o long up from his natural Re&s;t; till at length having obtain'd his Ma&s;ter's Permi&s;&s;ion, he betook him&s;elf to his beloved Pack-saddle, and there laid him down to &s;nore, with a Head le&s;s troubl'd then a &s;inking Banker's, you may be &s;ure; for which he paid full dearly, as you will hear by the Sequel.</P>
<PB N="238" REF="132">
<P>For now the Ladies being retir'd to their Apartment, and their Men ha|ving accommodated them&s;elves the be&s;t they could, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> went out of the Inn to watch the Ca&s;tle, according to his Promi&s;e. And now was all the Inn wrapp'd up in Slumber, hu&s;h'd and quiet as the Temple of Silence; when a little before day-break the Ladies were awaken'd by a well-tun'd and mo&s;t harmonious Voice, e&s;pecially Madam <HI>Dorothy,</HI> by who&s;e &s;ide, for want of a more comfortable Bedfellow, lay the fair Madam <HI>Clara,</HI> for &s;o was the Judge's Daughter call'd. It was only a &s;ingle Voice, and &s;ometimes they heard it in the Court, and &s;ometimes in the Stable. By and by came <HI>Cardenio</HI> knocking &s;oftly at the Chamber-door, and perceiving all were not fa&s;t; they that are not a&s;leep, &s;aid he, let 'em come forth and hear a young Mule-driver &s;ing. I profe&s;s, added he, his Voice is &s;o deli|cious, that 'tis enough to enchant your Ears. We have heard him, re|ply'd Madam <HI>Dorothy,</HI> with wonderful Delight. But then <HI>Cardenio</HI> depart|ing, and the Voice beginning a &s;econd time, Madam <HI>Dorothy</HI> li&s;ten'd with more Attention, and di&s;tinctly heard the following words.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="16" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XVI.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Relating the Story of the young Mule-driver, with other &s;trange Pa&s;|&s;ages that happen'd in the Inn.</HEAD>
<Q><LG N="1">
<HEAD>I.</HEAD>
<L>I <HI>Am a young Sailor launched of late</HI></L>
<L><HI>Into the wide Ocean of Love,</HI></L>
<L><HI>Nor long did I rove,</HI></L>
<L><HI>Ere a Frigat &s;o gay and nimble I met,</HI></L>
<L><HI>That I fain wou'd ha' laid her aboard:</HI></L>
<L><HI>But alas! when I &s;aw &s;he was free</HI></L>
<L><HI>To ha' &s;pok'n wi' me,</HI></L>
<L><HI>My &s;ails I pre&s;ently lor'd,</HI></L>
<L><HI>So willing was I to ha' come by her Lee.</HI></L>
</LG>
<LG N="2">
<HEAD>II.</HEAD>
<L><HI>But then a black Storm envelop'd the Skies,</HI></L>
<L><HI>And away &s;he tack'd with the wind in her Poop,</HI></L>
<L><HI>While I unable to fetch her up,</HI></L>
<L><HI>Soon lo&s;t the &s;ight of my Prize.</HI></L>
<L><HI>And ever &s;ince that, my fortune unkind,</HI></L>
<L><HI>I ha' &s;ail'd up and down,</HI></L>
<L><HI>De&s;pairing to find</HI></L>
<L><HI>Love's Haven &s;o known, nor his great Sea-port Town.</HI></L>
</LG>
<LG N="3">
<HEAD>III.</HEAD>
<L><HI>I lookt for a Star that might ha' &s;ecur'd me,</HI></L>
<L><HI>At lea&s;t, as I thought, which the Poets a&s;&s;ur'd me,</HI></L>
<PB N="239" REF="132">
<L><HI>Shone as bright as the Star i' the Tail of the Bear;</HI></L>
<L><HI>But the hair-brain'd Poets talk idle, I fear;</HI></L>
<L><HI>For I gap'd i' the Skies</HI></L>
<L><HI>For my Mi&s;tre&s;s's Eyes,</HI></L>
<L><HI>But the Devil of any &s;uch Stars were there.</HI></L>
</LG>
<LG N="4">
<HEAD>IV.</HEAD>
<L><HI>What's the matter, quo I, that thus I &s;hould mi&s;s</HI></L>
<L><HI>The general Mart o' the World;</HI></L>
<L><HI>Where all men are burl'd,</HI></L>
<L><HI>To Love's Markets and Fairs</HI></L>
<L><HI>With all &s;orts of Wares?</HI></L>
<L><HI>'Slife! let me but meet this Frigat again,</HI></L>
<L><HI>I'le hazard the Ri&s;co of wounded or &s;lain,</HI></L>
<L><HI>But I'le humble her Pride,</HI></L>
<L><HI>And clap her aboard, or &s;ink by her &s;ide.</HI></L>
</LG></Q>
<P>Here Madam <HI>Doroty,</HI> who till then had let Madam <HI>Clara</HI> &s;leep on, after &s;he had wak'd her, Pardon me, Madam, &s;aid &s;he, for giving yee this Di|&s;turbance&mdash; which was only that you might have the Opportunity to hear the mo&s;t plea&s;ant Voice i' the World. Madam <HI>Clara</HI> rubbing her Eyes, and stretching out her Legs, as not being fully come to her Sen&s;es, did not well apprehend at fir&s;t what her Bedfellow &s;aid; &s;o that Madam <HI>Do|roty</HI> was forc'd to repeat her Excu&s;e over again. But then when Madam <HI>Clara</HI> heard the Voice it &s;elf, &s;he fell into &s;uch a &s;trange trembling, as if the unmerciful <HI>Devil</HI> of a <HI>Quartan Ague</HI> had been rattling her tender Bones in a Temple <HI>In-and-In</HI> Box. Ah, Madam! &s;aid &s;he, wherefore did ye wake me? It had been better for me to ha' &s;lept my la&s;t, then have heard this unfortunate Song&s;ter. How, Madam! reply'd Madam <HI>Doroty,</HI> what's the matter? Why, 'tis no body but a ra&s;cally young Mule-driver that &s;ings, let his Voice be never &s;o &s;weet. No, no,&mdash; an&s;wer'd Mrs. <HI>Clara,</HI> you are mi&s;tak'n, 'tis a young Gentleman of a fair E&s;tate, and a Per&s;on of good Quality, that comes not hither by accident&mdash; To tell ye truth, Madam, he's the very Per&s;on that I love above all the Per&s;ons i' the World; and if my Fa|ther were dead, as I wi&s;h to God a' were, I wou'd marry him to morrow. Alas! I ha' been lock't up, and watch'd, and guarded any time this half year, for fear I &s;hould make my e&s;cape out at the Garret-window to him&mdash; but&mdash; Madam <HI>Doroty</HI> &s;trangely &s;urpriz'd to hear a young Girl of her years talk &s;o feelingly of Love, and Marriage, and Garret-windows; I profe&s;s, Madam, quo &s;he, I do not under&s;tand ye&mdash; pray explain your &s;elf&mdash; and let us under&s;tand who this unfortunate Mu&s;ician is&mdash; but &s;tay&mdash; He's beginning to open his Pipes again&mdash; Pray let's hear the words of his Madri|gal, if we can&mdash; You &s;hall an&s;wer me my Que&s;tions, when he has done. When you plea&s;e, Madam, reply'd Mrs. <HI>Clara;</HI> and &s;o &s;aying, &s;he &s;topp'd both her Ears with her Fingers, and &s;unk down under the Bed clothes to prevent the Sound from reaching her Heart, while Madam <HI>Doroty</HI> li&s;ten'd with all imaginable Attention to the following Song.</P>
<Q><PB N="240" REF="133">
<LG N="1">
<HEAD>I.</HEAD>
<L><HI>IN Cha&s;e of a Mi&s;tre&s;s I ramble, like one</HI></L>
<L><HI>That fain wou'd be doing as others ha' done;</HI></L>
<L><HI>Tho what luck I &s;hall have, or whether I mu&s;t</HI></L>
<L><HI>Still follow by Water, or choak'd wi' the Du&s;t,</HI></L>
<L><HI>That's more then I know; but this I am &s;ure,</HI></L>
<L><HI>The Doctor &s;poke right, whoever &s;poke truer,</HI></L>
<L><HI>That a Hair of a Woman, with her Goldy-love-locks-on,</HI></L>
<L><HI>Draws more then a Yoak of</HI> Somer&s;et-<HI>Oxen.</HI></L>
</LG>
<LG N="2">
<HEAD>II.</HEAD>
<L><HI>Then</HI> Cupid, <HI>y' faith, for Age my own Brother,</HI></L>
<L><HI>Be kind, as one Boy &s;hould be to another;</HI></L>
<L><HI>Thou &s;ee&s;t me &s;carce wean'd from my &s;weet Sugar-&s;ops,</HI></L>
<L><HI>Yet wou'd I be dabling for</HI> better for wor&s;e;</L>
<L><HI>Then feed not my Pa&s;&s;ion with frivolous Hopes,</HI></L>
<L><HI>Nor tire my Fancy with Patience per-force;</HI></L>
<L><HI>For if bauk'd i' my Humour, at random I run,</HI></L>
<L><HI>Thy Godhead's contemn'd, and I am undon.</HI></L>
</LG>
<LG N="3">
<HEAD>III.</HEAD>
<L><HI>There is one thing more I mu&s;t tell thee, dear Love,</HI></L>
<L><HI>The&s;e</HI> Smithfield <HI>Bargains I ne're could approve;</HI></L>
<L><HI>I like not my Father's Match-broaking for Me,</HI></L>
<L><HI>As if I cou'd not plea&s;e my &s;elf better then He.</HI></L>
<L><HI>'Tis Thou &s;halt direct me alone i' my Wooing;</HI></L>
<L><HI>Then a&s;&s;i&s;t me, dear Love, my own Humour pur&s;uing.</HI></L>
<L><HI>For abandon'd by thee, if at random I run,</HI></L>
<L><HI>Thy Godhead's contemn'd, and I am undon.</HI></L>
</LG></Q>
<P>So &s;oon as the &s;weet Song&s;ter had made an end, Mrs. <HI>Clara</HI> began her Complaints afre&s;h; which redoubling Madam <HI>Doroty</HI>'s Curio&s;ity, &s;he claim'd the young Lady's Promi&s;e. At what time Mrs. <HI>Clara</HI> embracing Madam <HI>Doroty</HI> in her Arms, and laying her Lips to her Ear, le&s;t <HI>Lucinda</HI> &s;hould hear their Di&s;cour&s;e; <Q>He that &s;ings, &s;aid &s;he, is the Son of a great Lord in our Country, that liv'd at <HI>Madrid</HI> over-again&s;t my Father's Hou&s;e. I know not how this young Gentleman came to &s;ee me, unle&s;s it were at Church (where, you know, our young Gentlemen go more to look for Mi&s;tre&s;&s;es, then Devotion) I &s;ay, I cannot imagine where el&s;e he &s;hould ha' &s;een me, for our Windows were always kept &s;hut. However it were, &s;ee me he did, and fell in love with me, and gave me to under|&s;tand as much out at a Window that lookt full upon ours; where I could &s;tand and peep, and &s;ee him cry for madne&s;s that he cou'd not come at me, that it griev'd my very Heart to &s;ee him. Among the re&s;t of the Signs that he made me, he would be &s;hewing me a Hoop-ring, and put it upon his Thumb, and then joyn both his Hands together, to let me under&s;tand that he would marry me. I was over-joy'd to think I &s;hould have a Husband; for I was pretty ripe, and <HI>young and &s;imple tho I
<PB N="241" REF="133"> were, I had heard of</HI> Cupid's <HI>Name:</HI> Be&s;ides, my Mother was dead, and I liv'd all alone, and me-thought a Husband was the only thing that I wanted. But the Mi&s;chief was, I could not for my life contrive a way to let him know my Thoughts. So that all the Favour I could return him, was only when my Father was from home, to lift up the Lattice and &s;hew my Face; which put the young Lad into &s;uch a Pa&s;&s;ion, that he &s;eem'd to be almo&s;t di&s;tracted. When my Father was to go out of Town, I know not how he came to under&s;tand it, for I am &s;ure I ne're cou'd have the Opportunity to tell him, as I heard, he fell &s;ick for Grief; &s;o that I could not be &s;o happy as to take my leave of him, not &s;o much as with my Eyes. But after we had been two days upon the Road, as we were entring into the Inn, where we lay la&s;t Night, I &s;aw him &s;tand|ing at the Inn-Gate in the Habit of a Mule-driver, &s;o perfectly di&s;guis'd, that had I not always &s;ince the fir&s;t time I &s;ay him, carry'd his Portrai|ture in my Heart, I &s;hou'd never ha' known him again. I confe&s;s I was a&s;toni&s;h'd to &s;ee him, and yet I was glad he was &s;o near me. And he for his part, has his bugle Eyes always fix'd upon me, unle&s;s it be when I am in my Father's Company, from whom he conceals him&s;elf with all the Care imaginable. And now in this Condition I know not what in the world to do; for being &s;o well &s;atisfy'd as I am of his Condition, and that it is for me that he &s;uffers all this Hard&s;hip, and travels thus a-foot, I am ready to die for Sorrow; and where-ever he &s;ets his Feet, there do I fix my Eyes. I wonder i' my heart how he &s;tole from his Father, who loves him entirely, as being his only Heir, and all the Children he has; and a lovely Youth to boot, as you will &s;ay when you &s;ee him. More then that, all the&s;e Ver&s;es that he &s;ings he makes him&s;elf; for he is a mo&s;t curious Poet, and as I heard &s;ay, he made Ver&s;es at School before he was twelve years old. And therefore, Madam, I mu&s;t tell ye, that every time I &s;ee him, or hear him &s;ing, my Heart is at my Mouth, an all my Blood comes into my Face; which makes me ready to die, for fear le&s;t the crafty Fox my Father &s;hould come to di&s;cover &s;omething. For tho I never &s;poke to the poor Lad i' my life, yet methinks I know not how to live without him. And thus, Madam, I have di&s;cover'd to ye a great Secret, and as much as I know concerning this young Song&s;ter, who has &s;o delightfully charm'd your Ears.</Q> Say no more, cry'd Mrs. <HI>Doroty,</HI> 'tis enough, Mrs. <HI>Clara,</HI> never trouble your &s;elf, I know better what belongs to the&s;e Love jobs then you; and if you will but let me alone, I make no que&s;tion but to bring this intricate Bu&s;ine&s;s to &s;uch a Conclu&s;ion as &s;o fair and hone&s;t Begin|nings de&s;erve. Alas, Madam! what happy I&s;&s;ue can I expect, if his Fa|ther be &s;o rich, and &s;o noble, as they &s;ay he is? For then will he be &s;o far from thinking me fit to be his Wife, that he will not deem me worthy to wipe his Shoes. How! reply'd Madam <HI>Dorothy;</HI> as if it were not a common thing for Noble-men now a-days to marry Citizens Daughters! and I hope 'tis not come to that yet, for a Trade&s;man's Daughter to hold up her No&s;e with a Judge's Daughter. That's nothing, reply'd Mrs. <HI>Clara,</HI> for I ha' heard of a Judge's Daughter that has marry'd her Father's Clark. And therefore I had rather the young Gentleman would return home again. Perhaps Time and long Ab&s;ence (for we are going to &s;ettle far off in another Province) may at la&s;t wear him out of my Thoughts; tho I mu&s;t confe&s;s I ha' but a bad Opinion of the Cure. I wonder i' my Heart, what Match-making Devil it was that put this amorous Intrique in|to our young Brains; for I dare &s;ay, both of us together cannot make nine and twenty yet; he being but &s;ixteen, and I, as my Father &s;aies, not full
<PB N="242" REF="134"> thirteen till next <HI>Bartholomew Fair.</HI> At which words, the &s;ubtile Madam <HI>Doroty</HI> could not forbear laughing, to hear one that was &s;o ready for a Husband, talk &s;o like a Girl in her Sampler. Come, Madam, &s;aid &s;he, let's &s;leep the re&s;t of the Night, to morrow I hope that Fortune, who has &s;o well behav'd her &s;elf hitherto, will make a good end of her own Co|medy.</P>
<P>Thus all was hu&s;h'd and quiet again i' the Inn, not a Weezle &s;tirring; only the Inn-keeper's Daughter and <HI>Maritornes</HI> well acquainted by this time with <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s blind &s;ide, were re&s;olv'd to play him a Trick of Youth to make them&s;elves Sport, while the Knight in compleat Armour, and a Hor&s;e-back was parading and keeping &s;trict Watch about the Inn.</P>
<P>You mu&s;t know then, that in all the Hou&s;e there was no other Window that lookt out into the Field, but only a hole i' the Wall to put Straw into the Stable. Out of which hole it was, that the Inn-keeper's Daughter and <HI>Maritornes</HI> perceiv'd <HI>Don Quixote</HI> leaning upon his Lance in a langui&s;h|ing Po&s;ture, and fetching &s;uch profound and dolorous Sighs, as if Death had deny'd him his la&s;t Petition for Life. <Q>Fair <HI>Dulcinea</HI> of <HI>Tobo&s;o,</HI> cry'd he, with an amorous and effeminate Voice, Mo&s;t Sovereign Queen of Beauty, Perfection of Wi&s;dom and Di&s;cretion, Trea&s;ury of Debonairne&s;s and Behaviour, Vertue's Exchequer, and Exemplar of whatever is hone&s;t, profitable and delightful in this World, What is now your Princely High|ne&s;s doing? Vout&s;afes your Highne&s;s one poor Thought upon your Beauty's Slave, who thus expo&s;es him&s;elf for your &s;ake alone, to &s;o much Danger, yet with &s;o much Patience and Courage? Tell me, Godde&s;s with three Faces, tell me what &s;he thinks, and what &s;he does. For my mind gives me that thou beholde&s;t her with Envy, walking in one of the &s;umptuous Galleries of her magnificent Palace, or leaning over &s;ome gild|ed Balcony, meditating &s;ome happy means to &s;end Comfort to my Mind, to calm the re&s;tle&s;s Di&s;turbances of my Thoughts, and to re&s;tore Repo&s;e and Tranquility to my Soul; how &s;he may recal me from a rigorous Death, to a Life full of Felicity; and without engaging her Honour, recompence my Services. And thou Sun, who que&s;tionle&s;s do&s;t ha&s;t'n thy Cour&s;e, not &s;o much to re&s;tore Day to Mortals, as to behold that Ma&s;ter-piece of Miracles, &s;alute her in my behalf &s;o &s;oon as thou &s;ee&s;t her. But forbear by any means to ki&s;s her Lips, when thou mak'&s;t thy Approaches to her Per&s;on, for &s;he's re&s;erv'd and mode&s;t beyond Imagination; and to be re|fus'd a Ki&s;s, would be a greater Di&s;grace to thee, then the Affront which that &s;ame wanton and ingrateful Hu&s;&s;ie put upon thee, when &s;he made thee &s;weat in running after her o're the Plains of <HI>The&s;&s;aly,</HI> or along the Banks of <HI>Peneus,</HI> for I ha' forgot which of the Places it was.</Q></P>
<P>In the&s;e and &s;uch like eloquent Raptures was <HI>Don Quixote</HI> plea&s;ing and carre&s;&s;ing his vain Fancy, when he was interrupted by the Inn-keeper's Daughter, who beckoning to him with her hand, and calling him with a low Voice; Come hither, I be&s;eech ye, cry'd &s;he, quickly, quickly, Sir Knight. Upon that the amorous Knight turn'd his head, and perceiving by the light of the Moon, that &s;ome body call'd to him from the hole i' the Cockloft, which he took, at lea&s;t, for a Window with golden Bars, &s;uch as belong'd to all tho&s;e Ca&s;tles that his fond Imagination had built i' the Air, he began as idly to conceive, that this could be no other then the Lord o' the Ca&s;tle's Daughter, who altogether charm'd, and de&s;perately in love with his merit, importun'd him to appea&s;e the Torment of her Pa&s;|&s;ion. And with the&s;e <HI>Conundrums</HI> in his Pate, unwilling to &s;hew him&s;elf a Clown, he approach'd the Hay-loft, where beholding two young Dam&s;els;
<PB N="243" REF="134">
<Q>Mo&s;t beautiful Lady, quo he, believe the true&s;t Knight that ever ki&s;s'd the Hand of the faire&s;t Virgin, if my Bowels do not yern within me to find your amorous Pa&s;&s;ion &s;o unhappily mi&s;plac'd. But do not blame a mi|&s;erable <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> who is not Ma&s;ter of his own Will, whom Love has enthral'd ever &s;ince that very Moment that another became the ab|&s;olute Mi&s;tre&s;s of his Soul. Pardon me, Madam, I &s;ay, a Crime that I am no way guilty of; return, I be&s;eech ye, to your Chamber, and do not heap Ingratitude upon me by the Accumulation of your Favours. But if in any other thing then Love I may repay your Kindne&s;s, demand it bold|ly; for by the Lovely Eyes of that &s;weet Enemy of mine, who&s;e Slave I am, I &s;wear, if you require it, I will immediately pro&s;trate at your Feet a thou&s;and Giants Heads, the &s;naky Curls of terrible <HI>Meda&s;a</HI>'s hairy Scalp, the Golden Fleece, nay, the very Beams of the Sun him&s;elf.</Q></P>
<P>My Mi&s;tre&s;s has no need of any of the&s;e Toys, Sir Knight, reply'd <HI>Ma|ritornes.</HI> What are then your Lady's Wants, mo&s;t prudent <HI>Governante,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote?</HI> Only lend me one of your fair Hands, an&s;wer'd <HI>Ma|ritornes,</HI> to a&s;&s;wage in &s;ome mea&s;ure her violent Ardour that brought her to this Window, &s;o much to the hazard of her Life, that if her Fa|ther &s;hould but know it, he would &s;hread her as &s;mall as minc'd Meat; or if not &s;o, I'm &s;ure the bigge&s;t Bit of her would be but her Ear. How! reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I'd fain &s;ee that Son of a Whore Father, that dur&s;t be &s;o in&s;olent as to touch the &s;oft and tender Members of his enamour'd Daughter, his la&s;t end &s;hould be a mo&s;t dreadful Example to all Fathers how they interrupted their Daughters Caterwawling.</P>
<P><HI>Maritornes,</HI> who made no que&s;tion but that <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> after the Oath he had &s;o &s;olemnly &s;worn, would give her his Sword-gra&s;ping Hand, reach'd out the Halter of <HI>Sancho</HI>'s A&s;s; at what time the courteous <HI>Don Quixote</HI> rai&s;ing him&s;elf upon his Stirrups, and &s;tretching forth his naked four Fin|gers and Thumb, with the wrinkl'd Back and Paume thereto belonging; <Q>There, Madam, &s;aid he, behold the Hand which you require, or rather, that Flail to thra&s;h tho&s;e Oppre&s;&s;ors that trouble the Earth. That Hand, I &s;ay, which never Lady had yet the Honour to touch, no not &s;he who has the &s;ole di&s;po&s;al both of my Body and Soul. Not that I give it ye to ki&s;s, but to admire the Contexture of the Nerves, the knitting of the&s;e Mu&s;cles, the &s;welling and capaciou&s;ne&s;s of the&s;e Veins; and that you may judge of the Strength of the Arm that has &s;uch a Hand at the end of it.</Q></P>
<P>We &s;hall &s;ee that pre&s;ently, reply'd <HI>Maritornes;</HI> and &s;o having made a &s;liding Knot at one end of the Halter, &s;he fa&s;ten'd it about <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Wri&s;t, and ty'd the other end to the Bolt of the Door of the Hay-loft, with all the Strength and Skill &s;he had. Pre&s;ently <HI>Don Quixote</HI> perceiving the Halter begin to pinch and gird his Wri&s;t, By the Ma&s;s, Lady, quo he, I don't like your Bracelets; you talk of ki&s;&s;ing may Hand, and I think you intend to rend it from my Wri&s;t-bone. Spare it, I be&s;eech ye, Madam, for I a&s;&s;ure ye, 'tis no way guilty of the Torment which I cau&s;e ye to &s;uffer; there is no rea&s;on you &s;hould revenge your &s;elf upon an innocent Mem|ber. Alas! Madam, 'tis none of my Hand's Fault, that your Heart is &s;o tormented for love of me &mdash; If you will be playing Love-tricks, play Love-tricks&mdash;This is Hor&s;e-play, Madam; by my faith, I don't like it&mdash;and therefore if I mu&s;t be your Slave, I be&s;eech ye, bind me in another Fa&s;hion.</P>
<P>But the&s;e Excu&s;es, the&s;e Complements, the&s;e Expo&s;tulations &s;ignify'd nothing; the unfortunate <HI>Invincible</HI> pleaded all this while to the Wind; for the two Ladies that had hamper'd him, not in the Fetters of Love, but
<PB N="244" REF="135"> with his own <HI>Squire</HI>'s A&s;s's Halter, were gone to make wanton Comments by them&s;elves upon the unlucky Prank they had play'd.</P>
<P>All this while the poor Knight &s;tood upright in his Stirups, with his Arm i' the hole, and fa&s;t bound by the Wri&s;t, in a Pannick Fear, le&s;t <HI>Ro&s;i|nante</HI> &s;hould take a frisk from under him, and leave him to &s;uffer a new Torment, which the Ten Per&s;ecutions never dreamt of. So that he dur&s;t not move either to the right or left, for fear of di&s;turbing his Steed, who&s;e Patience he knew was &s;uch, that of him&s;elf, without being &s;witch'd or Spur-gall'd, he would &s;tand i' the &s;ame Po&s;ture a whole Age together. Therefore after he had continu'd in this Affliction for &s;ome time, per|ceiving the Ladies were vani&s;h'd, he began to think it was &s;ome piece of Enchantment, &s;uch as befell him, when the enchanted <HI>Moor</HI> had almo&s;t pounded him into Almond Butter i' the &s;ame Ca&s;tle; and then he curs'd his own imprudent Noddle, that had expos'd him a &s;econd time to the &s;ame Snare of Sorcery and Witchcraft. Neverthele&s;s, he tugg'd, and hawll'd, and pull'd with all the Strength of his Man-&s;laying Arm; but the more he pull'd, the fa&s;ter he found the Knot, and his Fle&s;h the harder grip'd. So that the poor Knight was forc'd to &s;tand a Tip-toe in his Stir|rups, not being able to &s;eat him&s;elf in his Saddle, unle&s;s he &s;hould have made an ab&s;olute Divorce between his Hand and his Arm, that Nature had joyn'd together. How many times in this Condition, did he wi&s;h for that miraculous Sword of <HI>Amadis,</HI> which cut in &s;under all the Knots of Enchant|ment, as you would cut a Pack-thread with a Pen-knife? How many times did he <HI>bewhore</HI> and bejade <HI>Fortune,</HI> for depriving the Earth of the Succour of his wrong-revenging Arm, when the World had &s;uch emer|gent Occa&s;ions of his A&s;&s;i&s;tance? How many times did he invoke his dear <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o?</HI> How many times did he call for his faithful Squire, who lying at his Ea&s;e upon the Pack-&s;addle of his A&s;s, and drown'd in &s;weet Sleep, had now forgot there was ever any &s;uch a Man as his Ma|&s;ter in the number of Mortals? How many times did he implore the Aid of the two Necromancers, <HI>Lirgand</HI> and <HI>Alquiff,</HI> and call upon his dear Friend <HI>&V;rganda</HI> the Sorcere&s;s?</P>
<P>At length Madam <HI>Aurora,</HI> and the Tel-tale Sun di&s;cover'd him too, hang|ing by one Arm, like a great Calf by one Leg in a Slaughter-hou&s;e, which put him into &s;uch a &s;trange Confu&s;ion, that he fell a roaring like two Bulls fighting for a Cow in a Meadow, and he was &s;o ab&s;olutely convinc'd of his being enchanted, &s;eeing <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> &s;tand &s;o immoveable, as if his Hoofs had been pegg'd to the Ground, that he gave over que&s;tioning, but that he and his hone&s;t Hor&s;e were to &s;tand there in that Po&s;ture for &s;ome Ages together, without eating, drinking, or &s;leeping, till reliev'd by &s;ome compa&s;&s;ionate Necromancer.</P>
<P>At the &s;ame time four Hor&s;e-men well arm'd, and in good Equipage, rapp'd at the Inn-Gate, as if they were in ha&s;te to be let in; which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> ob&s;erving, that he might not be wanting however in the Duty of a faithful Sentinel; Knights, or Squires, or whatever ye are, &s;aid he, forbear knocking at the Ca&s;tle-Gate. Had ye either common Sen&s;e or Manners, you might ea&s;ily perceive by the &s;tilne&s;s within, that the Con&s;table and his Servants are fa&s;t i' their Beds; and as y' are Knights, might know, 'tis not the Cu&s;tom for Ca&s;tle-Gates to be open'd before Sun-ri&s;e. Pray &s;tay therefore, as ye ought, till the Sun be up, and then we &s;hall &s;ee whether it be &s;afe or no for the Gates to give ye Entrance; and this he utter'd &s;o &s;urlily, and &s;o tartly, as if he had fed upon <HI>Tewksbury</HI> Mu&s;tard all Night.</P>
<PB N="245" REF="135">
<P>I' the Devil's Name, cry'd one of the Hor&s;e men, what Fort or Ca&s;tle is here, that &s;hould oblige us to all the&s;e Ceremonies? And therefore if thou art the Inn-keeper, prethee open the Gates, for we are in ha&s;te to bait our Hor&s;es and be gone. Dogs of Knights, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> do I look like an Inn-keeper? I know not who thou look'&s;t like, cry'd another, but I'm &s;ure th'art out o' thy Wits, to call this a Ca&s;tle. I &s;ay, 'tis a Ca&s;tle, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and one of the be&s;t i' the Province; and there are Per&s;ons within, who&s;e Scepter'd Hands and Crowned Heads I &s;tand to guard. I'le warrant ye, Mr. <HI>Scare-crow,</HI> cry'd another of the Hor&s;e-men, &s;ome paltry Gang of &s;trolling Players, that &s;ometimes lewdly act the Parts of Kings and Emperors; and you, like a Clout in a Cherry tree, &s;tand to watch their lou&s;ie <HI>Tin&s;el!</HI>&mdash; El&s;e I can't imagine what Crowned Heads &s;hould be lodg'd with &s;o little none about 'em, in &s;uch a Hovel of an Inn as this. I perceive, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> y' are all a Company of Buffle|heads as to the Affairs o' the World, that under&s;tand &s;o little the Miracles of Chivalry. To that the Hor&s;e-men made no farther An&s;wer, but being tir'd with &s;uch a &s;ort of <HI>Bedlam Gibbri&s;h,</HI> fell a bounding and thundring at the Inn-Gate with &s;uch a Fury, that they awaken'd the whole Hou&s;e, and fetch'd the Inn-keeper out of his Straw to open the Gates him&s;elf. But in the mean time it &s;o fell out, that one of the Hor&s;e-men's Bea&s;ts, which happen'd to be a Mare, &s;melling <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> who, poor melancholy Crea|ture, &s;tood as quietly as a Lamb, &s;upporting his Ma&s;ter &s;tretch'd out at his full length; as if he had been reaching at a Hen roo&s;t, made toward him with an amorous Behaviour. On the other &s;ide <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> Fle&s;h and Blood like other Hor&s;es, could not forbear to meet the Care&s;&s;es of &s;o loving a Mi&s;tre&s;s, which caus'd him to turn &s;oberly about to &s;hew his Breeding. At what time <HI>Don Quixote</HI> having lo&s;t his footing, had fall'n like a Pig of Lead to the ground, had he not hung by the Wri&s;t, like a <HI>We&s;tphalia</HI> Ham in an Oyl-man's Shop. 'Twas an unmerciful Twitch, you may be &s;ure, that the whole weight of &s;o much Fle&s;h and Bones, enclos'd in &s;o much Iron, gave to one &s;mall Member, and the Pain no le&s;s tormenting, while the Sinews were ready to crack: Which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> augmented by &s;tretch|ing out his Legs to feel for the Ground with his Toes, which put him &s;till more upon the Rack, out of a vain Hope to give him&s;elf Relief.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="17" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XVII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Being a Continuation of unheard-of Adventures.</HEAD>
<P>THE dreadful Bellowing and Out-cries which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> made in this un&s;upportable Martyrdom were &s;uch, that the Inn-keeper &s;car'd almo&s;t out of his Wits, open'd the Gate, and accompany'd by the Hor&s;e-men, repair'd toward the Noi&s;e, to &s;ee what was the Matter. In the mean time <HI>Maritornes,</HI> waken'd at the &s;ame in&s;tant by the Knight's howl|ing, and ea&s;ily divining the Occa&s;ion, &s;teals into the Hay-loft, and having di&s;&s;olv'd the Inchantment, by untying the Halter, gave the di&s;tre&s;&s;ed War|rior his Liberty; who being releas'd, pre&s;ently fell to the Ground like a Stone, in the &s;ight of the Hor&s;e-men and the Inn-keeper, who were all very inqui&s;itive to know the Cau&s;e of his roaring &s;o hideou&s;ly, as if all the Winds in <HI>Lapland</HI> had been pent up in his Guts. But &s;o far was he from
<PB N="246" REF="136"> giving an An&s;wer, that being got upon his Legs, up he whipt upon <HI>Ro|&s;inante,</HI> &s;houlder'd his Buckler, couch'd his Lance, and trotting a little way up the Field to take his Career, returns upon a full &s;peed, as if the Devil had drove him, crying out, Whoever dares maintain, that I ha' been de&s;ervedly enchanted, lyes from his Throat to the bottom of his Guts, and I defy him for the Son of ten thou&s;and Whores; and if the Prince&s;s of <HI>Micomicona</HI> will give me leave, I challenge him to &s;ingle Battel. The Travellers were &s;trangely &s;urpriz'd at <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Fury, but being in|form'd of his Humour, they took no farther notice of him; only ask'd the Inn-keeper, if there were not in his Hou&s;e a young Gentleman of a|bout fifteen years of Age, clad like a Mule-driver, giving him all the Marks of the Youth that was up to the hard Eyes in love with Madam <HI>Clara.</HI> Truly, reply'd the Inn-keeper, there are &s;uch a Number of People of all &s;orts i' the hou&s;e at this pre&s;ent, that I never went about to take particu|lar Cognizance of any &s;ingle Per&s;on. Pre&s;ently one of the Hor&s;e-men e&s;pying the Judge's Coachman, cry'd out, he mu&s;t be here without que|&s;tion, for that's the very Coachman that drove the Coach which he is &s;aid to ha' follow'd. Let one of us, added he, &s;tand at the Inn-Gate, while the re&s;t &s;earch about the Hou&s;e; and it wou'd not be ami&s;s, that &s;ome body &s;hould keep riding about the Inn to prevent his E&s;cape over the Walls. All which the Inn-keeper ob&s;erv'd, but could not imagine the Rea&s;on of &s;o much extraordinary Circum&s;pection, only thought 'twas to find out the Lad, of whom they had given him &s;uch a punctual De&s;cri|ption before.</P>
<P>By this time the Sun was mounted high i' the Sky, and the noi&s;e which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> made, had awaken'd all the Hou&s;e; &s;o that every body began to think of getting up, e&s;pecially Madam <HI>Doroty</HI> and Mrs. <HI>Clara,</HI> who could neither of 'em &s;leep; the one to think her <HI>Inamorato</HI> &s;hould be &s;o near her, and the other, out of an eager Curio&s;ity to &s;ee what &s;ort of Demi-Cherubim he was.</P>
<P>In the mean time, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> perceiving the Travellers took no Cog|nizance of his Challenge, and that not one of 'em vouch&s;af'd &s;o much as to think him worth a Look, breath'd nothing but Rage and Indignation; and but that he was afraid to tran&s;gre&s;s the &s;acred Laws of Chivalry, after he had pa&s;s'd his word, had certainly attack'd 'em all four together, and made 'em know their Driver. But in regard he could not attempt any Enterprize, till he had re&s;tor'd the Prince&s;s of <HI>Micomicona</HI> to her Throne, he mu&s;ter'd up all his Patience, and prevail'd upon his Pa&s;&s;ion to &s;pare the Travellers for that time. Of whom, one of the Number having by this, found the young Per&s;on they &s;ought for, &s;leeping &s;ecurely by the &s;ide of a Mule-driver, after he had wak'd him by pulling him &s;trongly by the Arm; In good truth, Mr. <HI>Lewis,</HI> &s;aid he, I ha' found ye in an Equipage very much befitting a Per&s;on of your Quality, and this Bed is mon&s;trou&s;ly &s;utable to the &s;oftne&s;s wherein you have been brought up. The young Lad, not yet fully come to him&s;elf, began to rub his drow&s;ie Eyes, and looking wi&s;t|ly upon the Per&s;on that held him by the Arm, knew him at length to be one of his Father's Servants; which put him into &s;uch a Con&s;ternation, that he lay for a long time like one that had lo&s;t the u&s;e of his Tongue. Mr. <HI>Lewis,</HI> Mr. <HI>Lewis,</HI> continu'd the Servant, if it be a Love ramble that y' are now upon, your be&s;t way will be to give over your Cha&s;e at pre&s;ent, and re|turn home with us, unle&s;s you have a De&s;ign to ha&s;t'n your Father into the other World; for nothing el&s;e can be expected from the pining An|gui&s;h which he &s;uffers by rea&s;on of your unadvi&s;ed Ab&s;ence. This I
<PB N="247" REF="136"> &s;hall al&s;o add, that you are &s;afe from the <HI>Doctor</HI>'s Anger, and the <HI>Birchen-La&s;hes</HI> of his Fury; for your Father believing you were fled from his <HI>Pae|dagogical Tyranny,</HI> has vow'd never to &s;end ye to that <HI>Hou&s;e of Correction</HI> any more. <HI>Hartlikins,</HI> quo Mr. <HI>Lewis,</HI> how came my Father to know which way I was gone, or that I was thus di&s;guis'd? Why, Sir, one of your School-fellows that you had made privy to your De&s;ign, was he that made the Di&s;covery, &s;eeing your Father in &s;uch a deplorable To&s;s for want of your Company. Thereupon he &s;ent my &s;elf, and three more of his Gnetlemen after your Lord&s;hip; and now how glad are we to be the In|&s;truments of re&s;toring ye &s;o &s;oon as we hope we &s;hall, to the Embraces of a tender Father, who certainly cannot but give us Annuities for our lives, for the Di&s;patch we ha' made, and the Comfort we &s;hall bring him in his old Age. But &s;till I hope 'tis at my Choice whether I'le go along with ye, or no, reply'd young <HI>Don Lewis.</HI> Why &s;ure, Sir, reply'd the Servant, I hope the Devil has not bewitch'd ye to follow this Cour&s;e of life; neither can I think you can be &s;o ungracious toward my Lord your Father&mdash; All this Di&s;cour&s;e the <HI>Mule-driver</HI> that lay i' the Straw by <HI>Don Lewis,</HI> attentively heard, and gave notice of it to <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI> and the re&s;t, who were by this time up and harne&s;s'd, telling 'em how the Servant call'd the young Lad, <HI>my Lord;</HI> and how they intended to carry him back to his Father, in &s;pite of his Teeth. Which Information of the Mule-driver, together with the delicate Voice, which it was reported he had, made 'em all earne&s;tly de&s;irous to know who he was, with a Re&s;olution to a&s;&s;i&s;t him, if any Violence &s;hould be offer'd him. And with the&s;e Thoughts they went to the Stable, where they found the young Lad and the Servant in a hot Di&s;pute together. At the &s;ame time Madam <HI>Doroty</HI> whips out of her Chamber, and meeting <HI>Cardenio,</HI> told him in few words what &s;he knew concerning Mrs. <HI>Clara</HI> and the young Song&s;ter; and he on the other &s;ide, re|counted to Madam <HI>Doroty</HI> what had pa&s;s'd between <HI>Don Lewis</HI> and his Fa|ther's Servants; which he could not do &s;o privately, but that Mrs. <HI>Clara,</HI> who, with itching Ears, follow'd Mrs. <HI>Doroty</HI> clo&s;e at the Heels, over-heard him; which was &s;uch an unwelcome Breakfa&s;t to her empty Stomach, that had not Madam <HI>Doroty</HI> ran with all imaginable ha&s;te to &s;upport her, &s;he had fall'n to the Ground; but as good luck would have it, &s;he got to her in Pudding-time, and carry'd her back to her Chamber, whither <HI>Cardenio</HI> de|&s;ir'd the fainting Lady to return, with a Promi&s;e to bring all things to rights in a &s;hort time. And now the four Servants were all got about <HI>Don Lewis,</HI> per&s;wading him to return home forthwith, not allowing him time &s;o much as to wa&s;h his Hands and comb his Head. Soft and fair, quo <HI>Don Lewis,</HI> my Mother &s;tay'd for me before &s;he had me, and my Father is like to &s;tay for me too, till I have di&s;patch'd a Bu&s;ine&s;s that concerns my Life, my Ho|nour, and my Soul. Upon which, the <HI>Yeoman of the Bottles,</HI> and the re&s;t of his <HI>Gang,</HI> let fall &s;uch words, whereby <HI>Don Lewis</HI> might ea&s;ily under|&s;tand they were re&s;olv'd to carry him home like a Cloak-bag, or a Calf before a Butcher, if he would not be conformable. That you may do, cry'd <HI>D. Lewis</HI> when I am dead, for then I may be Stuffing proper enough for a Leathern mail.</P>
<P>Thus the Di&s;pute growing hot o' both &s;ides, all the Men that were in the Inn, ran out to &s;ee what was the matter, <HI>Cardenio, D. Ferdinand,</HI> and his Friends, the <HI>Judge,</HI> the <HI>Curate,</HI> the <HI>Barber,</HI> and <HI>Don Quixote</HI> al&s;o, who &s;eeing all that Company, thought the Ca&s;tle wanted no more guarding. Pre&s;ently <HI>Cardenio,</HI> who under&s;tood the Story of <HI>D. Lewis</HI> better then the re&s;t, demanded of his Father's Servants, Wherefore they went about to
<PB N="248" REF="137"> carry the young Gentleman away again&s;t his Will? The Rea&s;on is, cry'd they, that we may re&s;tore the old Gentleman his Father to his Wits, who is ready to run mad for his Ab&s;ence. That's nothing to you, reply'd <HI>D. Lewis,</HI> whether my Father run mad or no; I will return when I think good my &s;elf: and if I am not minded &s;o to do, all that you can do &s;hall never force me. Pray, Sir, then let Rea&s;on over-rule ye, cry'd one of the Servants; but if it won't prevail with you, we mu&s;t endeavour to do our Duties. Upon which, the Judge interpo&s;ing, Pray, Gentlemen, &s;aid he, let's under&s;tand the bot|tom of this bu&s;ine&s;s. Immediately one of the Servants knowing the Judge by his Face, after he had made him a reverend Bow, Does not your Lord|&s;hip know, &s;aid he, this young <HI>Springal,</HI> who&s;e Father liv'd &s;o long over-again&s;t your Hou&s;e? and yet indeed, my Lord, it is no wonder at pre&s;ent, con&s;idering how featly the young Gentleman has bedizon'd him&s;elf. Upon which words, the Judge looking wi&s;tly in his Face, and calling him to mind; Good God, &s;aid he, my Lord <HI>D. Lewis!</HI> embracing him in his Arms, What childi&s;h Whim&s;ies are the&s;e? What Affair of Life and Death, as if pur&s;u'd by a Me&s;&s;enger, has clouded ye in this Di&s;gui&s;e &s;o much beneath your Quality? But then perceiving the Tears run down his youthful Cheeks, and that he made him no An&s;wer, he de&s;ir'd the Company to &s;tay a little, while he took him into a little private Examination.</P>
<P>Now while the Judge was thus di&s;cour&s;ing, and laying the Law to <HI>D. Lewis,</HI> there happen'd a great Hurly-burly at the Inn-Gate; for it &s;eems that two Men, who had lay'n i' the Inn that Night, finding the People of the Hou&s;e were all bu&s;ie, wou'd fain ha' &s;tol'n away without paying their Reckoning; but the Inn-keeper more mindful of his Bar, then of Love-&s;tories, &s;topp'd 'em at the Gate; and being in a Pa&s;&s;ion, demanded his Money with &s;o much Choler and foul Language, that the two Men began to return him Score for his Scores, and to pay him in hard Blows, which they laid on &s;o thick, that the Inn-keeper was forc'd to cry out for help. Pre&s;ently the Ho&s;te&s;s and her Daughter ran to his A&s;&s;i&s;tance; but not able to do any good, the Daughter perceiving <HI>Don Quixote</HI> walking about, as one that had lea&s;t to do i' the Company, ran &s;peedily to him, and pulling him by the Arm, Sir, &s;aid &s;he, I be&s;eech ye, now &s;hew that invincible Power that Heaven has be&s;tow'd upon ye, and help my poor Father yonder in di&s;tre&s;s, and ready to be murder'd by two mon&s;trous Giants. Fair Lady, an&s;wer'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> with a flegmatick Gravity, and a mo&s;t &s;urly Grace, you mu&s;t excu&s;e me, for indeed my word is pa&s;t, and I dare not engage in any Quarrel, till I have fini&s;h'd an Adventure which I have promis'd to un|dertake. All the Service I can do your Lady&s;hip at pre&s;ent, is only to give your Father good Coun&s;el. Go then to the Con&s;table of the Ca&s;tle, and bid him maintain the Combat to his be&s;t Advantage, &s;o as not to be vanqui&s;h'd; either by fighting on, or running away, as &s;hall be mo&s;t for his Convenience. In the mean time I will wait upon the Prince&s;s of <HI>Mi|comicon,</HI> for leave to a&s;&s;i&s;t him; which if I obtain, as I make no que&s;tion but to do, you &s;hall &s;ee me deliver him &s;afe out of his Enemies hands ei|ther dead or alive. Wo is me a Sinner, cry'd <HI>Maritornes!</HI> before you can get leave of the Prince&s;s, my Ma&s;ter will be in another World. Pray La|dies, an&s;wer'd he, be but &s;o kind as to &s;uffer me to ask that leave, which is &s;o nece&s;&s;ary for me to obtain. For then, what tho the Con&s;table of the Ca&s;tle &s;hould be i' the other World? I'le fetch him thence with a Wannion in &s;pite of all the Devils in Hell; or at lea&s;t I'le revenge him &s;o di&s;mally upon his Enemies, that I'le &s;end 'em all to a wor&s;e Place. And &s;o &s;aying, he went and threw him&s;elf at Madam <HI>Doroty</HI>'s Knees, and in the mo&s;t ex|qui&s;ite
<PB N="249" REF="137"> Terms that the Romantick Raptures of <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI> could ex|pre&s;s, mo&s;t humbly be&s;ought her to relea&s;e him a minute or two from the Chains of her Service, that he might but only go and re&s;cue the Con&s;table of the Ca&s;tle from the <HI>Saracen</HI>-Jaws of two inhuman Giants that were ready to devour him. To which the Prince&s;s having mo&s;t graciou&s;ly conde&s;cend|ed, the Knight gra&s;ping his keen <HI>Kil-zadog,</HI> and covering his left-Shoul|der with his Buckler, flew like lightning to the Gate of the Ca&s;tle, where the two Butchers were belabouring the Con&s;table, like two Fellows du&s;t|ing an old Piece of <HI>Arras.</HI> But no &s;ooner did he behold the two Com|batants, but of a &s;udden he &s;topp'd &s;hort, like a Setting-dog upon the Scent of a Covey, and &s;tood as &s;tock-&s;till, as if his Feet had been enchanted to the Ground; and whatever the Daughter and <HI>Maritornes</HI> could do, to pro|voke and incen&s;e his noble Pa&s;&s;ion, wou'd not &s;tir the tenth part of an Inch. 'Tis again&s;t the Laws of Chivalry, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for me to employ my Sword in the Murder of mean and paltry Squires; and therefore call <HI>Sancho</HI>&mdash; the Honour of the&s;e pitiful Jobs of Revenge belongs to him. This was the I&s;&s;ue of <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s A&s;&s;i&s;tance, while the two Butch|ers were mawling the poor Inn-keeper's Face and Eyes without Mercy: at what time the Ho&s;te&s;s, her Daughter, and <HI>Maritornes</HI> enrag'd to &s;ee the Champions Courage &s;o &s;trangely bauk'd, call'd him ten thou&s;and Da&s;tards, and cowardly Ra&s;cals, fitter to drive Hogs then to be a <HI>Knight-Errant.</HI></P>
<P>All this while the Judge and <HI>Don Lewis</HI> were in deep Di&s;cour&s;e toge|ther, who being pre&s;s'd by the Judge to tell him the rea&s;on of his &s;orry Di&s;gui&s;e, and the Ramble he had tak'n: Sir, &s;aid he, gra&s;ping hard the Judge's hand in his own, like a per&s;on who had &s;omething that lay heavy at his Heart, and with Tears in his Eyes, My Di&s;temper is Love, the com|mon Plague of Youth in this World: For, having &s;een your Daughter, Mrs. <HI>Clara,</HI> while you liv'd over-again&s;t my Father's Hou&s;e, to be free wi' ye, Sir, her Beauty hs made a Wound i' my Heart, that i' my Con&s;cience you may lay your three Fingers in it; and therefore &s;ince only &s;he can be my Surgeon, if you think it convenient, the Price of her Cure &s;hall be a loving Husband in the Per&s;on of <HI>Don Lewis;</HI> and this is the true Rea&s;on wherefore I have thus for&s;ak'n my Father's Hou&s;e, re&s;olving to follow her where-ever &s;he go; altho as yet, I know, &s;he's not acquainted with my Pa&s;&s;ion, in regard I was never yet &s;o happy as to expre&s;s my Pa&s;&s;ion to her. In &s;hort, Sir, you know who I am; I am my Father's only Son and Heir, as my Mother a&s;&s;ur'd Him, and he believes. If then you think me worthy your Alliance, make me happy at la&s;t in the Po&s;&s;e&s;&s;ion of your Daughter; and I make no que&s;tion, but you will find in me a Son-in-Law as duti|ful, and a Husband as re&s;pectful as you can de&s;ire; and as for my own Fa|ther, &s;hould he have other De&s;igns of di&s;po&s;ing me, that will become fru&s;trate by my own choice; I make no que&s;tion but when he &s;ees how well I have cho&s;en for my &s;elf, he will heark'n to Rea&s;on.</P>
<P>Here the inamour'd young Gentleman &s;topp'd, while the Judge in a &s;trange Surprize, and not knowing what An&s;wer to make of a &s;udden, as being us'd to deliberate before he gave Sentence, &s;aid no more, but bid the young Gentleman not di&s;quiet him&s;elf; for that, if he could prevail with his Father's Servants to let him &s;tay that Day, he would con&s;ider his Ca&s;e, and contrive what was mo&s;t proper to be done for his Satisfaction. Upon which <HI>Don Lewis,</HI> forcing the Auditor's hand to his Mouth, care&s;s'd it with his Lips, and bath'd it with his Tears; which &s;o mollify'd the Judge's Heart, e&s;pecially knowing how advantageous a Match <HI>D. Lewis</HI> would prove
<PB N="250" REF="138"> to his Daughter, that the Match had been made, had <HI>Don Lewis</HI>'s Father been there to have agreed upon the Joynture.</P>
<P>By this time the Inn-keeper and his Gue&s;ts were at peace and quiet; for tho <HI>Don Quixote</HI> could not prevail by his huffing and &s;waggering, yet he laid the Law to the Butchers with that Di&s;cretion and Moderation, that they paid their Reckoning, and quietly departed. <HI>D. Lewis</HI>'s Servants al&s;o patiently expected the end of the Judge's Di&s;cour&s;e, and their Ma&s;ter's Re&s;olution. In a word, all things were hu&s;h'd and quiet again; or at lea&s;t, there was a fair Probability of a general Peace; when as the Devil, that perpetual Coyner of Mi&s;chief, would have it, who &s;hould enter the Inn, but the <HI>Barber</HI> from whom <HI>Don Quixote</HI> had forcibly tak'n <HI>Mambrino</HI>'s Helmet, and <HI>Sancho</HI> the Furniture of his A&s;s, by way of an hone&s;t high-way Exchange. This &s;ame <HI>Barber</HI> carry'd his Mule into the Stable, where &s;eeing <HI>Sancho Panca,</HI> and calling him again to mind; Mo&s;t noble Squire Thief, quo he, have I found ye at length! and then &s;econding his Words with down-right Blows; Re&s;tore me, Rogue, my Ba&s;on, my Pack-&s;addle, and the re&s;t of my Furniture, or I'le make Mummie o' thy Bones. <HI>Sancho</HI> finding him&s;elf &s;o unexpectedly a&s;&s;aulted, and which was wor&s;e, &s;o &s;candalou&s;ly abus'd with &s;currilous Language, &s;natch'd up the Pack-&s;addle, for which the <HI>Barber</HI> conte&s;ted, with one hand, and with the Knuckles of the other, directed his Fi&s;t &s;o full upon the <HI>Barber</HI>'s Chop's, that he unloo&s;en'd all that &s;ide of his Teeth, and made him &s;wallow an Ounce of his Blood. For all this the <HI>Barber</HI> would not let go his hold o' the Pack-&s;addle, but after he had empty'd his Mouth as well as he could, bawl'd out with all his force, and made &s;uch a Noi&s;e, that the Gue&s;ts ran all to the Stable to under&s;tand the rea&s;on of the Combu&s;tion&mdash; Ju&s;tice, Ju&s;tice, i' the King's Name, quo the <HI>Barber;</HI> here's a high-way Rogue has robb'd me, and be|cau&s;e I challenge my Goods where I find 'em, the Villain wou'd murder me&mdash; Ye impudent Tooth-drawing Dog, cry'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> I a High-way-man! ye lye i' your Throat; the&s;e are the Spoils of War, which my Ma&s;ter fairly gain'd in Battel. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> beheld all this with incredible Delight, pleas'd in his Soul to &s;ee how vigorou&s;ly his Squire defended him&s;elf, and offended his Adver&s;ary. And now he began to think his Squire a Man of Prowe&s;s, and re&s;olv'd to have him Dubb'd with the fir&s;t Opportunity, as believing the Order would receive great Advantage by his Valour.</P>
<P>As for the <HI>Barber,</HI> he made a better Defence with his Tongue then with his Fi&s;ts. And among other things, Gentlemen, cry'd he, this Pack-&s;addle is as much mine, as my Life is his that gave it me; and I know it again as well as if I had brought it into the World. There's my Mule i' the Stable, that &s;corns I &s;hould be tak'n in a Lye, do but try the Pack-&s;addle upon his Back, and if it don't fit him as exactly as ever any Lady's Stays that were made by a <HI>French Taylor,</HI> hang me upon the Sign-po&s;t without Doors. Nay, this was not all&mdash; for the &s;ame day I was robb'd, they took from me a bra&s;s Ba&s;on &s;pick and &s;pan new, that had never been us'd i' this World, and co&s;t me a hard Angel but two days before. Here <HI>Don Quixote</HI> could not refrain, and therefore interpo&s;ing, and parting the two Comba|tants, after he had laid it fairly to be &s;een by all the Company, till the Controver&s;ie were fully determin'd; Gentlemen, &s;aid he, I am glad you are here to be the equal Judges of the gro&s;s Mi&s;take of this wor&s;hipful Squire, who calls a bra&s;s Ba&s;on, that which was, is, and ever will be, <HI>Mambrino</HI>'s Helmet, and which I won from him in &s;ingle Combat; at what time, not only his Helmet, but his Life was forfeited to my victorious Sword. As for the pretended Pack-&s;addle, 'tis no concern of mine; all that I can &s;ay to it, is this; That after I had vanqui&s;h'd this Hedge bird of a <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> my
<PB N="251" REF="138"> Squire <HI>Sancho</HI> ask'd me leave to exchange Harne&s;&s;es, that is to &s;ay, to take the Knight's Saddle and Hou&s;&s;es to put upon his own A&s;s, which I gave him Permi&s;&s;ion to do; but how that Saddle and Hou&s;&s;es &s;hould come to be chang'd into a Pack-&s;addle, is pa&s;t my Apprehen&s;ion, unle&s;s it &s;hould be done by the Power of tho&s;e Enchantments &s;o frequent in <HI>Knight-Errantry.</HI> And now to confirm what I &s;ay, Go, Sirrah <HI>Sancho,</HI> go pre&s;ently and fetch me the Helmet, which this Son of Infamy calls a Ba&s;on. By my new-won Honour, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> if we have no better Proof then your Helmet, we &s;hall lo&s;e our Cau&s;e: For a Ba&s;on will be a Ba&s;on; and a Pack-&s;addle a Pack-&s;addle, tho you talk till Dooms-day. Do as I bid thee, for all that, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote</HI>&mdash; and don't make me believe the Devil works alto|gether by Inchantment i' this Ca&s;tle&mdash; Thereupon <HI>Sancho</HI> having fetch'd the Ba&s;on, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> holding it up in his hand; Look ye now, Gentle|men, &s;aid he, how is it po&s;&s;ible that this <HI>Mahometan</HI> of a Squire &s;hould be &s;o confident as to maintain, that this is not a Helmet? And yet by the Or|der of Knighthood which I profe&s;s, this is the very Helmet which I took from that brazen-fac'd Infidel, without Addition or Diminution. Yes by my Honour is it, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> and ever &s;ince my Ma&s;ter has been the Owner of it, he never wore it but in one Combat, and that was when he &s;et the unfortunate Galley-&s;laves at Liberty; and in good Sooth-law, happy was it for him that he had this Ba&s;on of a Helmet to defend his Brains from a Shower of Stones and Brick-batts that rain'd upon his Scull in that Dia|bolical Encounter.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="18" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XVIII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Wherein are decided the Controver&s;ies touching the Helmet and Pannel, with other Adventures as they really happen'd.</HEAD>
<P>TIS very well, my Ma&s;ters; pray tell me now what's your Opinion of the&s;e worthy, right wor&s;hipful Ruffians, that have the Impudence to out-face ye, that this is a Helmet and not a Ba&s;on? He that dares &s;ay the contrary, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> if he be a Knight, then a' lyes ten times in his Throat, and I'le ju&s;tifie 't; but if a Squire, he's a Lyer ten thou&s;and times, and I'le prove it. Thereupon Mr. <HI>Nicholas</HI> the other Barber, willing to &s;upport <HI>Don Quixote</HI> in his Folly, and to drive the Je&s;t a little farther for the Diverti&s;ement of the Company; Sir <HI>Barber,</HI> quo he, addre&s;&s;ing him&s;elf to his Brother Tooth-drawer, know that I am a dignify'd Brother of the &s;ame Trade or My&s;tery with your &s;elf; and as I have been admit|ted of the Company the&s;e twenty Years, I under&s;tand all the In&s;tru|ments that belong to your Barber's Trade, from the Wa&s;h-ball and Ear-picker, to the Blood-letting Lancet and Crow's-foot. More then that, I have exercis'd in <HI>Cripple-gate Church-yard,</HI> and under&s;tand a clo&s;e Helmet, a Morion, and a Head-piece, and the di&s;tingui&s;hing Difference between all the&s;e three; and I do affirm, with &s;omething of Submi&s;&s;ion to better Judg|ments, That that &s;ame piece which the Wor&s;hipful Knight holds there in his hands, is no more like a Barber's Ba&s;on, then a Medlar's like a Lob&s;ter; and therefore, I &s;ay 'tis a Helmet, tho I mu&s;t confe&s;s not &s;o well &s;hap'd, nor &s;o neat and compleat, as you &s;hall &s;ee hang up in the Halls belonging to the Hou&s;es of &s;ome ancient Families. 'Tis very true, reply'd <HI>Don
<PB N="252" REF="139"> Quixote,</HI> becau&s;e the Beaver is wanting, which is no le&s;s then one half of the whole. The Knight &s;peaks with Di&s;cretion, and like a Per&s;on of Judg|ment, quo the <HI>Curate,</HI> who well under&s;tood Mr. <HI>Nicholas</HI>'s De&s;ign. <HI>Cardenio</HI> al&s;o, and <HI>D. Ferdinand,</HI> together with his Friends, agreed in the &s;ame Opi|nion. As for the Judge, 'twas beneath his Gravity to mind the&s;e Fooleries; be&s;ides, he had found a Match that lik'd him for his Daughter, and there|fore he was plodding how to bring it about, according to Law.</P>
<P>God forgive me, quo the Barber, fetching a deep Sigh! how is it po&s;|&s;ible &s;o many worthy Gentlemen &s;hould be &s;o beetle-blind, as not to di|&s;cern a Ba&s;on from a Helmet? 'Slife! 'tis enough to puzzle the mo&s;t learned Univer&s;ity i' the World. Why, had ye been all &s;o many blind Harpers, ye might have known a Ba&s;on from a Helmet by your feeling&mdash; And now the Ba&s;on's gone, I find what will become o' my Pannel; for if the Ba&s;on be a Helmet, the Pannel mu&s;t be a War-&s;addle by Con&s;equence.</P>
<P>For my part, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I mu&s;t needs confe&s;s I believe it to be a Pack-&s;addle; but as I told ye before, tho&s;e mean things are beneath my Deci&s;ion; and therefore whether it be a Pannel or a War-&s;addle, I &s;hall not turmoyle my Brains. My Lord <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> con&s;ider I pray, re|ply'd the <HI>Curate,</HI> 'tis your Bu&s;ine&s;s in &s;uch like Difficulties as the&s;e, to rule the Roa&s;t with ab&s;olute Dominion. For in matters of Chivalry, there is not one in all the Company but &s;ubmits to your Determination, and as they ought in Duty, are re&s;olv'd to abide by it. By the &s;pangl'd Spheres of Heaven, Gentlemen, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> you honour me to a high Degree; but &s;o many, and &s;o &s;trange have been the Adventures I ha' met with in this Ca&s;tle, both times that I have layn here, that I dare not determine affirmatively of what I &s;ee with my own Eyes; which makes me believe that nothing but Enchantment governs this Ca&s;tle. The fir&s;t time I was plagu'd almo&s;t out of my Life by an enchanted <HI>Moor;</HI> and <HI>Sancho</HI> my Squire was no le&s;s tormented by an invi&s;ible Legion of the &s;ame infernal Hue. And then again, but ye&s;terday, which is but of a fre&s;h date, I was hung up by one Arm for two hours together, not being able to divine who the Devil &s;hould do me the Injury, unle&s;s it were the Devil him&s;elf, or &s;ome of his &s;ooty Co-partners. And now for me to undertake to unriddle My&s;teries &s;o perplex'd and confus'd, would be but ra&s;hly to provoke <HI>Beel|zebub</HI> to do me more Mi&s;chief. I have told ye my Opinion already con|cerning the Helmet; but as to the bu&s;ine&s;s of the Pannel, to decide whe|ther it is a Pack-&s;addle or a War-&s;addle, I dare not adventure to do it. That belongs rather to you, Gentlemen; for that perhaps not being Dubb'd Knights as I am, Enchantments may have no power to hurt ye, and you may be able to make a &s;ounder Judgment of the Tran&s;actions, while the Objects &s;hall appear without Inchantment to your Sen&s;es, what really and truly they are, not as they appear to me.</P>
<P>Without que&s;tion, quo <HI>D. Ferdinand,</HI> the Lord <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;peaks no|thing but Rea&s;on; this bu&s;ine&s;s falls properly under our Determination; and therefore that we may proceed regularly, and upon &s;ure Grounds, I will collect the Suffrages of every one in particular privately by him&s;elf, and &s;o let the Plurality of Voices carry it. This was &s;ufficient matter of Pa&s;time to tho&s;e that under&s;tood <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Humour: But <HI>D. Lewis,</HI> his Father's Servants, and the three new-enter'd Gue&s;ts, who &s;eem'd to be Bum-bayliffs, as indeed they were, look'd upon it as a meer frolick, but knew not what to make of it.</P>
<P>All this while the <HI>Barber</HI> was at his Wits end, to &s;ee his Ba&s;on tran&s;mo|grify'd before his Eyes into a Helmet, and made no que&s;tion but that his Pack-&s;addle would undergo e're long as bad a Change, at lea&s;t, for him|&s;elf.
<PB N="253" REF="139"> And therefore 'twas not for him to be &s;o merry as the re&s;t, who could not forbear &s;miling to &s;ee how &s;eriou&s;ly <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI> went about collect|ing the Votes, and whi&s;pering every one in the Ear, with &s;uch a &s;tarch'd and compos'd Gravity, as if it had been a Concern of Life and Death. After he had tak'n the Verdicts of all that were acquainted with <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Humour, addre&s;&s;ing him&s;elf to the <HI>Barber</HI> with a loud Voice; Hone&s;t Friend, &s;aid he, the Ca&s;e is this, I am weary of asking the &s;ame Que&s;tion &s;o many times, e&s;pecially finding that &s;till they make me the &s;ame An&s;wer. For there is not one but tells me, 'tis the greate&s;t Folly i' the World, to ask 'em, whether this be the Pannel of an A&s;s, or no, &s;ince 'tis &s;o vi&s;ible to all Men of Sen&s;e and Judgment, that 'tis a Saddle; and not only a Saddle, but the Saddle of a Hor&s;e of Value; and they que&s;tion whether it might not have been &s;ome Mayor's, or &s;ome Sheriff's Hor&s;e, con|&s;idering the Ruines of the Trappings. And therefore your only Remedy mu&s;t be the mad Dog's Cure, Patience per-force. For in &s;pite of your No&s;e, and let your A&s;s bray never &s;o many Arguments to the contrary, this is a War-&s;addle, only you have made a wrangling Di&s;pute to no purpo&s;e, and prov'd nothing.</P>
<P>May I never enter into Paradi&s;e, cry'd the poor <HI>Barber,</HI> if ye are not all a Company of <HI>Ignoramus</HI> Jury men, as wi&s;e and as wor&s;hipful as ye are; and may my Soul no otherwi&s;e appear in Heaven, then as this appears to me to be a Pack-&s;addle: But <HI>Might has overcome Right,</HI> and &s;o let it go. Yet after this, I am &s;ure I am not drunk, nor have I ta&s;ted &s;o much as a bit o' Bread to day, unle&s;s it were i' my Sleep.</P>
<P>Thus the Follies of the <HI>Barber</HI> caus'd no le&s;s Laughter then the Extrava|gancies of <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who having got the Day; Come, &s;aid he, there remains now no more to be done, but that we take our own Goods where we find 'em. And &s;o &s;aying, he &s;eiz'd upon the Ba&s;on, while <HI>Sancho</HI> car|ry'd away the Pack-&s;addle, and the di&s;contented <HI>Barber</HI> grumbl'd out a thou|&s;and Cur&s;es again&s;t the Partiality and Inju&s;tice of his Jury.</P>
<P>But the Devil could not be &s;atisfy'd to &s;ee a Comedy conclude &s;o plea|&s;antly, without any Mi&s;chief at all in it; and therefore he enters one of <HI>D. Lewis</HI>'s Servants, who being &s;o po&s;&s;e&s;s'd, would needs be &s;pending his Verdict where he had nothing to do; quo he, like a pragmatical Coxcomb, If this were not a piece of premeditated Drollery, how the Devil can it be, that &s;o many Per&s;ons that &s;eem to be Gentlemen of Quality and Under|&s;tanding, &s;hould be &s;o &s;trangely over &s;een, as to mi&s;take a <HI>Fox for a Civet-Cat?</HI> But &s;ince they both &s;ay and affirm it, there mu&s;t needs be &s;ome My|&s;tery i' the thing, or el&s;e I &s;wear&mdash; (and with that, he wrapp'd out three or four Cannon-bullet Oathes) a Legion of St. <HI>Francis's,</HI> and St. <HI>Dominic's</HI> &s;hall never make me believe, but that yonder's a Ba&s;on, and that there's an A&s;s's Pack-&s;addle. Don't &s;wear &s;o fa&s;t, quo the <HI>Curate,</HI> for it may be a Mule's, for ought you know. As you plea&s;e for that, quo the Fellow, &s;till I &s;ay, 'tis a Pack-&s;addle. Thereupon one of the <HI>Bumms</HI> that la&s;t enter'd the Inn, and had li&s;ten'd to the Di&s;pute, all in a Heat and Fury to hear &s;uch a Para|dox maintain'd; 'Tis as really a Pack-&s;addle, quo he, as ever my Father was my Father; and whoever &s;aies, or &s;hall &s;ay the contrary, mu&s;t be ei|ther mad or drunk as a Grape. Ye lye like a Dog, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> and with that, heaving up his Lance, which he always carry'd in his hand, he made &s;uch a di&s;mal Blow at the Bailiff's Pate, that had he not skipp'd for his Life, the Knight had laid him &s;prawling at his Feet, where half the Lance lay in Splinters upon the Ground already, with the Fury of the Stroke. Upon which, the re&s;t of the Bailiffs &s;eeing the bad Entertainment of their
<PB N="254" REF="140"> Companion, fell a tearing their ungodly Throats for the Con&s;table. Their Yauling and Bawling brought out the Inn-keeper, who being one of the wor&s;hipful Fraternity, ha&s;ten'd to their Relief, with his ru&s;ty Basket-hilted Rapier, and &s;ides with his Brethren. <HI>D. Lewis</HI>'s Father's Servants fearing his E&s;cape, withdrew to &s;ecure their Charge. The <HI>Barber</HI> perceiving the whole Inn in a Hurly-burly, de&s;irous to take the Opportunity, runs away to regain his Pack-&s;addle, while <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;u&s;pecting his De&s;ign, was no le&s;s diligent to &s;ecure his own Right. In the mean time <HI>Don Quixote</HI> draws, and with his keen <HI>Kil-zadog</HI> attacks the <HI>Bumms.</HI> And now the Devil's Sport begins. <HI>D. Lewis</HI> entreats, de&s;ires, commands his Guardians to run and a&s;&s;i&s;t <HI>Don Quixote, D. Ferdinand,</HI> and <HI>Cardenio,</HI> who by this time were all engag'd in his Quarrel. The <HI>Curate</HI> bawls out a thou&s;and <HI>For God-&s;akes, Gentlemen;</HI> the Ho&s;te&s;s &s;quall'd, her Daughter &s;queal'd, <HI>Maritornes</HI> howl'd; Mrs. <HI>Doroty</HI> trembl'd; <HI>Lucinda</HI> quak'd; Mrs. <HI>Clara</HI> quiver'd; the <HI>Barber</HI> cuff'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> and <HI>Sancho</HI> maul'd the <HI>Barber.</HI> On the other &s;ide, <HI>D. Lewis</HI> perceiving him&s;elf held by the Wa&s;t-band of his Breeches by one of his Father's Servants, for fear he &s;hould make his E&s;cape, gave him &s;uch a Salute full i' the Mouth, for his Saucine&s;s, that he &s;ent four of his Teeth to chew over his Meat again in his Stomach. <HI>Don Ferdinand</HI> trampl'd one of the Bailiffs under his Feet, as if he had been treading Grapes in a Wine-Trough; and <HI>Cardenio</HI> laid about him like <HI>Garagantua</HI> him&s;elf, while the Inn keeper in vain invok'd all the Ju&s;tices o' the <HI>Quorum</HI> i' the County. So that the whole Inn was in a helli&s;h Di&s;order, where nothing was to be heard but Out cries, Lamentations, Howling, Yelling, cla&s;hing of Swords, and a <HI>Loathbury</HI> Noi&s;e of Thwacks, Thumps, Buffets, Ba&s;tinado's, Knocks, Drubs, and Whirrets; be&s;ides a thou&s;and di&s;graceful <HI>Dogs, Rogues, Thieves, Murderers, Villains, Sons a' Whores,</HI> Hoyday&mdash; as if Hell it &s;elf had been let loo&s;e&mdash; You wou'd ha' &s;worn t'had been the Devil's own <HI>Bear-Garden.</HI></P>
<P>In the mid&s;t of this <HI>Chaos</HI> and dreadful Confu&s;ion, <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who&s;e Memory never fail'd him &s;o long as he kept his Scull whole, began to be|think him&s;elf of the Mutiny that happen'd in <HI>Agrimant</HI>'s Camp; and believ|ing him&s;elf engag'd in the thicke&s;t of that fatal Medley, with a roaring Voice that made the very Beams of the Inn &s;hake; Hold a while, cry'd he, &s;heath your Swords, and give ear to my &s;ea&s;onable Admonitions, as ye value the Pre&s;ervation of your Lives. Such was the Terror of his Voice, that as if the <HI>Grand Signior</HI> him&s;elf had &s;poken, they all &s;topp'd of a &s;udden, and prick'd up their Ears in Expectation of all the Proverbs in <HI>Era&s;mus;</HI> at what time <HI>Don Quixote</HI> proceeding: <Q>Have I not told ye, Gentlemen, quo he, that this Ca&s;tle is enchanted, and that 'tis po&s;&s;e&s;s'd with a whole Legion of Devils? Now to confirm what I &s;ay, do but ob|&s;erve with your own Eyes, and then tell me whether that damn'd Squabble that happen'd in <HI>Agrimant</HI>'s Camp, have not &s;queez'd it &s;elf in among us. Do but ob&s;erve how, at that time, one fought for a Hor&s;e, another for a Doxy; one for an Eagle, another for a Crow; one for a Greyhound, another for a Setting-dog; ju&s;t as we now cut and hack one another, yet neither know for what, nor who are our Friends, nor who are our Foes. Pray, therefore, you Mr. <HI>Judge,</HI> and you Mr. <HI>Curate,</HI> come hither; let the one be King <HI>Agrimant,</HI> and the other King <HI>Sobrin;</HI> and do you endeavour to reconcile us. For before <HI>George</HI> and the &s;even Cham|pions, 'tis a &s;hame that &s;o many Per&s;ons of Quality, as here are now, &s;hould fight and kill one another for Helmets and Pack-&s;addles.</Q></P>
<P>The Bumbailiffs not at all acquainted with <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Raptures, and who had been rudely Rib roa&s;ted by <HI>Cardenio, D. Ferdinand,</HI> and his Friends,
<PB N="255" REF="140"> were all for Revenge, and would hearken to no Accommodation. But the <HI>Barber</HI> was for a Truce, in regard, his Pannel was broken, and his Beard almo&s;t all torn from his Chin. <HI>D. Lewis</HI>'s Servants were ea&s;ily per|&s;waded, well knowing how much it concern'd 'em to mind a bu&s;ine&s;s of far greater Importance. And <HI>Sancho</HI> gave over as &s;oon as he heard his Ma&s;ter's Voice, like a vertuous and obedient Servant. Only the Inn-keeper could not &s;uppre&s;s his Choler, breathing the utter Extirpation of that impertinent Dotard, that did nothing but di&s;turb the Peace of his Inn, and plague him with continual Brawls and Quarrels. However, at length the Riot was appeas'd, or at lea&s;t, there was a Ce&s;&s;ation of Arms; the Pack-&s;addle continu'd to be a War-&s;addle, and the Ba&s;on to be a Helmet, and <HI>Don Quixote</HI> fancy'd the Inn to be a Ca&s;tle, as before, without Con|troul or Contradiction.</P>
<P>Thus by the indefatigable Pains of the <HI>Judge</HI> and the <HI>Curate,</HI> Peace be|ing concluded, and all become Friends, or at lea&s;t &s;eeming &s;o to be, <HI>Don Lewis</HI>'s Servants renew'd their Importunities to him, that he would be pleas'd to return home to his Father; at what time, while <HI>D. Lewis</HI> was holding the Servants in &s;u&s;pence, and con&s;idering how to be rid of 'em, the Judge taking <HI>D. Ferdinand, Cardenio,</HI> and the <HI>Curate</HI> a&s;ide, gave 'em an account of what <HI>D. Lewis</HI> had di&s;cover'd to him, and de&s;ir'd 'em to give him their Advice what was fit to be done. Thereupon they all agreed, that <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI> &s;hould make known to <HI>D. Lewis</HI>'s Servants who he was, and promi&s;e to take the young Gentleman home along with him, where he &s;hould be receiv'd and entertain'd according to his Quality; for that they found <HI>D. Lewis</HI> fully re&s;olv'd not to &s;ee his Father as yet, unle&s;s they carry'd him whom Piece-meal. Nor dur&s;t the Servants re&s;i&s;t, when they under&s;tood <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI>'s Dignity, and the Re&s;olution of <HI>D. Lewis;</HI> &s;o that they concluded among them&s;elves, that three of 'em &s;hould return back to give an Account of their Journey to his Father, and that one &s;hould tarry behind to wait upon the young Gentleman. And thus the Authority of <HI>Agramant,</HI> and the Prudence of King <HI>Sobrin,</HI> pacify'd all Di&s;|cords, and ruin'd the dreadful Structure of Contention and Divi&s;ion, which the Devil had rais'd.</P>
<P>But <HI>Satan,</HI> that profe&s;s'd Enemy of Concord, di&s;daining to &s;ee his Build|ing thus demoli&s;h'd, and him&s;elf mock'd, and robb'd of the Fruit of his Labours, while he was but only &s;tepp'd a&s;ide a little way, to &s;ow a Handful or two more of Di&s;&s;ention in another Place, re&s;olv'd to try one trick more before they parted, to &s;et 'em all together by the Ears, as they were before. Thereupon he whi&s;pers one of the Bailiffs i' the Ear, who being no <HI>Ignora|mus</HI> i' the Devil's Language, both under&s;tood, and was ea&s;ily per&s;waded by him. Be&s;ides, he had been &s;oundly thra&s;h'd by <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who, it &s;eems, had particularly taken him to task, and Revenge was &s;weet; and this was another Motive be&s;ides the Devil's Temptation. Remembring there|fore what the Devil had told him, he pulls his Letter-ca&s;e out of his Pocket, and there among other Papers, finds a <HI>Chief Ju&s;tice</HI>'s <HI>Warrant</HI> again&s;t <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> upon a Complaint made for re&s;cuing &s;everal condemn'd Rogues from their Keepers, who were to carry 'em to the Sea-&s;ide, in order to their Tran&s;portation. Having open'd his Warrant, he read it very lei&s;urely, at the end of every Line, &s;taring <HI>Don Quixote</HI> i' the Face, and &s;till comparing the Lineaments of his Countenance, with the De&s;cription made of his Phy|&s;ognomy i' the Warrant. By which means being at length fully a&s;&s;ur'd, that he was the Per&s;on intended in the Warrant, he darted him&s;elf upon <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> like a Lyon upon his Prey, and catching him by the Collar,
<PB N="256" REF="141"> held him &s;o fa&s;t with his Thumb upon his Wind-pipe, that he hardly gave him Liberty to breath, crying out at the &s;ame time, Take notice, Gentle|men, that by Virtue of this Warrant, I &s;eize this Fellow here; he's a Thief and a High-way-man, and therefore I charge ye i' the King's Name, to a&s;&s;i&s;t me. The <HI>Curate</HI> read the Warrant, and found it true as the Bai|liff &s;aid. But the Knight finding him&s;elf &s;o rudely handl'd by a Scoundrel, and call'd Thief and High way-man be&s;ide, fell into &s;uch a prodigious Rage, that you might have heard his very Bones grind one again&s;t another in his Skin; and notwith&s;tanding the hold which the Bailiff had of him, he clapt both his hands with that Violence to the Bailiff's Throat, that he had certainly &s;trangl'd him without the help of a Lute-&s;tring, had not his Companions come all to his Re&s;cue. Thus, while &s;ome took <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s part, and the Inn-keeper ran to help his Brethren, here was the Devil to do again. The Ho&s;te&s;s &s;eeing her Husband engag'd in new Broils, exalts her hideous Voice, while her Daughter and <HI>Maritornes</HI> put in for two upper parts, enough to ha' frighted the Devil out of a Body po&s;&s;e&s;s'd. Heavens ble&s;s us, cry'd <HI>Sancho!</HI> beholding this new Combu&s;tion, certainly my Ma&s;ter &s;poke Truth, when he &s;aid this Ca&s;tle was inchanted; nay, more then that, I believe all the Devils in Hell are broke loo&s;e, that a Man can't have an hours re&s;t i' this damn'd Hole. Well&mdash; at la&s;t <HI>Don Ferdinand</HI> parted <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and the Bailiff, to the great ea&s;e of both, who were mutually gra&s;ping each other's Throats, with a murderous De|&s;ign. Neverthele&s;s, the Bailiffs demanded their Pri&s;oner, and requir'd Aid to bind him, and deliver him up into their hands as the King's Pri&s;oner, a High-way-man, and a Rifler of Travellers. On the other &s;ide <HI>Don Quix|ote</HI> laugh'd at their &s;eizure of his Body, and with his u&s;ual Gravity; <Q>Hark ye me, Caitiffs, and Scum of the Earth, &s;aid he, Do you call him a High-way-man, and a Rifler of Travellers, that &s;ets at liberty poor Peo|ple in Chains; delivers di&s;tre&s;&s;ed Captives, &s;uccours the afflicted, and re&s;cues the oppre&s;&s;ed? Infamous Ra&s;cals! who&s;e abject Cowardi&s;e, and Under&s;tanding not equal to that of a Dormou&s;e, renders ye unworthy that Heaven &s;hould impart to your Knowledge the Vertue of <HI>Knight-Erran|try,</HI> or convince ye of the Sin ye commit, or Ignorance ye are in, for not adoring the Shadow, much more the per&s;onal A&s;&s;i&s;tance of a Magna|nimous <HI>Knight-Errant.</HI> One word more, Scoundrels of Bailiffs! not Officers of Ju&s;tice, Robbers, under pretence of Authority, tell me who that <HI>Ju&s;tice</HI> was, that was &s;o bold to &s;ign a Warrant again&s;t a Knight of my Order? Some ignorant Wharfinger or other, who never under&s;tood that <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> are no Game for Ju&s;tice to hawk after; that they acknowledge no Judge or Tribunal i' the World: that they have no o|ther Laws but their Swords, nor obey any other Statutes, Edicts, or Or|dinances, but their own Will. What impertinent Ju&s;ta&s;s of the Peace, continu'd he, was that, who was &s;o ignorant, as not to know that there is not any Title of Nobility can claim &s;o many Priviledges, Prerogatives, and Exemptions, as are due to a <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> the very moment that he is Dubb'd, and devotes him&s;elf to that illu&s;trious, tho laborious Calling? What <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> ever paid Cu&s;toms, Sub&s;idies, Taxes, or Tolls, Knight-Baronet's Fees, Royal Aid, or Hearth-money? What Taylor ever askt him Money for making his Clothes? What Con&s;table ever refus'd him Entrance into his Ca&s;tle? Or who ever ask'd a <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> to pay a Cook for his Meat and Drink? Where is that King or Prince that has not always giv'n <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> free Admittance to their Tables? Or where is that Lady that has not been charm'd with their Merit, and &s;ubmitted to their Va|lour?
<PB N="257" REF="141"> La&s;tly, where was ever, is, or will be that <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> that has not him&s;elf alone a Strength and Courage liberal enough to be&s;tow four hundred Ba&s;tinado's upon four hundred mi&s;creant <HI>Bumms,</HI> if they dare be &s;o hardy as to accept of his Kindne&s;s?</Q></P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="19" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XIX.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing the notable Adventure of the Bailiffs, and declaring withal, the horrible Wrath of the mo&s;t Noble <HI>Don Quixote.</HI></HEAD>
<P>WHile <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was defying Law and Ju&s;tice after this raving manner, the <HI>Curate</HI> endeavour'd to per&s;wade the Bailiffs, that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was out of his Wits, as they might rationally judge them&s;elves, as well by his Actions as his Words; and therefore that they would have no Thanks for their Labour, to &s;eize and hurry away a mad Man to the Trouble of tho&s;e that would as &s;oon relea&s;e him for a Lunatick, as he was. To which the Fellow that had the Warrant, made An&s;wer, That it was not for him to judge, whether he were a Fool or a Knave, but only to execute his Warrant; which when he had done, let the Judges give him a hundred Di&s;charges, 'twas nothing to him. I hear ye, and under&s;tand ye, quo the <HI>Curate,</HI> however for this one time you &s;hall not carry him away; neither do I believe that he him&s;elf will &s;uffer ye to do it, for you'l find him a tough piece a' Fle&s;h, a' my word. In &s;hort, the <HI>Curate</HI> knew &s;o well how to preach to the Bailiffs, and <HI>Don Quixote</HI> committed &s;o many Extravagan|cies at the &s;ame time, that the Bailiffs had been madder then he, had they not &s;ubmitted to the <HI>Curate,</HI> and concluded to return a <HI>Non est inventus</HI> upon the Writ. Thus was <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;ecur'd from one of the greate&s;t Perils that ever had like to ha' befall'n him in this Life: And the Bailiffs of their own accords, undertook to make an Accomodation between the <HI>Barber</HI> and <HI>Sancho;</HI> who read to eat one another, &s;till continu'd their Malice and Hatred, and fain wou'd ha' had the t'other Bru&s;h. But the Bailiffs being a &s;ort of Retainers to Ju&s;tice, the two embitter'd Enemies could not refu&s;e their Mediation, wherein they behav'd them&s;elves with &s;uch an unu&s;ual Equity, give the Devil his due, that both Parties &s;ubmitted to their De|termination, if not fully contented, yet in &s;ome mea&s;ure &s;atisfy'd; the Pannels being both exchang'd, but neither the Halters nor the Girts. And as for the Helmet, the <HI>Curate</HI> gave the <HI>Barber</HI> two Shillings for it, cau&s;ing him to &s;ign a general Relea&s;e, at the &s;ame time, to the Knight, of all Actions, or Cau&s;es of Action, Suits, Endictments, Pro&s;ecutions, <HI>&amp;c.</HI> from the beginning of the World to the Day of the date.</P>
<P>The&s;e two important Quarrels thus decided; the next thing was to &s;end away <HI>D. Lewis</HI>'s Servants back to their Ma&s;ter, leaving only one to attend the young Gentleman; which the other three were ea&s;ily per&s;waded to do; fir&s;t, becau&s;e they could not help it; and &s;econdly, becau&s;e they left him in &s;afe hands. So that Mrs. <HI>Clara,</HI> finding that at length &s;he &s;hould have the Company of her beloved <HI>Smock-face,</HI> was &s;o over-joy'd, that &s;he look'd as fre&s;h as a Ro&s;e in <HI>June,</HI> and &s;eem'd ten times hand&s;omer then &s;he did before. As for <HI>Zoraida,</HI> who under&s;tood not the Rea&s;on of things, for want of under&s;tanding the Language, &s;he ob&s;erv'd her Female-Companions,
<PB N="258" REF="142"> and when they laugh'd, &s;he laugh'd; when they were &s;ad, &s;he was &s;orrow|ful. And in Ca&s;es of Difficulty, &s;he watch'd the Motions of her Captives Eyes, as your Dancing-hor&s;es ob&s;erve the Hand and Switch of their boy|&s;trous <HI>Paedagogues.</HI></P>
<P>There was only one thing more to be done to procure a perfect Recon|ciliation, which was, to &s;atisfie the Inn-keeper for <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Actions of Battery. For the Inn-keeper ob&s;erving the Compo&s;ition which the <HI>Cu|rate</HI> had made with the <HI>Barber,</HI> demanded Satisfaction for his <HI>Boracho's</HI> and his Wine, and like a true <HI>Captain</HI> of a <HI>Vintner,</HI> brought in his Bill double the Sum, &s;taring and &s;wearing, that neither <HI>Ro&s;inante, Sancho,</HI> nor his A&s;s &s;hould &s;tir, by Virtue of an Inchantment call'd an Attachment, that he had laid upon 'em, till he was paid the utmo&s;t Farthing. To which the <HI>Curate;</HI> Men of no Con&s;cience, quo he, (as but few Vintners are) mu&s;t not be their own Carvers; and &s;o taking the Bill, and making an equitable Deduction upon every <HI>Item,</HI> he procur'd of <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI> to lay down the Money, and order'd the Vintner to acknowledge the Receipt of his Bill to <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> with an <HI>All's paid, and y' are welcome, Sir.</HI> Thus was a <HI>Pyre|naean</HI> Peace a &s;econd time concluded, and the Di&s;&s;ention and Slaughter in <HI>Agramant</HI>'s Camp exchang'd for the Repo&s;e and Tranquility of <HI>Augu&s;tus</HI>'s Reign, as <HI>Don Quixote</HI> him&s;elf mo&s;t learnedly ob&s;erv'd. And all the People in the Inn ob&s;erving that this Miracle was wrought by the Prudence of the Peace-making <HI>Curate,</HI> and the Liberality of <HI>D. Ferdinand,</HI> they return'd to both their mo&s;t hearty Thanks.</P>
<P>And now <HI>Don Quixote</HI> finding him&s;elf di&s;ingag'd from all manner of Quar|rels or Combats, either for his own Honour, or in his Squire's behalf, be|gan to bethink him&s;elf once more of the Adventure which he had under|taken, and that it was now high time to accompli&s;h it. Full of the&s;e Thoughts he went and threw him&s;elf at Madam <HI>Doroty</HI>'s Feet; who with no le&s;s Humility, unwilling to receive his Addre&s;&s;es in that humble Po&s;ture, made him a Sign to ri&s;e; which he ob&s;erving, and being got upon his Legs, <Q>Mo&s;t Noble, and mo&s;t Illu&s;trious Lady, &s;aid he, there is an old, old Proverb that tells us, <HI>Diligence is the Mother of good Fortune;</HI> and Experience teaches us, That in all Undertakings of Moment, Pains and Vigilance &s;urmount the greate&s;t Difficulties. The Truth of which appears in nothing &s;o much as in War, where a watchful Care to prevent the De&s;igns of the Enemy, frequently gains a complete Triumph, before the other has time to defend him&s;elf. I &s;peak this, mo&s;t Excellent Prince&s;s, becau&s;e it &s;eems to me, that our &s;tay in this Ca&s;tle is not only to no purpo&s;e, but may al&s;o prove greatly to our Di&s;advantage. For who knows, but that by this time the Giant <HI>Pandafilando</HI> may by his &s;ecret Spies have got Intelligence, that I am ha&s;t'ning to his De&s;truction; and &s;o taking the Opportunity of the time which we loo&s;e, he may have fortify'd him&s;elf in &s;ome Ca&s;tle, which all the Strength of my indefatigable Hands, and boi&s;trous Shoulders &s;hall not be able to demoli&s;h, either by tearing out the Stones one by one, or &s;hoving it down all at once, in forty Years; to the great Di&s;appointment of my Honour, and your Happine&s;s. Therefore, I &s;ay, let us prevent his De&s;igns by our Diligence and Speed; let us then make ha&s;te and be gone; for the longer it is before I come to grapple with your Enemy, the longer it will be before you obtain your De&s;ires.</Q></P>
<P>Here <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;topt and &s;aid no more, but with a compos'd Gravity awaited the Prince&s;s's An&s;wer; who with a &s;et-Countenance, and Expre&s;&s;i|ons accommodated to the Knight's Humour and Language; Mo&s;t Invincible Knight, &s;aid &s;he, your eager De&s;ire to relieve me in my Misfortunes, obliges
<PB N="259" REF="142"> me for ever to acknowledge your Favour, which I could not expect from any De&s;erts of my own, but as you are a courteous Knight, to whom it belongs to &s;uccour the Di&s;tre&s;&s;ed and Nece&s;&s;itous: Propitious Heaven accompli&s;h both our Wi&s;hes, to the end I may be in a Condition to let you &s;ee there are Women in the World that know how to be grateful. As to what concerns my Departure, I am ready at this In&s;tant, as having no other Will but yours; di&s;po&s;e of it therefore as you plea&s;e your &s;elf, for you may be &s;ure that &s;he who has entru&s;ted in your Hands the Intere&s;ts of her Kingdom, and the Defence of her Per&s;on, can have no ill Opinion of your Prudence and Conduct.</P>
<P>In the Name of all the Twelve <HI>Cae&s;ars,</HI> let's away then, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> and &s;ince &s;o great a Prince&s;s conde&s;cends to this Humility before me, let's not lo&s;e the Opportunity to recompence her Lowline&s;s, by an Ex|altation equal to her Dignity, and a Re&s;toration to her Hereditary Throne. Then Madam let's not &s;tay one minute longer, <HI>Delays breed Danger;</HI> but hang Danger, 'tis Honour &s;purs me on. Danger! what's that?&mdash; 'Slife! Heaven never created that thing, nor Hell e're &s;aw that Mon&s;ter, that could ever &s;care <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &mdash; Saddle <HI>Ro&s;inante, Sancho</HI>&mdash; pannel thy A&s;s&mdash; and get ready the Queen's Palfrey &mdash; That done, we'll only take our leave of the Con&s;table and the&s;e noble Knights&mdash; and then Giant, have at thee&mdash; Come, Madam, your Hoods and Scarfs, where are they?</P>
<P>Ah! Ma&s;ter, Ma&s;ter, cry'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;haking his Head, there's more Kna|very i' the Village then every body thinks of; I beg pardon of all vertuous Ladies for &s;o &s;aying. What Knavery, Dog, Slave, Traytor, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote?</HI> What Knavery in any Village, or in all the Cities of the World, can there be to my Di&s;honour? Nay, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> if y' are angry, Sir, I'le bung up my Mouth. All that I had to &s;ay, was only to ha' told ye what I thought my &s;elf oblig'd to tell ye, as being your Squire, and what a faithful Servant ought to tell his Ma&s;ter. Say what thou can&s;t, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> but not a Syllable to cool the Ardour of my Re&s;olution. If Fear po&s;&s;e&s;s thee, go hang thy &s;elf; for my part, I know not what Fear is, but when I behold it in the Countenances of my vanqui&s;h'd Enemies. As I'm a Sinner to Heaven, Sir, y' are out of the way. All that I in|tended to ha' &s;aid, is only this&mdash; Here's a Lady, for&s;ooth, that pretends to be Prince&s;s of <HI>Micomicon,</HI> when &s;he's no more Prince&s;s of <HI>Micomicon</HI> then my Mother that's dead and bury'd. For if &s;he were &s;uch a great Prin|ce&s;s, as &s;he &s;aies &s;he is, &s;he wou'd never lie &s;macking and &s;labbering the Snout of one i'this Company, as &s;he does, to my Knowledge, in every Hole and blind Corner, where they think they are not &s;een. <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Clownery fetch'd the Blood into Madam <HI>Doroty</HI>'s Cheeks, which her Mode&s;ty could not pre|vent. For true it was, that <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI> would &s;ometimes privately at|tempt to reap &s;ome part of the Harve&s;t of their mutual Amours; which, <HI>Sancho</HI> who was all Cha&s;tity him&s;elf, having &s;py'd by chance, thought &s;uch a Familiarity rather became a Curte&s;an, then the Queen of a great Kingdom: Be&s;ides that, &s;he had promis'd her &s;elf to his Ma&s;ter upon the Recovery of her Throne; and therefore he was of Opinion, that his Ma&s;ter might de&s;erve the fir&s;t Cut for &s;o great a piece of Service. However, Madam, <HI>Doroty</HI> thought it not fit to take any Cognizance of <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Information; &s;he could an&s;wer the Allegorical Knight, but not the down-right dun&s;table Squire: And therefore <HI>Sancho</HI> proceeding; That which obliges me, Sir, to this Freedom, is this; That I do not think it rea&s;onable, after we have rid hard, fed hard, lain hard, and &s;uffer'd all the <HI>Hards,</HI> but drinking hard, for I expect nothing but an empty Celler, and that's the harde&s;t thing of
<PB N="260" REF="143"> all; I &s;ay, after you ha' &s;lain this &s;ame di&s;mal Giant, and laid him as dead as a Pilchard at the Prince&s;s's Feet, as ye call her, a <HI>Bragado&s;hio</HI> here prickt up in an Inn, &s;hall enjoy the Fruits of all our Labour and Travel: And there|fore I &s;ay there's no &s;uch ha&s;te to &s;addle <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> and the Queen's <HI>Palfrey,</HI> nor to pannel my A&s;s&mdash; no, no, let them that have a mind to the Hare, beat the Bu&s;h them&s;elves&mdash; 'Twas ne're a good time &s;ince young Women gave them&s;elves to Idlene&s;s&mdash; and therefore let every Whore to her Spinning-wheel, and let us to our Victuals.</P>
<P>Which of the Mu&s;es &s;hall I now invoke to aid me to expre&s;s <HI>Don Quix|ote</HI>'s unexpre&s;&s;ible Wrath, when he heard this in&s;olent Di&s;cour&s;e of his Squire. So terrible it was, that with a Face like <HI>Mount Aetna,</HI> ca&s;ting forth Fire from his Eyes, and breathing forth nothing but Smoke and Smother from his No&s;trils, with a Voice of Thunder, and his Words crowding out of his Mouth &s;o thick, as if he had been born in Nutting-time. <Q>Ye Baker-legg'd, Squint-ey'd Hopper-ars'd, Monky-fac'd, ignorant, &s;tu|pid, unmannerly, Ill-bred, &s;aucy, &s;oul-mouth'd, muttering Puppy, Whelp, Hell-hound, Ribbal, Rogue, Hedge-bird, Hang-dog, Caitiff, Mongrel, Bruit, are the&s;e Bla&s;phemies for thee to utter i' my Pre&s;ence, and before the&s;e illu&s;trious Ladies too? How dur&s;t thy lewd Imagination harbour &s;uch abominable Thoughts as the&s;e? Get out o' my &s;ight, thou Sink of Fal&s;hood, Store-hou&s;e of Iniquity, Magazine of Impo&s;ture, Furnace of Mi&s;chief, Privy-hou&s;e of Calumny, and perfidious Enemy of all Breeding and good Manners. Be gone, I &s;ay, under Pain of my ju&s;t and heavy In|dignation, lea&s;t, after I have tormented thee, like another <HI>Ravillack,</HI> I crumble thee to Attomes, and &s;catter thy irreligious Du&s;t to the four Cor|ners of the World.</Q> And having &s;o &s;aid, he knit his Brows, and &s;urvey'd every Point of the Compa&s;s with a grim and direful A&s;pect, and with his right Foot &s;tamp'd at that rate, that the very Earth trembl'd again; evident Signs of the implacable Fury that inflam'd his Bowels.</P>
<P>The&s;e dreadful, terrible, di&s;mal, furiband Menaces &s;o amaz'd, confound|ed, and di&s;may'd the poor di&s;con&s;olate <HI>Sancho,</HI> that <HI>Benengeli</HI> does not &s;cru|ple to &s;ay, That he wi&s;h'd with all his heart, the Earth would have open'd to have &s;wallow'd him up; and not knowing what other Cour&s;e to take, he &s;hrugg'd up his Shoulders, and like a Dog that had &s;tole a Pud|ding, &s;lunk from his enraged Ma&s;ter's, Pre&s;ence. But the prudent Madam <HI>Doroty,</HI> who had &s;ufficiently &s;tudy'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> to know his Humour, by way of Attonement; Never, &s;aid &s;he, Sir <HI>Knight of the Ill-favour'd Countenance,</HI> let the Follies of your Squire provoke your Pa&s;&s;ion to &s;o high a degree. Perhaps he might have Rea&s;on for what he &s;aid, and it may be look'd upon as a Mark of his good Nature and his Con&s;cience to boot, that he attempted to advi&s;e ye for your own good, which frees him from any premeditated Intention to prejudice my Reputation. And therefore we are to believe, as you have already &s;aid, that que&s;tionle&s;s there is nothing but Enchantment in this Ca&s;tle; and through this &s;ame Diabolical Delu&s;i|on it was, that <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;poke as he did again&s;t my Honour.</P>
<P>Now by the Omnipotent <HI>Mars,</HI> the God of bloody Battel, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> your Highne&s;s has found it out&mdash; My life for yours &s;ome Necro|mantical, Satanical Vi&s;ion has troubl'd the Sen&s;es of this mi&s;erable Sinner, <HI>Sancho,</HI> and has caus'd him to dream tho&s;e Dreams, which nothing but En|chantment could have in&s;pir'd into his Brains; for I know too well the Simplicity and Innocence of that &s;illy Wretch, to think he has Wit e|nough to bear fal&s;e Witne&s;s again&s;t a Worm. It mu&s;t of nece&s;&s;ity be as you &s;ay, reply'd <HI>D. Ferdinand,</HI> and therefore it behoves your Honour, my
<PB N="261" REF="143"> Lord <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> to grant him your free Pardon, and re&s;tore him to the Bo&s;om of your Favour, as he was before this villanous Vi&s;ion embroil'd his Under&s;tanding. I pardon him, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> and with that, the <HI>Curate</HI> going to &s;eek for <HI>Sancho,</HI> brought him again into his Pre&s;ence; who immediately pro&s;trating him&s;elf at his Ma&s;ter's Feet, begg'd that he might have his hand to ki&s;s, which his Ma&s;ter reach'd him forth with a &s;in|gular Affability, and then giving him his Benediction to boot; Son <HI>San|cho,</HI> &s;aid he, now never que&s;tion what I have told thee &s;o often, that all things are manag'd by the Devil and Enchantment in this Ca&s;tle. I do believe it, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> nay, I will &s;wear it too, whenever I &s;hall be &s;ubpoena'd: For I find that I &s;peak at this time, as if I were enchanted my &s;elf. Only I except the bu&s;ine&s;s of the <HI>Blanket,</HI> for I'm &s;ure there could be no Enchantment in that, where every thing was done according to the ordinary Cour&s;e of Nature. Mi&s;take not in that, as in all the re&s;t, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> for had it not been &s;o, I had certainly reveng'd thy Quarrel, and would do it &s;till; but I could not do it then, neither can I do it now; and the Rea&s;on is, becau&s;e I know not upon whom to fix my Revenge, where all I encounter are only invi&s;ible Bodies. This made all the Company inqui&s;itive to know what <HI>Sancho</HI> meant by the <HI>Blanket.</HI> Up|on which the Inn-keeper having given a true and faithful Relation of the whole matter of Fact, the Story &s;et the whole Company a laughing, but it put <HI>Sancho</HI> into &s;uch a Pa&s;&s;ion, that he had like to ha' fall'n foul upon the Inn-keeper, had not his Ma&s;ter once again a&s;&s;ur'd him, That it was nothing but an Act of Enchantment; to which <HI>Sancho</HI> was con|&s;train'd &s;eemingly to &s;ubmit, for diver&s;e politick Con&s;iderations. For he was not &s;uch a Fool yet, as to believe his being to&s;s'd i' the Blanket, to be an Illu&s;ion; his own Sufferings convincing him, that it could be no|thing el&s;e but a piece of Malice executed by mortal Men, compos'd of Fle&s;h and Bones.</P>
<P>Two whole Days had this good Company now &s;pent i' the Inn, and therefore deeming it high time to depart, they con&s;ulted which way to get <HI>Don Quixote</HI> home, without giving <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI> and Madam <HI>Doroty</HI> the trouble to ride out of their way, in pur&s;uance of the Frolick of re|&s;toring the <HI>Prince&s;s</HI> of <HI>Micomicon</HI> to her Kingdom. To which purpo&s;e many Inventions were propounded, but at la&s;t they concluded to agree with a Waggoner that was coming along upon the Road, to carry him home in his Waggon; and how to get him in, they contriv'd in this man|ner. They made a kind of a &s;trong woodden Cage, &s;o large that a Man might either &s;it or lie in it at his own ea&s;e. Which done, <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI> and his Friends, <HI>Cardenio, D. Lewis</HI>'s Servants, the Bailiffs and the Inn-kee|per, being every one in &s;everal Di&s;gui&s;es, according to the <HI>Curate</HI>'s Di|rection, as chief Manager of the De&s;ign, enter'd <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Chamber, like &s;o many Goblins, who being retir'd to re&s;t him&s;elf after his toil&s;om Ex|travagancies, lay mo&s;t &s;weetly folded in the Arms of <HI>Morpheus,</HI> little dreaming of the Trap that was preparing for him. In this Condition they &s;wath'd his Arms and Hands to his Sides, and ty'd his Legs, as you &s;ee in your Crape-Shrowd Signs, to prevent all manner of Hor&s;e-play.</P>
<P>They had no &s;ooner fini&s;h'd their Work but <HI>Don Quixote</HI> wak'd, and finding him&s;elf unable to &s;tir Hand or Foot, and be&s;ides that, being &s;ur|rounded with &s;uch a &s;trange Guard of <HI>Goblins</HI> and <HI>Hobthru&s;hes,</HI> he was &s;trangely confounded in his Imagination; but being fully waken'd by his Fears, he call'd to mind that he was in an inchanted Ca&s;tle, and now thinking him&s;elf in the middle of all the whole Legion; his Breech
<PB N="262" REF="144"> made Buttons, as being in a deadly Quandary what they intended to do with him, e&s;pecially perceiving him&s;elf &s;o ab&s;olutely at the Devil's Mer|cy. <HI>Sancho</HI> beheld all this, the only per&s;on of all the Company undi&s;|guis'd in his Habit; and &s;o far too in his Sen&s;es, as to believe there was a De&s;ign upon his Ma&s;ter, not of Enchantment, but of Waggery, if 'twere no wor&s;e. But having been &s;o di&s;mally &s;nubb'd by his Ma&s;ter &s;o lately before, he dur&s;t not &s;ay a Word, till he could make &s;ome Di&s;covery whither the Contrivance tended: Be&s;ides, he &s;aw his Ma&s;ter was quiet, and wherefore, thought he, &s;hould I di&s;turb him. Indeed <HI>Benengeli</HI> the Hi&s;torian &s;aies he began to &s;tink a little; which was the Rea&s;on that the <HI>Goblins</HI> ha&s;ten'd to &s;end for his Clo&s;e-&s;tool; where, after they had nail'd him &s;o fa&s;t, that 'twas impo&s;&s;ible for him in his Condition to break loo&s;e, unle&s;s he would ha' ventur'd the Death of <HI>Bajazet,</HI> they took him upon their Shoulders. But ju&s;t as they were going out of the Chamber, they heard a Voice, like the &s;ound of a deep Ba&s;e, roaring through a <HI>&s;peak|ing-Trumpet,</HI> which made 'em &s;et down their Load again, to give Atten|tion to the thundering Utterer, who rumbl'd forth the&s;e Words:</P>
<P><Q>Sir <HI>Knight of the ill-favour'd Countenance,</HI> wonder not at thy Captiviy, for 'tis no more then what by Fate's Decree mu&s;t needs befall thee, to the end the de&s;perate Adventure, wherein thy matchle&s;s Courage has en|gag'd thee, may the &s;ooner be accompli&s;h'd. The end of this renown|ed Adventure &s;hall be known, when the furious Lion of <HI>Mancha,</HI> and the Milk-white Turtle of <HI>Tobo&s;o</HI> &s;hall delight each other with the Bu&s;|&s;es of Matrimony, and humble their Princely Necks under the tender Yoke of Wedlock. From who&s;e Embraces &s;hall &s;pring two Lions Whelps, who&s;e rampant Claws &s;hall trace the unimitable Foot-&s;teps of their invincible Father. And this &s;hall be before the lovely Chacer of the fugitive Nymph in his natural and rapid Cour&s;e, has three times parlied with the Northern Con&s;tellations, and ble&s;s'd the <HI>Samoeds</HI> with Day|light. And thou the mo&s;t noble and ob&s;equious <HI>Squire</HI> that e're handl'd glittering Sword, that ever wore Spade-beard upon his Chin, or Sence of Smelling in his No&s;trils, grieve not to &s;ee thus hurry'd away be|fore thy Eyes, the Flower and Cream of Chivalry-Errant; for before a certain number of Moons, thou &s;halt behold thy &s;elf exalted to that &s;ub|blime Degree, that thou &s;halt &s;eek, and yet not find <HI>thy &s;elf;</HI> while thou enjoy'&s;t in peace the ab&s;olute Infallibility of thy Lord's mo&s;t faith|ful Promi&s;es. Once more I a&s;&s;ure thee, in the Name of the fam'd In|chantre&s;s <HI>Telladam'dlya,</HI> that thy <HI>Herculean</HI> Labours &s;hall not remain un|recompenc'd; but that thou &s;halt find all thy pa&s;t Sufferings water'd with the fertile dew of thy long expected Wages and Sallary. Go then, Cele&s;tial Squire, pur&s;ue the Foot-&s;teps of thy mo&s;t valiant and enchanted Knight; for it behoves thee to attend him, till both of ye attain the Goal pre&s;crib'd by De&s;tiny; and now becau&s;e I am allow'd to &s;ay no more, farewel; while I return to Regions far remote, unknown to all the World be&s;ide.</Q></P>
<P>Toward the end of this Prophe&s;ie, Mr. <HI>Nicholas</HI> &s;lacken'd his Tone with &s;uch an Oracular Delivery, that they who were privy to the Impo|&s;ture, began them&s;elves to be &s;urpriz'd, and aw'd by an Illu&s;ion of their own Contrivance; &s;o ea&s;ie it is for Super&s;tition to couzen it &s;elf. But as for <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> all his Fears were &s;catter'd by the vain Promi&s;es of the delu&s;ive Oracle; for he had pre&s;ently forg'd a Pick-lock for all the dark Sayings of it, and had found it out, mo&s;t happy Man now he, in his fond Imaginations, that the time was &s;hortly coming, that &s;hould tie him to
<PB N="263" REF="144"> his dear and well-beloved <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> with the Weaver's Knots of lawful Matrimony, who&s;e fertile Womb &s;hould bring into the World a Race of young Lions, to the perpetual Honour of <HI>Mancha.</HI> And believing all this with as implicite a Faith, as he did his Books of <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> he fetch'd a deep Sigh from the bottom of his <HI>Diaphragma,</HI> and with a loud and &s;onorous Voice; <Q>O thou, cry'd he, whoe're thou art, who ha&s;t fore-told me the&s;e glad Tidings, conjure, I be&s;eech thee, in my Name, the &s;age <HI>Necromancer</HI> that manages my Affairs; not to &s;uffer me to peri&s;h in this Pri&s;on wherein they have enclos'd me, till I &s;ee tho&s;e incomparable Promi&s;es thou ha&s;t made me &s;ucce&s;sfully fulfill'd; and then I &s;hall glory in my Captivity, and rejoyce in the Chains that fetter my Arms, &s;o far from thinking this a place of Hard&s;hip to which I am confin'd, that I &s;hall e&s;teem it more &s;oft then the delicious Down of my Nuptial Bed. And for the Pains thou ha&s;t tak'n to chear and revive my di&s;con&s;olate Squire <HI>Sancho,</HI> I re|turn thee hearty Thanks; having that Confidence in his Fidelity and Af|fection, that he will never for&s;ake me, no not in my lowe&s;t Adver&s;ity; for that tho Fortune &s;hould be &s;o froppi&s;h, as to deny me the Power of conferring upon him the promis'd I&s;land, he is &s;ecur'd of his Salary by a Mortgage I ha' made him.</Q> Which Bounty and Goodne&s;s of his Ma&s;ter &s;o mollify'd <HI>Sancho</HI>'s tender and affectionate Heart, that he bow'd his head, and be&s;labber'd both his Ma&s;ter's hands; for one he could not &s;ingly ki&s;s, as they were coupl'd together. But the Goblins being in ha&s;te would not admit of long Complements, but at the &s;ame time took up the Cage, and having heav'd it up into the Waggon, fix'd it there among the re&s;t of the Lumber.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="20" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XX.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing &s;everal Occurrences.</HEAD>
<P><HI>DON Quixote</HI> &s;eeing him&s;elf thus encag'd and perch'd up i' the Wag|gon, after a &s;hort brown Study and Examination of his Memory; <Q>I have read, &s;aid he, a hundred Books of <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI> i' my time, but I never read, nor &s;aw, nor heard that ever inchanted Knights were carry'd after this manner, and at the lazy rate that the&s;e heavy, and &s;loath|ful Animals travel. For they were wont to be whirl'd away i' the Air with an un&s;peakable Swiftne&s;s, envelopp'd in &s;ome dark Cloud, or in a fiery Chariot, or upon a Hippo-Griffin, or a <HI>Pacolet's</HI> Hor&s;e, or &s;ome &s;uch kind of swift Mon&s;ter, and not in a paltry We&s;t country Wain, tugg'd along by a pin-buttock'd Team of &s;luggi&s;h cloven-footed Oxen; (I wi&s;h the Wag|goner's Hoofs may not be of the &s;ame &s;hape.) How confoundedly a&s;ham'd am I now, to &s;it here with a Company of Country Trulls going to the next good City to be pick'd up for Whores and Serving-maids? But it may be, <HI>modern Chivalry</HI> and <HI>Enchantments</HI> do not ob&s;erve the ancient Laws and Cu&s;toms; and perhaps, becau&s;e I am a new Knight, and the fir&s;t that in this Age has reviv'd the Exerci&s;e of <HI>Chivalry-Errant,</HI> for a long time quite bury'd in Oblivion, they have invented, for my &s;ake, new &s;orts of Enchantments, and new ways to coach their inchanted Knights.</Q> What think'&s;t thou, Friend <HI>Sancho?</HI> I know not what to think, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> for I never read &s;o many Books of <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> as your Wor|&s;hip
<PB N="264" REF="145"> has done; but this I dare &s;wear, that all the&s;e Goblins that &s;urround us, are no <HI>Catholicks,</HI> as we are, nor go to Church as we do. <HI>Catholicks,</HI> ye Fool! quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> How &s;hould they be <HI>Catholicks,</HI> and &s;erve God, who are only Spirits that have dre&s;s'd them&s;elves in human Shapes, a pur|po&s;e to do me this Kindne&s;s. But if thou ha&s;t a mind to be convinc'd of the truth thy &s;elf, feel 'em, and handle 'em, <HI>Sancho,</HI> and thou &s;halt find 'em to be nothing but Air, that have only the Appearance of Bodies. God's-fi&s;h, Sir, if that be all, I ha' handl'd 'em already, with a Witne&s;s; and this &s;ame very Devil that gives you all this Trouble, I can tell ye, is one that has more Fle&s;h then Sawce, he's as plump as a Partridge; nor do I believe he maintains tho&s;e &s;mooth Cheeks of his, by feeding upon the Wind; be&s;ides another Property which he has, quite different from all the Properties of Spirits, I mean your Inn-haunting Spirits. For whereas they always &s;mell of Sulphur, and Brim&s;tone, and <HI>A&s;&s;a foetida,</HI> this Devil &s;mells of Amber and Musk half a League off. This he &s;poke of <HI>D. Ferdinand,</HI> who being a great Per&s;onage, and &s;till i' the Fa&s;hion, or it might be for o|ther Rea&s;ons be&s;t known to him&s;elf, went always richly perfum'd. Ne're wonder at that, Friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for the Devils are cun|ninger then thou art aware of; and tho 'tis true, they generally &s;mell of Brim&s;tone and Gun-powder, yet they can deceive the <HI>No&s;e</HI> as well as the <HI>Eye.</HI> And therefore it is, that this <HI>Devil,</HI> knowing what a prying De|vil thou art, has perfum'd him&s;elf with Amber and E&s;&s;ence of Je&s;&s;omy, that thou &s;hould&s;t not take him to be what he is.</P>
<P>During this Di&s;cour&s;e between the Ma&s;ter and the Man, <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI> and <HI>Cardenio,</HI> fearing le&s;t <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;hould di&s;cover the Cheat, re&s;olv'd to ha&s;t'n his Departure. To which purpo&s;e they order'd the Ho&s;t to &s;ad|dle <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> and pannel <HI>Sancho</HI>'s A&s;s; and the <HI>Curate</HI> agreed with the Bailiffs to accompany the enchanted Knight to his own Village. <HI>Carde|nio</HI> fa&s;ten'd the Ba&s;on and the Target to the Pommel of <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI>'s Saddle, the Ba&s;on a' won &s;ide, and the Target o' t'other; withal, giving order to <HI>Sancho</HI> to lead the Hor&s;e, and ride before upon his own A&s;s, while the two Bailiffs rode by the Waggon.</P>
<P>But before the Oxen &s;et forward, the Ho&s;te&s;s, her Daughter, and <HI>Ma|ritornes</HI> came forth to take their leave of <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> pretending a more then ordinary Sorrow for his Misfortune. <Q>To whom <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> Grieve not, mo&s;t illu&s;trious Ladies, &s;aid he; &s;uch Accidents as the&s;e are always entail'd upon the Calling which I profe&s;s; and if they did not befal me, I &s;hould not think my &s;elf a true <HI>Knight-Errant;</HI> for that the like Mi&s;|fortunes never happen to Knights of little Fame, and mean Reputation, who live unthought of in that Ob&s;curity where they bury them&s;elves. Therefore &s;uch Mishaps as the&s;e are the Inheritance of Knights renowned, who&s;e Valour and Vertue is both envy'd and fear'd by &s;everal Princes; and other Knights, who, not able to &s;urmount, or equalize their Merit, ba&s;ely and treacherou&s;ly &s;eek their Ruin. But Vertue is of her &s;elf &s;o powerful, that in de&s;pite of all the Magick that ever <HI>Zoroa&s;tres</HI> invented, &s;he vanqui&s;hes and &s;ubdues all Ob&s;tacles, and di&s;plays her glorious Beams upon the Earth, with equal Lu&s;tre to the Sun in Heaven. Pardon me, Ladies, I be&s;eech ye, pardon me, if ever through Ignorance, or unwit|tingly I offended Per&s;ons of your Quality; for &s;ure I am, that of my own Knowledge and Malice afore-thought, I never injur'd a Fly. And there|fore let me beg your Prayers to Heaven for my Deliverance from this un|&s;anctify'd Impri&s;onment, wherein I am thus enclos'd through the Trea|chery of &s;ome malicious <HI>Necromancer</HI> envious of my Glory; from whence
<PB N="265" REF="145"> when my good Fortune and your Devotion &s;hall have &s;et me free, I &s;hall never forget the Favours I have receiv'd in your Ca&s;tle, &s;o deeply engrav'd in my Remembrance, that time &s;hall never deface tho&s;e Acknowledg|ments that oblige me to repay with the utmo&s;t of my Services, either a foot or a hor&s;e-back, the &s;everal Kindne&s;&s;es you ha' done me.</Q></P>
<P>While <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was thus complementing the Ladies of the Ca&s;tle, as he call'd 'em, the <HI>Curate</HI> and Mr. <HI>Nicholas</HI> took their leaves of all the Company, both the Men and the Ladies, more e&s;pecially of Madam <HI>Do|rothy</HI> and Mrs. <HI>Lucinda,</HI> with whom they had been &s;ome time longer ac|quainted. On the other &s;ide, <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI> engag'd the <HI>Curate</HI> to give him a weekly Account of his Patient <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> making no que&s;tion, but that there &s;till remain'd &s;ome plea&s;ant Conceits behind, which would be &s;ufficient matter of farther Diverti&s;ement; and being de&s;irous withal to hear the end of &s;uch a merry piece of Extravagance, much more delight|ful and profitable then either the <HI>Weekly Packet of Advice,</HI> or the <HI>Hi&s;tory of Gre&s;ham Colledge.</HI></P>
<P>And now being ju&s;t ready to depart, the Inn-keeper pre&s;ented the <HI>Curate</HI> with the re&s;t of the Papers which were in the Cloke-bag, where he found the Hi&s;tory of the <HI>Curious Impertinent,</HI> for that he believ'd the Owner, that Poet-like, had pawn'd his Wit for his Reckoning, would never call for 'em again. The <HI>Curate</HI> thank'd him, and pre&s;ently looking 'em &s;light|ly over, ca&s;t his Eye upon one &s;hort Manu&s;cript, entitled, <HI>The Hi&s;tory of Rinconet and Cortadillo,</HI> which he thought could not be ami&s;s, &s;ince the <HI>Novel of the Curious Impertinent</HI> had pleas'd &s;o well. Soon after, the <HI>Cu|rate</HI> and Mr. <HI>Nicholas</HI> took Hor&s;e, with their Faces mask'd, for fear of being known by <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and follow'd clo&s;e behind the Waggon, which was guarded as we told ye before.</P>
<P>Thus this illu&s;trous Train jogg'd on with a grave and maje&s;tick Pace; a Pace that &s;eem'd to boad our <HI>Hero</HI> all future Pro&s;perity and Triumph, by the &s;tately March of the Proce&s;&s;ion: The Prie&s;te&s;s of <HI>Cybele</HI> never rode with more Solemnity, when drawn by her two Sons to the Temple. As for <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> he lay all along at his Ea&s;e, leaning his Head again&s;t the wooden Bars, with his Hands ty'd, and his Legs &s;tretch'd out, &s;o &s;ilent, &s;o quiet, and &s;o patient, that you wou'd ha' &s;worn &s;ome Knight-Templar's Tomb had been removing, Spikes and all, out of &s;ome Cathedral to the Place of his Nativity.</P>
<P>In this Po&s;ture they had mea&s;ur'd about two Leagues, till they came to a Valley where the Waggoner would needs have baited his Hor&s;es; but being inform'd by Mr. <HI>Nicholas,</HI> that there was another Valley a little far|ther, where there was both more and better Gra&s;s, he drove on. At what time they were over-tak'n by &s;ix or &s;even Per&s;ons well mounted, and who, by their ha&s;te, &s;eem'd de&s;irous to get to their Inn in good time. Both Parties gave each other the time o' the day; but then the chief of the Company, who &s;eem'd to be a Prebend of &s;ome Cathedral at lea&s;t, by the Re&s;pect which the others gave him, ob&s;erving &s;uch an orderly Proce&s;&s;ion, which he had never &s;een in his Life, and a Man enclos'd in a Cage, could not forbear to ask the meaning of the Solemnity, and what mon&s;trous <HI>Canary</HI>-Bird it was, &s;o &s;afely lock'd up i' the Cage; believing, becau&s;e he &s;aw the Sheriffs Officers, that he was &s;ome de&s;perate High-way-man, whom they were carrying in that manner to Jayle. Sir, &s;aid the Bailiff, you mu&s;t e'en ask the Knight i' the Cage him&s;elf, for we know nothing o' the matter. But there was no need o' that; for <HI>Don Quixote</HI> having heard the Que&s;tion &s;tarted; Sir Knights, in &s;hort, quo he, Did ye ever
<PB N="266" REF="146"> read, or d'ye under&s;tand any thing of <HI>Knight-Errantry?</HI> For if ye do, then will ye ea&s;ily apprehend the Rea&s;on of my Misfortunes&mdash; But if ye don't, 'twill be an idle thing for me to trouble my Brains to better your Infor|mation with My&s;teries above your Reach. Why, truly hone&s;t Friend, re|ply'd the Prebend, I ha' been a young Man i' my time, and then I &s;tudy'd <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI> much more then either <HI>Keckerman</HI> or <HI>Burger&s;dicius,</HI> to my Prai&s;e be it &s;poken; and therefore if that be all, you cannot impart your Di&s;tre&s;&s;es to a Per&s;on that may do ye more Kindne&s;s. You &s;ay very well, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> then know that I am &s;hut up i' this Cage by Inchantment, through the Malice and Treachery of &s;ome cur&s;ed <HI>Necro|mancer;</HI> Vertue being always more vigorou&s;ly per&s;ecuted by the Wicked, then belov'd and &s;upported by hone&s;t Men. I am a <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> not in the number of tho&s;e, of whom Fame takes little Cognizance, and le&s;s Care to eternize their Memories; but of tho&s;e that in de&s;pite of Envy her &s;elf, and all the Magicians of <HI>Per&s;ia,</HI> the <HI>Brachmans</HI> of <HI>India,</HI> the Gymno&s;ophi&s;ts of <HI>Aethiopia,</HI> and the Figure-ca&s;ters of <HI>London</HI> City, leave their Names, and their Exploits engrav'd in the Temple of Immor|tality, to &s;erve as Rules, Examples and Models for all <HI>Knight-Errants,</HI> who ever intend to climb the Pinnacle of Honour won by feats of Arms. 'Tis very true, reply'd the <HI>Curate,</HI> the Lord <HI>Don Quixote</HI> is enchanted in this Waggon, not through any Fault of his own, but by the wicked Con|trivances, Surprize, and unju&s;t Violences of tho&s;e that repine at his Va|lour and his Vertue. This is the <HI>Knight of the Ill-favour'd Countenance,</HI> of whom you mu&s;t have heard e're now, who&s;e Heroick Exploits, and un|heard of Atchievements will remain to Po&s;terity, in&s;crib'd in durable Marble, and eternal Bra&s;s, maugre all the Attempts of Malice to deface, or Envy to tarni&s;h their un&s;potted Glory. The Prebend and his Company were &s;o amaz'd to hear that the Par&s;on at Liberty &s;hould talk at the &s;ame extravagant rate as the Man i' the Woodden-Cage, that they could not tell what to imagine of &s;uch a piece of Di&s;traction. But <HI>Sancho</HI> having heard the whole Di&s;cour&s;e, full of Di&s;content, mad in his Mind, di&s;turb'd in his Thoughts, and therefore re&s;olving to unfold a My&s;tery &s;o preju|dicial to his Intere&s;ts; Gentlemen, quo he, I have a weak Con&s;cience, and therefore offended or pleas'd, 'tis all one to me, I'm re&s;olv'd to tell ye the whole Truth. Now the Truth is, That my Lord <HI>Don Quixote</HI> is as much enchanted, as my Mother was enchanted when my Father begot me. He has all his Sen&s;es entire, and his Judgment &s;ound; he eates and drinks, &s;leeps and talks, and goes to Stool like other Men, and as he did before he was put i' the Cage. Which being &s;o, how dare they pretend to make us believe him to be enchanted? As if I did not know, that they who are enchanted never eat, nor &s;leep, nor talk, and yet I'le venture the Price o' my A&s;s, that do but put my Ma&s;ter to't, and he &s;hall out-bawl ten young <HI>Ni&s;i-prius</HI> Coun&s;ellors. And at the &s;ame time addre&s;&s;ing him&s;elf to the <HI>Curate;</HI> Ah, Mr. <HI>Curate,</HI> Mr. <HI>Curate,</HI> &s;aid he! do you think I don't know ye, or under&s;tand whither your Enchantments tend? You may hide your &s;weet Countenance as long as ye plea&s;e, I know ye as well as I know my own A&s;s; and through all your Vi&s;ors, and your <HI>Ma&s;querades,</HI> I am not &s;uch a Fool, but I can di&s;cover your Cheats and Deceits, your Wiles, and your Tricks. But I find now where the Wind blows; where Envy reigns, there's no abiding for Vertue; where Poverty and Scarcity, there can be no Munifi|cence. Now the Devil take the Devil, and God pardon us all together, you for your Sins, and me for mine. For had it not been for your Wor|&s;hip, pox o' your Preferment, my Ma&s;ter had e're now been marry'd to
<PB N="267" REF="146"> the Prince&s;s of <HI>Micomicon,</HI> and I had been a Count at lea&s;t, as being the &s;malle&s;t thing I could expect from the Liberality of the <HI>Knight of the Ill-favour'd Countenance,</HI> and the Merits of my own Services. But I find the Wheel of Fortune turns more &s;wiftly round, then a Mill-wheel; they who ye&s;terday &s;ate upon the Pinacle, lie to day i' the Durt. I am only troubl'd for my Wife and Children, who will be &s;trangely di&s;appointed in their Hopes, to &s;ee me return home no more then a poor Groom, when they expected me no le&s;s then a Vice-roy, or the Governour of &s;ome great I&s;land. I only preach this, Mr. <HI>Curate,</HI> to your Dry-vinity, to mind ye of being a little con&s;cionable in abu&s;ing my Ma&s;ter, for fear of being call'd to a &s;trict Account both in this and the other World, for the good which you prevent him from doing, as well in &s;uccouring the Afflicted, as in puni&s;hing the Violence of unju&s;t Oppre&s;&s;ours. Prate-roa&s;t, <HI>keep your Breath to cool your Porridge,</HI> quo the <HI>Barber,</HI> what, are you one of your Ma&s;ter's Fraternity? By the Lord <HI>Harry,</HI> I cou'd find i' my Heart to have thee inchanted too, and coop'd up with thy Ma&s;ter, as a <HI>Member of Chi|valry.</HI> Your Changeling&s;hip is with Child of an I&s;land, I hear&mdash; but I'le &s;end ye a Midwife, y' faith. I am with Child by no body, reply'd <HI>Sancho</HI> in a deadly Chafe, nor am I to be got with Child by any per&s;on living, tho 'twere the King him&s;elf: Tho I am poor, I am hone&s;t; I am an old Chri&s;tian, and out of Debt. What if I do de&s;ire an I&s;land? There are Par&s;ons and Barbers too have been more extravagantly de&s;irous then &s;o &mdash; I tell ye&mdash; every Man is the Son of his own Works; and therefore he that is a Man, may be a Pope for ought any body knows, much more ea&s;ily the <HI>Governour</HI> of an I&s;land, e&s;pecially when my Ma&s;ter has won &s;o many, that he &s;han't know where to be&s;tow 'em. Therefore, good Mr. <HI>Barber,</HI> rule your unruly <HI>Ton&s;or</HI>'s Tongue; we are not now talking of Wa&s;h-balls and Razors&mdash; We under&s;tand our &s;elves a little, God be thank|ed, and we can tell the difference between <HI>Peter</HI> and <HI>Peter;</HI> not all Fel|lows at Foot-ball, good Mr. <HI>Barber.</HI> As for my Ma&s;ter's being enchanted, as ye call it, there's one above knows all things; and therefore let it re&s;t, and &s;ay no more of it, le&s;t the more you &s;tir it, the more it &s;tink. The <HI>Barber,</HI> fearing <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Di&s;coveries, thought it his wi&s;e&s;t Cour&s;e to make him no An&s;wer. And the &s;ame Fears po&s;&s;e&s;&s;ing the <HI>Curate,</HI> he led the way before with the <HI>Prebend;</HI> and as he rode along, gave him a full Account of the My&s;tery of the Cage: He al&s;o inform'd him of the Condition of the Knight, his manner of living, and his Inclinations; &s;uccinctly recounting to him the Beginning and Cau&s;e of his extravagant Dotages, and how they were getting him home, with a Re&s;olution to try whether his Follies would admit of Cure.</P>
<P>The <HI>Prebend</HI> and his Company li&s;ten'd with Admiration to the Story of <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> and when the <HI>Curate</HI> had made an end; In good &s;ooth, Sir, &s;aid the <HI>Prebend,</HI> I find your Books of <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI> and your Romances, are not only unprofitable, but al&s;o very prejudicial to a Common wealth; and tho I began to read almo&s;t all that are printed, I could never yet find i' my heart to read any one quite through; for me-thinks 'tis &s;till the &s;ame thing, and there is nothing to be learnt more in one then in another. The whole Compo&s;ition and Stile re&s;embles that of the <HI>Mile&s;ian</HI> Fables, which are only a Company of idle Stories made only for Pa&s;time, far dif|ferent from tho&s;e moral and &s;ignificant Apologues, contriv'd as well for In|&s;truction as Delight I would fain know what Neatne&s;s or Proportion there is of the parts to the whole, or of the whole to the parts in a Pi|cture, where a young Stripling of &s;eventeen, with a back-blow divides a
<PB N="268" REF="147"> va&s;t Giant i' the middle, tho as tall as a Steeple, with as much ea&s;e as to chop a pickl'd Gerkin in halves? Or who can believe that a &s;ingle Knight &s;hould be able to vanqui&s;h a million of Enemies, without lo&s;ing a Drop of Blood? And is it not a wonderful thing, that a great Queen, or the Heire&s;s to an Empire, &s;hould at fir&s;t &s;ight entru&s;t all her weighty Con|cerns with the fir&s;t <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> &s;he meets with? What man that was born with a Grain of Sen&s;e, can be &s;o &s;tupid, as to read with any delight|ful Satisfaction, a Story of a Stone Tower full of Knights that &s;wam as nimbly in the Sea, as a Fourth-rate Frigat with a fre&s;h Gale; and that this Tower was &s;een upon the Coa&s;t of <HI>Genoa</HI> in the Evening, but by break of Day next Morning &s;hould be landed in <HI>Ethiopia,</HI> or the <HI>Ea&s;t-Indies,</HI> or &s;ome other Country which <HI>Ptolemy</HI> never heard of, nor <HI>T. Coriate</HI> ever travell'd. It may be &s;aid, that the&s;e Authors de&s;igning nothing but Fable, are not oblig'd to &s;uch a &s;trict Ob&s;ervation of <HI>Decorum;</HI> as if a Lye could be plea&s;ant that does not in &s;ome mea&s;ure border upon Truth; or that Adventures could be delightful, where there is not &s;ome|thing di&s;putable and &s;eemingly po&s;&s;ible. For Fables ought to be &s;o com|pos'd, as to win upon an unbelieving Reader, by rendring Impo&s;&s;ibilities only difficult, levelling the mountainous height of Difficulties, and by keeping the Mind in a charming Su&s;pence, where Wonder and Delight walk, as it were, hand in hand together: which is the Perfection of a Romance, and never to be met with, but where there is &s;ome Shadow of Probability. I never &s;aw that Book of <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI> wherein the Bo|dy of the Fable is truly compos'd and &s;et together with all its Members, &s;o as to make the middle cohere with the beginning; but rather con&s;i&s;t|ing always of &s;o many mi&s;hap'n Limbs, as if the Author had de&s;ign'd the framing &s;ome &s;trange Mon&s;ter or <HI>Chimera,</HI> rather then any propor|tionate Figure: And be&s;ides that, their &s;tile is har&s;h and barbarous, their Adventures are incredible, their Amours la&s;civious, and their Lovers in|di&s;creet. They are tedious in their De&s;cription of Combats, ignorant in their Geography, and impertinent in their Di&s;cour&s;es. In a word, they have neither Learning, nor Art, nor good Conduct; and therefore fit for nothing but to be exterminated out of a Chri&s;tian Common-wealth, as unprofitable and prejudicial to the Publick.</P>
<P>The <HI>Curate</HI> having li&s;ten'd with Attention to the <HI>Prebend,</HI> and finding him a Man of Sen&s;e, told him, He was clearly of his Opinion; and withal, that out of a particular Aver&s;ion to Books of <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> he had caus'd all <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s numerous Legends to be burnt; as al&s;o after what manner he had brought 'em to their Tryal, and condemn'd them to the Fire; the Rea&s;ons why he had repriev'd &s;ome few, and what was <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Fancy upon the lo&s;s of his Library; which was Sport alone for the <HI>Prebend</HI> and his Company. However, reply'd the <HI>Prebend,</HI> after all that I have &s;aid concerning the&s;e Books, there is in a right Management of a probable Romance, a large Field for a per&s;on of Wit and under&s;tanding to exerci&s;e his Parts, whether in the De&s;criptions of Tempe&s;ts, or Shipwracks, or well fought Battels, or in the depainting forth a great Captain, with all tho&s;e admirable Qualities that make him &s;uch, as Vigilance, Fore-&s;ight, Eloquence, Prudence, and Experience in Coun&s;el, Quickne&s;s in Execution, and Pre&s;ence of Mind in Danger; or at other times in de&s;cribing &s;ome mournful and tragical Event, &s;ometimes &s;ome plea&s;ing and unexpected Ad|venture; &s;ometimes &s;ome illu&s;trious and beautiful Lady, with all her Or|naments of Cha&s;tity, Di&s;cretion, and Re&s;erv'dne&s;s; at another time, &s;ome noble Knight, couragious, active and liberal; and by and by another, no
<PB N="269" REF="147"> le&s;s haughty, in&s;olent and ra&s;h; at another time, &s;ome prudent and mo|derate Prince, that only &s;eeks the good of his Subjects, and &s;hews him&s;elf always ready to reward their zealous and affectionate Services. Upon the&s;e Subjects an Author has a great Advantage to &s;hew his Learning in all manner of Arts and Sciences, in Philo&s;ophy, Morality, and Politicks, while he attributes to his Hero's, the Wit and Eloquence of <HI>&V;ly&s;&s;es,</HI> the Piety of <HI>Aeneas,</HI> the Valour of <HI>Achilles,</HI> the Friend&s;hip of <HI>Euriolus,</HI> the Valour and Prudence of <HI>Cae&s;ar,</HI> the Clemency of <HI>Augu&s;tus,</HI> the Truth of <HI>Trajan,</HI> the Fidelity of <HI>Zopyras,</HI> and the Wi&s;dom of <HI>Cato;</HI> and in a Word, adorns and furni&s;hes 'em with all tho&s;e pregnant Grandeurs of a humane Soul that render a man illu&s;trious i' the World. For by this means, in a pure and natural Stile, and with an Invention and Art &s;till careful to pre|&s;erve <HI>Decorum</HI> and Probability, he may be able to weave a lovely Ti&s;&s;ue of &s;everal Varieties, and a perfect Picture that will not fail, both to plea&s;e and in&s;truct, which are the ends that &s;et him at work.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="21" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XXI.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Wherein the <HI>Prebend</HI> pur&s;ues his Di&s;cour&s;e upon Books of <HI>Knight-Errantry.</HI></HEAD>
<P>YOU charm me, Sir, with your Di&s;cour&s;e, reply'd the <HI>Curate;</HI> and therefore certainly they de&s;erve more &s;everely to be blam'd, that neglect the Rules which you have pre&s;crib'd, and which have rendred &s;o famous the two Princes of <HI>Greek</HI> and <HI>Latin</HI> Poe&s;ie. I mu&s;t confe&s;s, reply'd the <HI>Prebend,</HI> I had once a kind of Temptation to write my &s;elf a Book of <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> according to the &s;ame Rules; and I had compos'd &s;ome fifteen or twenty Quires; and to try whether this Beginning an&s;wer'd my Expectation, I &s;hew'd 'em not only to &s;ome Per&s;ons that were capable to judge, and were pa&s;&s;ionate Admirers of that Romantick way, but al&s;o to &s;ome others that were no le&s;s ignorant, and had a <HI>Gu&s;to</HI> for nothing but Extravagancy, who neverthele&s;s both equally applauded what I had done. However, I forbore to proceed, in regard that be&s;ides that it did not &s;eem con&s;entaneous to my Profe&s;&s;ion, I find that the number of Fools far &s;ur|pa&s;&s;es that of the judicious; and tho it be much more advantageous to a Man, to be commended and e&s;teem'd by the &s;mall number of the Learned, then it is di&s;advantageous to be &s;corn'd and &s;lighted by the innumerable Number of Ideots, yet I was unwilling to expo&s;e my &s;elf to the Cen|&s;ure of the blocki&s;h Vulgar, that particularly &s;eek their Pa&s;time in &s;uch &s;orts of Books. But nothing more oblig'd me to di&s;continue, then to &s;ee that the Comedies of our Times are all &s;uch a Company of ridiculous Far|ces, without any Rule or <HI>Decorum,</HI> and yet &s;hould be &s;o applauded and humm'd up, as they are; nay, and it is come to that pa&s;s too, that the very Poets and Actors will tell ye, that nothing el&s;e will plea&s;e the Stage, the Generality of the Spectators not enduring any thing of Art, or regu|lar Invention. Therefore, thought I, why &s;hould I go about to break my Brains, and lo&s;e my time in &s;tudying Rules and Precepts to no purpo&s;e? Sir, reply'd the <HI>Curate,</HI> you have touch'd upon a Point that has reviv'd in my Thoughts an old Animo&s;ity, which I have always had again&s;t the Comedies of our Times, no le&s;s then the inveterate Enmity which I have
<PB N="270" REF="148"> always born again&s;t <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> and all its Abettors. For whereas Comedy, as <HI>Tully</HI> tells us, ought to be a Mirrour of human life, an Exam|ple and Pattern of good manners, and a Repre&s;entation of truth, it is now become a meer Huddle of Extravagancy, countenancing open Debauche|ry upon the Stage, and farc'd with little el&s;e then Lewdne&s;s and Ob&s;cenity. What can be more ridiculous, then to tell us of an Infant newly born in the fir&s;t Scene of the fir&s;t Act, and in the next Act to bring him in fight|ing a great Battel? Within the &s;pace of two Mu&s;icks, a &s;ucking Baby and a great Commander? What more impertinent then that of the Play of <HI>Adam</HI> and <HI>Eve,</HI> where Grannam <HI>Eve</HI> is brought in with two or three Waiting-maids attending her, when there was ne're a Woman but her &s;elf i' the World? What more &s;illy and ridiculous then to introduce a Lacquy &s;peaking like an Orator, or a Page like a Privy-Coun&s;ellor? to make a Prince talk like a Porter, or a great Empre&s;s like a Chair-woman? Others there are that cannot write a Play without two or three Devils in it; and tho&s;e too brought in by Head and Shoulders. And &s;ome there are that fill their Scenes with antick Dances and Mummery, fitter for a Booth then a Stage; as if they de&s;ign'd rather to tickle the Fancy of youth with wanton and la&s;civious Po&s;tures, then to reform the Vices of the Age by deliberate and well meditated In&s;truction. Others there be, who ob&s;erving neither Time nor Place, lay the Scenes of their fir&s;t Act in <HI>Eu|rope,</HI> of the &s;econd in <HI>A&s;ia,</HI> of the third in <HI>Africa,</HI> of the fourth in <HI>Ame|rica;</HI> but then what pity 'twas, that the World &s;hould want a fifth Quarter for the Conclu&s;ion? What a Gallimaufry and Mixture of Fable with Hi&s;to|rical Truths? What a Confu&s;ion of Nations, Characters and Times, we meet with in others, which cau&s;es the Compo&s;ers to lie at the mercy, even of the mo&s;t ignorant of their Auditors? All which proceeds from hence, that the Poets write not now adays for Honour and true Applau&s;e, but for Gain, and the Profit of the <HI>third Day;</HI> and therefore they are con&s;train'd &s;o to write, as that their Studies may plea&s;e the Purcha&s;er, who el&s;e will return his Ware upon his Hands, to the di&s;a&s;trous Di&s;appointment of all the Trades about the Town that belong to eating, drinking, and cloath|ing, who had tru&s;ted the poor Comedian, or more lamentable Tragoedian, in hopes of being paid by the Mu&s;es.</P>
<P>While the <HI>Prebend</HI> and the <HI>Curate</HI> were thus di&s;cour&s;ing together, the <HI>Barber</HI> made bold to interrupt 'em, telling the <HI>Curate,</HI> that now they were come to that lovely Valley, where he had told 'em they might with &s;o much Plea&s;ure repo&s;e them&s;elves, while the Waggoner gave his Oxen a cool Sallad of green Gra&s;s. I like it well, quo the <HI>Curate,</HI> and at the &s;ame time ask'd the <HI>Prebend,</HI> whether he would be pleas'd to alight? Which the <HI>Prebend</HI> readily con&s;ented to do, no le&s;s taken with the Pro|&s;pect and Plea&s;antne&s;s of the Vale, then with the <HI>Curate</HI>'s Di&s;cour&s;e; and withal willing to under&s;tand &s;omething more of the Humour and Story of <HI>Don Quixote.</HI> Thereupon the <HI>Prebend</HI> order'd one of his Servants to ride away to the Inn, and &s;ee what was to be had; but being better in|form'd that one of his own Mules was gone before better furni&s;h'd with Provi&s;ion then the Inn would afford, he bid the &s;ame Servant carry the Hor&s;es to the Inn, and fetch back the Mule; which was done with all con|venient &s;peed.</P>
<P>All this while <HI>Sancho</HI> finding that the <HI>Curate</HI> and the <HI>Barber,</HI> for whom he had as much kindne&s;s as a Whore for a Whipping-po&s;t, gave him no farther interruption, but that he might freely di&s;cour&s;e with his Ma&s;ter, being got as near as po&s;&s;ibly he could to the Cage; Ma&s;ter, &s;aid he, for
<PB N="271" REF="148"> the di&s;charge of my Con&s;cience, I mu&s;t needs tell ye what I think of your Inchantment. The&s;e two men that travel along with us, with their Masks upon their No&s;es, are the <HI>Curate</HI> of our Pari&s;h, and Mr. <HI>Nicholas</HI> the <HI>Barber;</HI> and I'le be hang'd now, or at any other time when you plea&s;e, if this ben't a Plot meerly of their Contrivance to carry ye away thus in a Cage-Errant, becau&s;e your famous Exploits throw Du&s;t i' their Eyes. From whence I conclude, that you are no more enchanted then my A&s;s, but only bubbl'd and made a Fool of. For Proof of this, Sir, give me leave to ask you one Que&s;tion, and if you do but an&s;wer me as wi&s;ely as I expect, I'le make the cheat as plain as the No&s;e i' your face. So that if after I ha' done, you believe your &s;elf inchanted, I &s;hall then believe your Brains to be turn'd i' your Scull. Ask what Que&s;tions thou wilt, Son <HI>Zan|cho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I'le an&s;wer thee as punctually as my Confe&s;&s;or. Tho as to tho&s;e per&s;ons, who thou &s;ay'&s;t are our Pari&s;hioners, the <HI>Curate</HI> and the <HI>Barber,</HI> they may indeed &s;eem to thee to be &s;o; but that they are tho&s;e very real per&s;ons, I would not have thee believe no more then thou do&s;t in <HI>Mahomet.</HI> Pin thy Faith therefore, if thou love&s;t me, up|on my Sleeve; for to do otherwi&s;e in this ca&s;e, is of dangerous con&s;equence, and believe that the&s;e two per&s;ons who appear to thee in the likene&s;s of our two Neighbours, are mo&s;t certainly my confounded Inchanters, that have a&s;&s;um'd the Shapes of tho&s;e two hone&s;t men a' purpo&s;e to delude thee, and throw thee into a Labyrinth of Imaginations, whence thou wilt never be able to di&s;intreague thy &s;elf, tho thou had&s;t the Clue of <HI>The|&s;eus,</HI> and &s;o to rai&s;e in me the Spirit of Revenge again&s;t two innocent Peo|ple, that never meant me harm; or el&s;e to puzzle my Under&s;tanding, that I &s;hould not be able to find out who 'tis has done me this Mi&s;chief. For look thee, friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> on the one &s;ide thou amu&s;e&s;t my Brains with a Story of the <HI>Curate</HI> and <HI>Barber,</HI> whereas on the other &s;ide, I find my &s;elf here enthral'd, yet am a&s;&s;ur'd that all the <HI>Curates</HI> and <HI>Barbers</HI> i' the World, nor any other power, not altogether &s;upernatural, no not <HI>Tamerlaine</HI> him|&s;elf, could have &s;o encag'd me; which I am the rather bound to believe, becau&s;e my Inchantment is of a nature quite different from all that ever I read of enchanted Knights in any Hi&s;tory that ever I &s;aw. And there|fore bani&s;h that idle Crotchet out of thy head, that inveagles thee to think tho&s;e per&s;ons to be what thou &s;ay'&s;t they are. For they are no more the <HI>Barber</HI> and the <HI>Curate,</HI> then I am the <HI>Turk</HI> and the <HI>Devil.</HI> And now ask what Que&s;tions thou wilt, I'le an&s;wer thee till to morrow Morning. Mercy deliver me, cry'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> with a Voice of Admiration, Is it po&s;&s;ible your Wor&s;hip &s;hould have &s;uch a thick Scull and &s;o little Brains, as not to under&s;tand what I tell ye to be true? Why then I tell ye, you do the Devil an injury; he has no hand, no not &s;o much as a finger i' this Plot&mdash; 'tis all a Contrivance of mortal Men, to your Infamy and Di&s;grace; and I'le prove it to be no Inchantment, as clear as the Sun at Noon-day. Now then, tell me, Sir, as you hope for Deliverance out of the&s;e Barricado's, and as you expect one day to &s;ee your &s;elf enfolded in the Arms of Ma|dam <HI>Dulcinea</HI>&mdash; Prethee <HI>Sancho,</HI> cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> interrupting him, what a Racket do&s;t thou keep? Have I not promis'd to an&s;wer punctually to all thy Demands?&mdash; Tell me then without bouncing or mincing the matter, but &s;incerely and faithfully, as per&s;ons ought to &s;peak that make profe&s;&s;ion of Arms in the Quality of <HI>Knight-Errants</HI>&mdash; VVhy then a&s;&s;ure thy &s;elf, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that I do renounce not only the Father, but the Mother of Lyes&mdash; But for the love of Heaven, either begin, or make an end before thou begin'&s;t; for in good &s;ooth, <HI>Sancho,</HI> thou tire'&s;t me
<PB N="272" REF="149"> to death with thy Circumlocutions and Preambles&mdash; Why then, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;ecure as I am of the goodne&s;s and truth of my Ma&s;ter, I ask ye, Sir, tho with all Reverence and Mode&s;ty, whether, &s;ince you were as you believe, inchanted in that Chicken-Coop, you never had, through the motions of Nature, De&s;ires <HI>micturient</HI> or <HI>cacaturient,</HI> as they &s;ay? I un|der&s;tand not, <HI>Sancho,</HI> what thou mean'&s;t, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> prethee ex|plain thy &s;elf in Language le&s;s my&s;terious. That's &s;trange, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> not under&s;tand at your years what 'tis to be <HI>micturient</HI> and <HI>cacaturient!</HI> why, 'tis the fir&s;t thing we are perfect in at School&mdash; I ask you then in plain <HI>Engli&s;h,</HI> whether you never had a de&s;ire &s;ince your Encagement, to go where you can &s;end no body of your Errand? Oh, ho&mdash; <HI>Sancho,</HI> ha&s;t thou &s;melt me out? Now I under&s;tand thee&mdash; Yes, in good &s;ooth-law, have I &mdash; and now thou putt'&s;t me in mind on't, the Bolts of my Tail are none of the fa&s;te&s;t at this very in&s;tant&mdash; Quickly, dear <HI>Sancho,</HI> tell the De|vil my urgent Occa&s;ions &mdash; and bid him lend thee the Pad-lock or a &s;heet of clean Paper&mdash; or if thou can'&s;t, get two&mdash; for I fear one wont be enough &mdash;.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="22" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XXII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing the excellent Di&s;cour&s;e between <HI>Sancho Pancha</HI> and his Ma&s;ter <HI>Don Quixote.</HI></HEAD>
<P>IS it &s;o, quo <HI>Zancho?</HI> then y' faith, Ma&s;ter, I have ye upon a fair Hank, as they &s;ay. This is that which I more eagerly long'd to know, then ever young Woman long'd for green Apricots. Come on, sir, then i' the &s;e|cond place, Can you deny the u&s;ual An&s;wer to the common Que&s;tion, <HI>What ails &s;uch a one, that neither &s;leeps, nor eats, nor drinks?</HI> Don't they pre&s;ently cry, &s;uch a one's bewitch'd? Whence I conclude, that they who neither eat, nor drink, nor &s;leep, nor go to my Nuncle's Hou&s;e upon the nece&s;&s;ary Occa&s;ions of Nature, are bewitch'd&mdash; But as for them that have the&s;e pre&s;&s;ing Occa&s;ions, as your Wor&s;hip has at this time, they that would eat if they had it, would drink if they could get it, and &s;till an|&s;wer to the purpo&s;e, 'tis impo&s;&s;ible they &s;hould ever be inchanted&mdash; Thou &s;ay'&s;t very true, <HI>Sancho,</HI> repl'yd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> but how oft have I told thee, that there are &s;everal &s;orts of Inchantment, and it may be, that proce&s;s of time has alter'd the manner of Incantation; &s;o that it may be the fa&s;hion now, that they who are inchanted, may have all tho&s;e De|&s;ires that I have, which formerly they that were in the &s;ame Condition, had not. And this being &s;o, there is no arguing again&s;t the allow'd Al|teration of Cu&s;tom, nor drawing Conclu&s;ions from what was done in pa&s;t Ages. In &s;hort, therefore, it is a thing ramm'd into my Brains, that I am inchanted, and that's &s;ufficient for the Di&s;charge of my Con&s;cience: For were it not for that, it would be a &s;ore Burden upon my mind, like undige&s;ted Sturgeon upon a weak Stomach, to lie here like a Squirrel in a Lady's Pocket, buried in Sloth and Cowardi&s;e, while &s;o many mi&s;erable and unfortunate People roar out in all Corners of the Earth for my Fa|vour and A&s;&s;i&s;tance. Neverthele&s;s, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> for the more a&s;&s;ured &s;ecurity of your Soul hereafter, I would de&s;ire you to endeavour your Li|berty, and to free your &s;elf from this ridiculous Captivity; to which pur|po&s;e
<PB N="273" REF="149"> I engage the utmo&s;t of my A&s;&s;i&s;tance; nay, and it &s;hall co&s;t me a fall but I'le bring it to pa&s;s too&mdash; for I would fain &s;ee your Wor&s;hip once more upon the Back of <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> who to me &s;eems as much inchanted as your &s;elf; &s;uch is his profound Sadne&s;s and Melancholy, not to be cur'd, but by your be&s;triding him again, in &s;earch of new Adventures. If we fail in our Enterpri&s;es, you ha' time enough, I warrant ye, to return to your woodden Jail; and then if you are &s;o accur&s;t of Heaven, and I &s;o bewitch'd with the Simples, to fail i' my De&s;ign, I &s;wear upon the Faith of a true and loyal Squire, and let me die the death of ten thou&s;and drown'd Kittens, if I don't &s;hut my &s;elf up along with ye, and live or &s;tarve with your Wor&s;hip, as the Devil of an Inchanter &s;hall think fit to di&s;po&s;e of our Bodies. Look thee, friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that thou may'&s;t &s;ee 'tis no fault of mine, I give thee ample Commi&s;|&s;ion to do thy utmo&s;t, and begin with the fir&s;t Opportunity. But I fear me, poor <HI>Sancho,</HI> thou art only going about to water a Stake, and that like an ignorant Phy&s;ician, thou art mi&s;tak'n in thy Judgment concerning the Cau&s;e of my Di&s;temper.</P>
<P>This was the politick and learned Di&s;cour&s;e between the <HI>Knight-Er|rant</HI> and his Squire, till the &s;low-pac'd Oxen arriv'd where the <HI>Prebend,</HI> the <HI>Curate,</HI> and the <HI>Barber</HI> were alighted. Pre&s;ently the Waggoner un|&s;pang'd his draught-Oxen, and &s;et 'em a grazing at their own freedom; when <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;eeing tho&s;e dull Animals enjoying their liberty, de&s;ir'd the <HI>Curate</HI> that his Ma&s;ter al&s;o might be permitted to come forth of his Cage, and &s;tretch his Legs, at lea&s;t tho it were but for &s;o long time as the Bea&s;ts them&s;elves were unyok'd; which if he refus'd to do, he a&s;|&s;ur'd him his Pri&s;on would not be &s;o &s;weet and clean as became the Lodging of &s;uch a worthy Knight as his Ma&s;ter. The <HI>Curate</HI> under&s;tood what <HI>Sancho</HI> meant, and for an&s;wer; Friend, &s;aid he, when I was a Boy, and us'd to ask my Ma&s;ter leave <HI>to go forth,</HI> I did it more to play the Tru|ant, then for any occa&s;ion I had. And therefore I fear this is only an Excu&s;e of thy Ma&s;ter, and that when he is once out, he will gad &s;o far out of our &s;ight, that we &s;hall never &s;ee him again. I'le be his Security, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> and I likewi&s;e, reply'd the <HI>Prebend,</HI> provided he will &s;wear by his Knighthood, not to &s;tir beyond tho&s;e Limits we &s;hall pre&s;cribe him. By the Faith of a vertuous <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> I &s;wear, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who li&s;ten'd attentively to all they &s;aid, altho my Oath be needle&s;s, &s;ee|ing they who are inchanted have not the Power to do what they plea&s;e them&s;elves, but are at the Di&s;po&s;al of the Inchanter, who by his Art can nail their Toes invi&s;ibly in &s;uch a manner to the Earth, that they &s;hall not be able to &s;tir a hair's breadth in three Ages together; or if they &s;hould endeavour to make their E&s;cape, can fetch 'em back i' the Devil's name. So that, Gentlemen, added he, you may &s;afely relea&s;e me, or el&s;e you mu&s;t be forc'd to remove to another Po&s;t; for to deal truly wi' ye, my Occa&s;ions are very urgent, and I will not be an&s;werable for offending your No&s;es, after a fair Warning. Thereupon the <HI>Prebend</HI> took him by both his hands, ty'd as they were, and a&s;&s;i&s;ted him out of the Cage, to the un&s;peakable Joy of the poor enthrall'd Knight. Thus be|ing unbound, the fir&s;t thing he did, was to &s;tretch his Limbs, which were not a little &s;tiff, you may be &s;ure. Which done, he went imme|diately to <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> and giving him three or four claps o' the Buttock; Mirrour and Flower of all Steeds-Errant, quo he, mauger all the&s;e Misfortunes of ours, I tru&s;t in God and his ble&s;&s;ed Mother, that we &s;hall both behold our &s;elves e're long in that &s;ame happy Condition, which both our hearts
<PB N="274" REF="150"> de&s;ire; Thou prancing under thy Lord and Ma&s;ter, and thy Lord and Ma|&s;ter mounted on thy &s;turdy Chine, performing tho&s;e Atchievements, which my fortunate Stars portended at my coming into the World. And having &s;o &s;aid, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and his Squire retir'd to a Thicket at &s;ome di&s;tance from the Company, where the Knight having eas'd him&s;elf, and <HI>Sancho</HI> done the Duty of a cleanly Squire, they both return'd again, the Knight much &s;weeter and lighter then he had been for &s;ome hours be|fore, and the Squire over-joy'd that his Endeavours had prov'd &s;o &s;ucce&s;|ful.</P>
<P>At the &s;ame time the <HI>Prebend</HI> could not forbear gazing upon the Knight; and after he had with a diligent Eye ob&s;erv'd the motions of every par|ticular Member, and de&s;canted to him&s;elf upon every word that drop'd from his mouth, he &s;tood amaz'd at &s;uch an extravagant piece of Madne&s;s, that left a Man his Sen&s;es, and his Judgment in every thing el&s;e, but un|hors'd all his Rea&s;on when he came to talk of <HI>Knight-Errantry:</HI> In&s;omuch that the compa&s;&s;ionate Church-man pity'd the Misfortune of the poor Gentleman; and therefore de&s;irous to try whether all his Eloquence and Arguments could reclaim him; after every one had taken their Places up|on the green-Gra&s;s, addre&s;&s;ing him&s;elf to <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> Is it po&s;&s;ible, Sir, &s;aid he, that &s;uch a witle&s;s, un&s;avory, and impertinent Study, as that of idle Romances, &s;hould have that Operation upon a man's Sen&s;es to deprave his Under&s;tanding to &s;uch a degree, as to believe him&s;elf inchanted, with other <HI>Chimera's</HI> of the &s;ame Nature, as far from Rea&s;on, as the Lye it &s;elf is from Truth? How is it to be imagin'd, that there &s;hould be any per|&s;on i' the World &s;o &s;imple as to think that ever there were &s;uch a number of <HI>Amadis's,</HI> &s;uch Legions of <HI>Knight-Errants,</HI> &s;o many Emperors of <HI>Tre|bizond, Guy's</HI> of <HI>Warwick, Faelixmarts</HI> of <HI>Hyrcania, Bevis's</HI> of <HI>Southampton,</HI> and <HI>Valentins</HI> and <HI>Or&s;ons;</HI> &s;o many Lady's-Errant, &s;o many Serpents, &s;o many Dragons, &s;o many Giants, &s;uch Variety of Inchantments; &s;o many Defies and Challenges, &s;uch unheard-of and impo&s;&s;ible Encounters, &s;uch Shoals of Squires, Counts, enamour'd Prince&s;&s;es, and <HI>Amazonian</HI> Tiltre&s;&s;es in man's Apparel; in a word, &s;uch a confus'd Heap and <HI>Babel</HI> of Tra&s;h and Extravagance, as &s;well the Folio's of <HI>Knight-Errantry?</HI></P>
<P>I mu&s;t confe&s;s, that when I read 'em, while I look'd upon 'em to be no other then Fables and Fictions, they were a kind of a plea&s;ing Pa&s;time to me; but when I &s;eriou&s;ly con&s;ider'd what they were, cur&s;ed in&s;ipid Lyes, and Improbabilities, there was not one which I did not think de&s;erv'd to be thrown into the Fire, as being a Company of Impo&s;tors that abus'd the Credulity of the ignorant Vulgar, and &s;ometimes di&s;turb the Brains of men of Sen&s;e and Judgment; of which I find in your &s;elf an unfortunate Ex|ample, by &s;uch Studies to be reduc'd to that Condition, that your Friends are con&s;train'd to &s;ecure ye in a Cage, and carry ye about the Countrey like &s;ome <HI>African</HI> Mon&s;ter to be &s;hewn at Market-Towns for Six-pence a piece. For Heaven's &s;ake, Mr. <HI>Quixote,</HI> take Compa&s;&s;ion upon your &s;elf, call home your wandring Rea&s;on, and make u&s;e of that Prudence and that admirable Wit, which God has giv'n ye, to chu&s;e a more noble and pro|fitable &s;ort of Study, wherein to employ your &s;erious Thoughts. But if your Inclinations are &s;o ravi&s;h'd with War-like Exploits, and prodigious Actions, apply your &s;elf to real and authentick Hi&s;tory, where you will find tho&s;e Miracles of Valour, that not only &s;urpa&s;s all Fable, but ev'n human Belief it &s;elf. What a prepo&s;terous thing it is, that Men &s;hould addict them&s;elves to the Invention of &s;o many fictitious Hero's, as if Vertue it &s;elf were a Fiction, and a thing that could be only practis'd by
<PB N="275" REF="150"> &s;uch Romantick Champions; or that her mo&s;t noble In&s;tructions were only to be &s;ought for among the Rubbi&s;h of Lyes and Fables? Would you read the Stories of great Men, <HI>Greece</HI> offers ye an <HI>Alexander, Rome</HI> a <HI>Cae&s;ar; Carthage</HI> a <HI>Hannibal; Portugal</HI> a <HI>Viriatus; Spain a Gon&s;ales,</HI> a <HI>Diego Garcia,</HI> a <HI>Perez de Vargas,</HI> and &s;everal others; <HI>Great Britain,</HI> a <HI>Black Prince,</HI> and a <HI>Harry the fifth;</HI> all of 'em &s;o many Portraitures of heroick Virtue, which affect the Reader at the &s;ame time with true Admiration, Delight, and a noble Emulation to follow their Examples. This, Mr. <HI>Quixote,</HI> is a Study to employ a Wit &s;o towring as yours; by this means you will be|come well read in authentick Story, in love with Vertue, better'd in Good|ne&s;s, refin'd in your Manners, valiant without Fool-hardine&s;s, and wary without Cowardi&s;e, to the Honour of God, your own Profit, and the Re|nown of <HI>Mancha,</HI> as I under&s;tand, the Place from whence you derive your noble Original.</P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> li&s;ten'd with an extraordinary Attention to the <HI>Prebend</HI>'s Di&s;cour&s;e, and perceiving at length that he made a full Stop, after he had &s;tar'd him wi&s;tfully for &s;ome time i' the Face; Mr. <HI>Prebend,</HI> quo he, you ha' made, as you think, a very fair Speech, and all your Oratory, I find tends to per&s;wade me, that there never were any <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> i' the World, that all Books and Stories of <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI> are fal&s;e, fabulous, unpro|fitable and prejudicial to the State; that I did ill to read 'em, wor&s;e to believe 'em, and &s;till wor&s;e to imitate 'em, by taking upon me the &s;evere and laborious Profe&s;&s;ion of a <HI>Knight-Errant.</HI> You repeat my Sen&s;e pre|ci&s;ely, reply'd the <HI>Prebend</HI>&mdash; You added likewi&s;e, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that the&s;e Books have done me much wrong, that they ha' turn'd my Brains i' my Scull, which is the rea&s;on I am put i'this Cage; and that it would be better for me to read &s;erious and allow'd Hi&s;tories, as you call 'em, at the &s;ame time both profitable and delightful. Your Memory fails not in the lea&s;t Particular, reply'd the <HI>Prebend</HI>&mdash; Very good, quo <HI>Don Quixote</HI>&mdash; And now, Mr. <HI>Prebend,</HI> the Devil take me, if I don't believe your &s;elf to be the inchanted Per&s;on, and the mad Man, that has dropt his Wits in a Mill-dam. For what greater Proof have you for many things that you impo&s;e upon the World, but only the general Belief? Upon what grounds do you, Mr. <HI>Prebend,</HI> ju&s;tifie the numerous Fardle of your Legends, and the &s;trange Miracles repeated in 'em, when you are not cer|tain there ever were any &s;uch Per&s;ons i' the World; nor are there any Witne&s;&s;es of the Wonders which they are &s;aid to have wrought. And yet your <HI>Catalogue</HI> of <HI>Saints</HI> far exceeds the <HI>Ephemerides</HI> of <HI>Knight-Errants,</HI> and their Actions are altogether as incredible as tho&s;e of <HI>Amadis de Gaul,</HI> or <HI>Greece;</HI> be&s;ides the innumerable number of Reliques, Bapti&s;ts Heads, pieces of the Cro&s;s, Nails, <HI>Veroniques,</HI> &amp;c. more then <HI>Atlas</HI> and St. <HI>Chri&s;to|pher</HI> were able to &s;tand under. As for Example, the Cro&s;s is &s;uppos'd to be but one piecce of Timber, and that not of the choice&s;t Wood neither, and yet how many Snattocks of it &s;hall we meet with, &s;ome of Cedar, &s;ome of Juniper, &s;ome of Cypre&s;s, <HI>&amp;c.</HI> Then for the Nails, which could not be above four or five that were at fir&s;t canoniz'd, Heavens! how they are increas'd! <HI>Hannibal</HI> had not more Rings at the Battel of <HI>Canne,</HI> nor does <HI>Bromigeham</HI> make &s;o many in a Year, as you &s;hew Nails of all &s;orts and &s;izes; and &s;o many <HI>Napkins,</HI> that had one man &s;old 'em all, he mu&s;t ha' been the riche&s;t Linnen-draper i' the World. Now I de&s;ire but fair Play, that the Authors of my Books may be believ'd to be Authors of what they wrote, as well as yours. If your Books are generally receiv'd, &s;o are mine; and more then that, acknowledg'd to contain &s;uch real Truths, that
<PB N="276" REF="151"> he who denys the matter of Fact, de&s;erves the &s;ame Puni&s;hment for a Heretick, to which you &s;entenc'd your own Books, when you threw 'em i' the fire. For, in &s;hort, to per&s;wade me there were never any &s;uch per&s;ons i' the World as <HI>Amadis,</HI> or any of tho&s;e other Knights &s;o loudly fam'd in Stories of Chivalry-Errant, is to tell me the Sun does not &s;hine, or that Winter's hot, and Summer cold: Y' had as good make me be|lieve, that the Hi&s;tory of the Prince&s;s of <HI>Florence</HI> and <HI>Guy</HI> of <HI>Burgundy</HI> were fal&s;e; or what befel <HI>Fierabra&s;s</HI> upon the Bridge of <HI>Mantible,</HI> in the time of <HI>Charlemaigne;</HI> tho I dare &s;wear both to be as true as that I was like to ha' befoul'd my &s;elf ju&s;t now i' th' inchanted Cage. For if the&s;e be Lyes, then there never was any <HI>Hector,</HI> no <HI>Achilles,</HI> no <HI>Trojan War,</HI> no <HI>Twelve Peers</HI> of <HI>France,</HI> no King <HI>Arthur</HI> of <HI>Britain,</HI> who &s;till lives i' the Shape of a Crow, and is &s;till expected to return to his Throne; no St. <HI>George</HI> for <HI>England,</HI> when the Signs of St. <HI>George</HI> almo&s;t in all the Towns of that Countrey, convince men to the contrary; and the Defeat of that &s;trange <HI>Dragon</HI> which was then pregnant, and &s;o was &s;lain both her and her I&s;&s;ue, is demon&s;trated by the Extirpation of all Dragons ever &s;ince, that the thing was true. You may as well deny, that <HI>D. d'Alva's</HI> Face is not to be &s;een upon all the Jugg-pots in <HI>Holland,</HI> or <HI>Mon&s;ieur D. Ancre</HI>'s <HI>Quid|libets</HI> in all the Taverns in <HI>France.</HI> Nay, more then all this, you may as well condemn for Fables the Amours between Sir <HI>Tri&s;tram</HI> and Queen <HI>I|&s;ond;</HI> or tho&s;e between the fair <HI>Guinever</HI> and Sir <HI>Lancelot du Lake,</HI> when there be per&s;ons alive that remember they have &s;een the Lady <HI>Quintani|ona,</HI> who had the Gift of ta&s;ting Wine beyond any Wine cooper in <HI>Lon|don;</HI> and the Story is &s;o true, that I my &s;elf who &s;peak the words, re|member, that my Grandmother by the Father's &s;ide, when &s;he &s;aw any of tho&s;e venerable Matrons that look a little red about the No&s;e; Look, Child, quo &s;he, that Lady's like the Lady <HI>Quintaniona;</HI> whence I infer, that &s;he mu&s;t needs ha' &s;een her, or at lea&s;t her Picture, which could ne're ha' been drawn, had &s;he not been alive. As vain it is to conte&s;t the Hi|&s;tory of <HI>Peter</HI> of <HI>Provence,</HI> and the fair Lady <HI>Magdalene,</HI> when the <HI>Pin</HI> with which he govern'd his woodden Hor&s;e that carry'd him i' the Air, is &s;till to be &s;een i' the King's Armory. Which <HI>Pin</HI> was as big as the Thill of a Waggon; by the &s;ame token that it &s;tands within a quarter of a yard of <HI>Babie&s;a</HI>'s Saddle, which the valiant <HI>Cid</HI>'s Back &s;ide has warm'd full often. At <HI>Roncevaux</HI> al&s;o you have <HI>Orlando</HI>'s Heart, as big and as thick as one of tho&s;e pieces of Timber ye call <HI>Girders.</HI> You may likewi&s;e, if you will, but 'twill be to no purpo&s;e, deny the Hi&s;tory of the three <HI>Bold Beuchamps,</HI> of whom the one kill'd the King of <HI>Bohemia,</HI> the t'other &s;lew a Giant, and the other fought for the King's Daughter, and won her. Which was &s;o true, that the Butchers of <HI>London</HI> would &s;ee no other Play at the <HI>Fortune,</HI> by their good Wills, but that, for &s;everal years together. Will any man pre&s;ume to deny, that <HI>John of Mello</HI> was no <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> and that he did not fight in <HI>Burgundy</HI> with the famous Lord of <HI>Chargny,</HI> and at <HI>Ba&s;il</HI> with <HI>Henry</HI> of <HI>Reme&s;tan,</HI> and lamba&s;ted 'em both? What think ye of the Challenges, and bloody Adventures of <HI>Peter Barba,</HI> and <HI>Gualter Quixada,</HI> from whom I my &s;elf am lineally de&s;cended by the Male-line? I'le &s;pit in his Face that &s;hall tell me to my Teeth, they are Tales of roa&s;ted Hor|&s;es, when 'tis known they &s;ent the Sons of the Count of St. <HI>Paul</HI> to the Devil. Nor will he be a Friend to him&s;elf, that provokes me, by telling me, that <HI>D. Ferdinand</HI> of <HI>Guevara</HI> did not go to &s;eek Adventures in <HI>Ger|many,</HI> where he fought with the <HI>Lord George,</HI> a Knight of high Quality, and &s;o well rubb'd his Bones, that he confe&s;s'd he was never &s;o rubb'd in
<PB N="277" REF="151"> his life: with a thou&s;and more renowned Feats of Arms perform'd by Chri&s;tian Knights in all parts of the World, not to mention the <HI>Engli&s;h</HI> Knights of <HI>Jeru&s;alem,</HI> that &s;lew whole Armies to day, and begot whole Armies to morrow: And all the&s;e things &s;o true and authentick, that but to que&s;tion their Verity, would betray the greate&s;t madne&s;s that ever was incurable in <HI>Bedlam.</HI></P>
<P>The <HI>Prebend</HI> a&s;toni&s;h'd to hear what a confus'd Gallimawfry of Hi&s;tory and Fable <HI>Don Quixote</HI> jumbl'd together, and his wonderful Memory in repeating whatever almo&s;t had been written in <HI>Knight-Errantry;</HI> I cannot deny, &s;aid he, but there is &s;omething of Truth in what you &s;ay, e&s;pecial|ly concerning the <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> of <HI>Spain;</HI> and I agree wi' ye, that there were <HI>Twelve Peers of France,</HI> but in good &s;ooth I cannot give credit to all that <HI>Archbi&s;hop Turpin</HI> has written. All that I believe, is this, That they were certain Knights made choice of by the <HI>Kings</HI> of <HI>France,</HI> and call'd <HI>Peers,</HI> for their equality both in Prowe&s;s, and in Birth, at lea&s;t they ought to have been &s;uch; for I dare not &s;wear for the evenne&s;s of the Scales in that Particular. Neither will I deny, but that there might be &s;uch men i' the World, as the <HI>Cid,</HI> or <HI>Bernard de Carpio,</HI> or <HI>Guy</HI> of <HI>Warwick</HI>&mdash; S'life, Sir, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> his Tomb's to be &s;een to this day i' the Town where he liv'd&mdash; Pardon me, Mr. <HI>Quixote,</HI> cry'd the <HI>Prebend,</HI> I do not deny, but that there might ha' been &s;uch Mortals upon Earth, but that they perform'd tho&s;e miraculous Atchievements, which they are &s;aid to have done, I am &s;omewhat tender how I make an Article of my Faith. But as to the <HI>Hor&s;e-pin</HI> you &s;peak of, that is to be &s;een i'the King's Armory with <HI>Bab<GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="UOM" EXTENT="1 letter">e|&s;a</HI>'s Saddle, let me die, if I don't begin to think my &s;elf blind, &s;ince you have affirm'd it; for I could never &s;ee this Pin, as big as you &s;ay it is; tho I mu&s;t confe&s;s, I ha' &s;een the <HI>Cid</HI>'s monumental Saddle &s;everal times. Up|on my life, Mr. <HI>Prebend,</HI> 'tis there, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> by the &s;ame To|ken, they had put it in a Leathern Ca&s;e to pre&s;erve it from the Du&s;t. There's it then, quo the <HI>Prebend</HI> &mdash; &s;hame take th'unmannerly Ra&s;cals, that ne're would &s;hew me &s;uch a Rarity, el&s;e how could I po&s;&s;ibly divine what was in a Leathern Ca&s;e. But grant it were there, I am not bound to believe the Stories of all your <HI>Amadis's,</HI> or of the ragged Regiments of all your other Scaperloitring Knights, that were never heard of, but in tho&s;e fabulous Legends that &s;o amu&s;e the World, upon whom be the Hangman's Benediction, <HI>in &s;empiternum;</HI> and to which, how a Per&s;on of your exqui&s;ite Parts and Endowments &s;hould give &s;o much credit, is to me a greater Wonder, then all the &s;even Wonders of the World put to|gether.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="23" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XXIII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing the plea&s;ant Di&s;pute between the <HI>Prebend</HI> and <HI>Don Quixote.</HI></HEAD>
<P>TIS a very plea&s;ant bu&s;ine&s;s indeed, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that Books printed with Licence and Approbation, and applauded by all the World, high and low, old and young, rich and poor, learned and &s;imple; I &s;ay that the&s;e Books, notwith&s;tanding all this, &s;hould be nothing but a
<PB N="278" REF="152"> Heap of Lyes, and feigned Inventions, and yet that Truth &s;hould appear &s;o naked as &s;he does, to her very Smock, in every Page, with all her Circum&s;tances attending about her, as the Names of the Fathers, Mothers, Uncles, Annts, Countrey, Kindred, and Age of the Knights, many times under the very Clerk and Mini&s;ter's Hands, their Exploits, and the Places where they perform'd 'em day by day, as exactly as a Seamans Journal&mdash; For Heaven's &s;ake, Sir, and as ye expect Preferment i' the Church, &s;titch up your Lips for ever, rather then utter &s;uch a piece of Here&s;ie; and &s;ay I advi&s;e ye as a Friend. Or el&s;e, at your lei&s;ure times (and lei&s;ure enough you have, according to your lazy mode of reading your Sermons) read 'em once more over again, and then tell me what greater Happine&s;s there can be i' this World, then to &s;ee appear before your Eyes of a &s;ud|den, a wide Lake of Pitch, boiling like a Bell-founder's Furnace, full of Neuts, Adders, Toads, and other poi&s;onous Creatures, no le&s;s venomous, then terrible to the Sight: by and by from the mid&s;t of this &s;ame todgie, &s;moaking Caldron of the Devil's <HI>Water-gruel,</HI> you hear a &s;oft, melodious, &s;creaming, skreeking, mournful Voice addre&s;s to your &s;elf in the&s;e words; <Q>Sir Knight, who e're thou art, that view'&s;t this dreadul Lake, and would'&s;t enjoy tho&s;e un&s;peakable Trea&s;ures conceal'd beneath the&s;e pitchy Waves, now &s;hew the Grandeur of thy Courage, and like another <HI>Drake,</HI> &s;hoot this &s;ame flaming <HI>Gulf;</HI> el&s;e th'art a Da&s;tard, and a white Liver'd Cow|ard, unworthy to behold th' ine&s;timable Wonders enclos'd within the &s;e|ven Towers of the &s;even <HI>Fairies</HI> here below this Lake of Hell's infernal Jelly-broth:</Q> and then the Voice cea&s;ing, the Knight, all Fire and Tow, without any humming and hawing, or con&s;idering the cur&s;ed Ri&s;co he runs, but tru&s;ting to his Iron Enclo&s;ure, and only recommending him&s;elf to God and his ador'd Mi&s;tre&s;s, fetches a Jump, and darts him&s;elf head over heels down through the &s;eething Puddle; and &s;treight, before he knows where he is, or cares a &s;traw what becomes of him, he finds him|&s;elf in the mid&s;t of a &s;pacious Plain, cover'd with a thou&s;and &s;orts of odoriferous Flowers, and a thou&s;and times more plea&s;ing to the Sight, then all the <HI>A&s;paragus,</HI> or <HI>Mulberry-Gardens</HI> i' the World. On the other &s;ide he views a delightful Fore&s;t, where the Verdure of millions of beau|tiful Trees, and all of different Natures, charm his Eyes; at what time an infinite number of little Birds with painted Wings of various Colours, hopping from Branch to Branch, all naturally &s;inging <HI>Wal&s;ingham,</HI> and whi&s;tling <HI>John come ki&s;s me now,</HI> enchant his Ears In another part he di&s;|covers a plea&s;ing Rivolet, who&s;e purling Streams of liquid Chry&s;tal, be-dimpl'd with Pearls and Silver, gently glide o're Sands of Gold. There &s;tands a &s;umptuous Fountain of &s;peckl'd Ja&s;per; a new Wonder of Art, adorn'd with Statues that &s;eem to talk, and bid ye welcome. There you enter a cool <HI>Grotto,</HI> where the confu&s;ion of Mu&s;cles, Cockles, Periwinkles, Mother a' Pearl, Coral, and Oak-mo&s;s, far exceeds the vain toil of young Ladies at Boarding-Schools; repre&s;enting <HI>Neptune</HI>'s Dining-room hung a|bout with <HI>Tritons</HI> and <HI>Syrens.</HI></P>
<P>By and by he di&s;covers a &s;tately Ca&s;tle, the Walls of which are of ma&s;|&s;ie Gold, the Battlements of Diamonds, the Gates of Jacinths; In a word, &s;uch an admirable Structure, that the meane&s;t of the Materials are of Rubies, Carbuncles, Pearls, and Emeraulds: and while he is gazing upon this miraculous Pile, a numerous Train of young Ladies, with graceful pace, come forth from one of the Gates of the Ca&s;tle, and all &s;o fair, &s;o beautiful, &s;o gorgeous in their Attire, as would inflame a Statue, and warm the frozen Blood of the mo&s;t zealous Anchorite. But then! what then!
<PB N="279" REF="152"> Then &s;he that &s;eems to be the Prince&s;s of the Ca&s;tle, and Mi&s;tre&s;s of all the re&s;t, advances forward, and with a &s;ubmi&s;&s;ive and re&s;pectful Mode|&s;ty, takes the bold Knight by the hand, and without &s;peaking a word, leads him into the &s;umptuous Palace; where, having caus'd him to be &s;tripp'd to the naked Skin by her Dam&s;els, ju&s;t as he was when he came out of his Mother's Womb, they put him into a delicious Bath, and rub him all over from head to foot, before and behind, with precious E&s;&s;en|ces, and odoriferous Pomatums; and having wip'd him dry, fir&s;t they put him on a Shirt of Cobweb Lawn fit for the Queen of <HI>Fairies,</HI> all per|fum'd. Which done, another Dam&s;el comes and ca&s;ts about his Shoul|ders a magnificent embroider'd Mantle, worth the <HI>Metropoli&s;&s;es</HI> of three great Kingdoms. Then they carry him into another Room of State, of which the Furniture &s;urpa&s;&s;es Admiration; where fir&s;t they bring him in a large Ba&s;on of Gold, embo&s;s'd and &s;tuddi'd with Diamonds, a Sea of E&s;&s;ence of Amber, Orange, and Je&s;&s;omy-water; then &s;eat him in an Ivory Chair, where all the Dam&s;els attend and wait upon him with an exact and profound Silence. But then who can recount the Variety and Delicacy of the Viands? Who can expre&s;s the charming Excellency of the Mu&s;ick all the while the co&s;tly Banquet la&s;ts; yet neither they that play, nor they that &s;ing are to be &s;een. The Table being clear'd, while the Knight &s;tretch'd out at his ea&s;e, &s;its picking his Teeth, of a &s;udden a Lady incomparably more beautiful then any of the re&s;t, &s;eating her &s;elf down by him, takes him about the Neck, and having ki&s;s'd him &s;ome three or four hundred times with her ro&s;ie Lips, informs him what Ca&s;tle it is, tells him &s;he is enchanted, and implores his A&s;&s;i&s;tance, with a thou&s;and other miraculous Accidents, which then amaze the Knight, and a&s;toni&s;h the Readers hereafter. And thus you &s;ee how the Stories of <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI> create both Plea&s;ure and Wonder.</P>
<P>Therefore, Mr. <HI>Prebend,</HI> be rul'd by a Fool for once; read the&s;e Books over again, and you &s;hall find how in&s;en&s;ibly they exorci&s;e that Devil of Melancholy, and rock the troubl'd Soul into the plea&s;ing Exta&s;ies of Mirth, and true Content; &s;o that let a man be never &s;o churli&s;h, and ill-natur'd, they are able to rectifie and cultivate his Inclinations. For my part, I do a&s;&s;ure ye, Sir, &s;ince 'twas the Will of Heaven to make me a <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> of a cowardly, froppi&s;h, niggardly, &s;tingie, boari&s;h Lobcock, I am be|come valiant, affable, courteous, complai&s;ant, liberal, generous, indefa|tigable, and patient to that degree, as to endure without the lea&s;t mur|muring or repining, all the Impri&s;onments and Enchantments that ever befel a Knight of my Profe&s;&s;ion. And tho you &s;ee me at this time penn'd up in a woodden Frank, like a Boar again&s;t <HI>Chri&s;tmas,</HI> I de&s;pair not how|ever, but within the&s;e few days, by the &s;trength of my Arm, and the Favour of Heaven, to a&s;cend the Throne of &s;ome great Kingdom, that I may be able to &s;ow i' the Field of the World, tho&s;e Vertues of Liberali|ty and Acknowledgment, that I am forc'd at pre&s;ent to keep hoarded up in my Brea&s;t. For who that is poor, can be munificent, tho he had the Soul of a Prince? Since Acknowledgment in De&s;ire, is but a dead Vertue, like Faith without Works. And therefore I could wi&s;h, that Fortune once in her life would be &s;o kind as to help me to an Empire, that I might be in a Condition to enrich my Friends; e&s;pecially this poor Squire of mine, who is the hone&s;te&s;t Fellow i' the World, and upon whom I would fain be|&s;tow an Earldom, as being a thing that I promis'd him two or three times i' my Cups, (and what I promi&s;e when I'm merry, I always love to per|form when I'm &s;ober) tho I confe&s;s I much que&s;tion his Ability for &s;o
<PB N="280" REF="153"> great an Employment. Oh, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> do you but get the Earldom, and ne're trouble your head about my Capacity. I warrant ye, I'le go|vern it, take you no farther care&mdash; I have heard 'em talk of a &s;ort of People that let out their Lands to Farmers, and the&s;e Farmers improve and till tho&s;e Lands, as if they were their own, while their Landlords live at their ea&s;e, gutling and &s;willing up their Revenues without any far|ther Trouble or Perplexity of mind. Ju&s;t &s;o by my faith will I do, I find no difficulty i' the matter, 'tis as ea&s;ie as pi&s;&s;ing; I'le farm out my Go|vernment, and eat and drink my Rents like any Prince, and &s;o let the World turn round or &s;tand &s;till, I'le never bu&s;ie my head. Judge you now whe|ther I am capable to govern an Earldom. You &s;ay very well, friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd the <HI>Prebend;</HI> but as to what concerns the Admini&s;tration of Ju|&s;tice, you ought not to be &s;o indifferent; that's the Earl's main bu&s;ine&s;s to look after, and which requires great Prudence and Judgment to ma|nage; and above all, an hone&s;t and vertuous Intention to determine right|ly and ju&s;tly which is to be the beginning and end of all his Actions. For as God ne're fails to favour Truth and Sincerity, &s;o he ranver&s;es the crafty De&s;igns of the Wicked.</P>
<P>I under&s;tand not your Gibberi&s;h Philo&s;ophy, cry'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> but I know how to govern an Earldom; and an Earldom I would fain have as &s;oon as I could, for I have a Soul and a Body as well as other men; and I would be as ab&s;olute in my Earldom, as a King in his Kingdom: I would do what I li&s;t; and doing what I li&s;t, I would follow my own Humour; and following my own Humour, I would be contented; and being contented, I &s;hould ha' nothing more to de&s;ire; and having nothing more to de&s;ire, What-a-devil would a Man have more? Only let's have the Earldom, and then farewel till I &s;ee ye again, as one blind man &s;aid to t'other. There is no fal&s;e <HI>Latin</HI> in all this, reply'd the <HI>Prebend,</HI> however there is much more to be &s;aid upon this very Subject of <HI>Earldoms.</HI> I know not what there is more to be &s;aid, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> interrupting him, but this I am &s;ure of, I go according to the Pre&s;ident, and follow the Foot-&s;teps of &s;everal Knights of my Profe&s;&s;ion, who, to reward their Squires, have made 'em Lords of I&s;lands and Cities; to go no farther then <HI>Amadis de Gaul,</HI> who made his Squire Earl of the <HI>Swimming I&s;land.</HI> Which being &s;o, with as little Scruple of Con&s;cience may I give <HI>Sancho</HI> an Earldom; he being one of the be&s;t Squires that ever attended upon a <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> and had he been born in former Ages, might ha' been a Pattern to all his Succe&s;|&s;ors.</P>
<P>While the <HI>Prebend</HI> was admiring at the &s;trange and deep Impre&s;&s;ions which the Study of <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI> had made in <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Fancy; and no le&s;s at the Simplicity of <HI>Sancho,</HI> who thought his Ma&s;ter could ha' giv'n him an Earldom with as much ea&s;e as &s;ome men play away a Mannor, the Servants return'd from the Inn with the Provi&s;ion-Mule; who having &s;pread a Carpet upon the Gra&s;s, under the &s;hade of certain Trees, for once the Company made a &s;hift to &s;it down like <HI>Turks,</HI> and fall too like Chri&s;ti|ans. But they had not been long at their Repa&s;t, before they heard the &s;ound of a little Bell among the neighbouring Bu&s;hes, and by and by they &s;aw a black and white Goat dance out of a Thicket, &s;peckl'd with yellow Spots, pur&s;u'd by a Goat-herd endeavouring to &s;top her with all the flat|tering and care&s;&s;ing Language imaginable. But the Goat having taken &s;ome di&s;ta&s;te, and unwilling to be re-taken, ran directly to the <HI>Prebend</HI> and his Company; where being &s;topp'd, the Goatherd having caught her by the Horns, began to expo&s;tulate with the dumb Animal, as if 't had been
<PB N="281" REF="153"> the rational Goat that gave <HI>Jupiter</HI> &s;uck; <Q>Ah wanton fugitive, cry'd he, ye &s;potted Slut, whither art a jumping my Dear? what has frighted thee my Child? is't becau&s;e thou art a Female, and love&s;t to be gadding, ha? Come <HI>Nanny,</HI> come <HI>Nanny,</HI> go along with me, where thou &s;halt be &s;afe among the re&s;t of thy Companions: what do&s;t thou think will be|come of them, who art their Guide and Mi&s;tre&s;s, if thou runn'&s;t a ram|bling a' this manner?</Q></P>
<P>The <HI>Prebend</HI> was extreamly pleas'd with the Goat-herd's Court&s;hip, and therefore de&s;ir'd him not to be &s;o ha&s;ty to carry back his Goat. Friend, &s;aid he, if &s;he be a Female, as thou &s;ay'&s;t &s;he is, you ought to let her have her will; for if &s;he have a mind to have her Fegaries, thou't find it a hard task to hinder her &mdash; Here, here, come and eat a bit, and drink a Cup of Wine to cool thy Pa&s;&s;ion, while the poor Goat lies down and re&s;ts her &s;elf &mdash; And &s;o &s;aying, he gave the Goat-herd the Leg of a cold Rabbet, which the Goat's Sweet-heart took with a Countrey Congy; and after he had drank, with a <HI>b' y'er leave Geontlemen,</HI> to all the Company, Don't ye think, Geontlemen, quo he, tho che sbeak a thick manner to thick Biea&s;t, that ch'am a meer Glown, as they zay. What ch' ha' zaid to the Biea&s;t, ch' a' zaid, and there's more in't then you are aware on, Geontle|men &mdash; Ch'am a Glown, 'tis drue, but che' gnow how to sbeak to Geon|tlevoke, as well as to Biea&s;ts. I am apt to believe it, reply'd the <HI>Curate,</HI> for I know by Experience, that Contemplation oftimes &s;eeks the lonely Moun|tains, and Wi&s;dom is no &s;tranger to the homely Cottage &mdash; At lea&s;t, Gentlemen, changing then his ru&s;tick Dialect, they may &s;ometimes harbour, quo the Goat-herd, Men of Rea&s;on and common Under&s;tanding&mdash; And therefore if it ben't a piece of Rudene&s;s to intrude into your Company, and that you'll be pleas'd to hear me but a quarter of an hour, I'le tell ye a Story to confirm the Truth of what the Gentleman has &s;aid. Friend, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> undertaking for the whole Company, i' my Con&s;cience, I &s;mell either a <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> or &s;omething of an Adventure in your Sto|ry; which if there be, I'le lend ye my Attention with all my Heart, and &s;o I dare a&s;&s;ure ye will the&s;e Gentlemen, whom I take to be all great Ad|mirers of Novelty and Curio&s;ity; and therefore you have no more to do, then to begin as &s;oon as you plea&s;e.</P>
<P>God &s;peed ye, Gentlemen, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> a hungry Belly has no Ears; and therefore give me leave to retire to yonder Brook with my &s;hare, where I intend to &s;tuff my Guts for three days: Squires and Ships mu&s;t be vittl'd, or el&s;e they'll do no Service. Be&s;ides, I have often heard my Ma&s;ter tell me, that your <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> Squires mu&s;t lo&s;e no Opportunity to fill the Wallet of their Stomachs, which will afterwards have lei&s;ure enough to dige&s;t its Load; in regard that many times it is their hard Fate to enter in|to a wide de&s;art Forre&s;t, out of which they cannot get out again in five or &s;ix days; &s;o that if a man be not well balla&s;ted before hand, he may be Food for the Crows, for want of Food for him&s;elf. Very well argu'd, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> go where thou wilt, eat what thou can'&s;t, and prudently put the re&s;t i' thy Breeches. For my part, I have an Appetite &s;oon &s;atisfy'd, and therefore having fed my Body, I am now for feeding my Mind, as valuing the Banquet of a good Story, beyond all the co&s;tly Vi|ands of an Emperor's Table. We are all of the &s;ame mind, reply'd the <HI>Pre|bend,</HI> and with the &s;ame Earne&s;tne&s;s expect the fir&s;t Cour&s;e. With that the Goat-herd &s;troaking his Beloved upon the back; Lie down by me a while, my pretty <HI>motley Fool,</HI> quo he, the Day's not &s;o far &s;pent, but that we ha' time enough to return to the Herd. Upon which, they &s;ay, the
<PB N="282" REF="154"> intelligent Creature, as if &s;he had under&s;tood his Language, laid her &s;elf down at his feet, and looking wi&s;tly in his Face, &s;eem'd to bid him pro|ceed, which he did after this manner.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="24" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XXIV.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing the Goat-herd's Story.</HEAD>
<P>ABout three Leagues from this Valley, in a &s;mall Village but one of the riche&s;t in all the&s;e parts, there liv'd a wealthy Farmer, well-be|lov'd, and in great Reputation among all his Neighbours, tho more for his Vertue and good Qualities, then for his E&s;tate. But his chiefe&s;t Happi|ne&s;s was a Daughter, beautiful, di&s;creet, and mode&s;t beyond compare. This Dam&s;el was not above &s;ixteen years of Age, when the Report of her Perfections &s;pread it &s;elf over all the neighbouring Villages, and at length arriv'd in di&s;tant Cities, inflaming the young Sparks to that degree, that they came far and near to behold this matchle&s;s Ma&s;ter-piece of Nature. On the other &s;ide, her Father had a watchful Eye over her, as being the only Trea&s;ure i' this World, which he mo&s;t highly priz'd; tho indeed his Care was needle&s;s, &s;he being of her &s;elf &s;o re&s;erv'd and wary of her Honour. Nor was it without rea&s;on, for being an Heire&s;s to a con&s;iderable Com|petency, the Fame of her Beauty, and her Father's Acres, drew a mighty Re&s;ort of young Whip&s;ters to the Hou&s;e; &s;ome pa&s;&s;ionately enamour'd of her Per&s;on, others in love with her Fortune, and others with both toge|ther; &s;ome i' their lac'd Coats and Point-Cravats, &s;ome of meaner Rank, with red and blew Ribbands under their Chins, of all Sizes and Profe&s;&s;ions; &s;o that in the mid&s;t of &s;o much Variety, the poor man was extreamly troubl'd where to fix, well-knowing his Daughter could have but one at a time. Among this numerous Croud of Pretenders, I was one who had not the lea&s;t rea&s;on to hope well for my &s;elf, as being of the &s;ame Village, well known to her Father to be de&s;cended of hone&s;t Parents; be&s;ides that, he under&s;tood both my E&s;tate, and my Age; and then again, I was lookt upon i' the Countrey to be no Fop. All which put together, contributed very much to the Conclu&s;ion of the Match. But there was at the &s;ame time another Lad i' the &s;ame Town, hopeful and hand&s;om, and indeed my equal in every thing; who making the &s;ame Applications that I did, made the Father totter in his Opinion what to &s;ay, or what to think, finding us both fit Matches for his Daughter. In this Confu&s;ion he determin'd to leave it wholly to the fair <HI>Leandra</HI>'s choice (for that was the Name of the Dam&s;el) that he might not &s;eem to impo&s;e upon her Affection. I know not what An&s;wer <HI>Leandra</HI> made him, but this I'm &s;ure of, that the Father &s;till put us both off from time to time, neither conde&s;cending nor refu&s;ing, but pretending to both, that his Daughter was not of Years yet ripe enough to marry. Therein doing like a prudent Father, in propounding a good Choice, but leaving his Daughter to plea&s;e her &s;elf. By the way you are to under&s;tand, that my Rival's Name was <HI>An&s;elm,</HI> and mine <HI>Eugenio,</HI> two of the chief Per&s;ons concern'd in this Story that begins with Love, but ends a little odly.</P>
<P>Now while we were thus kept at the Stave's end in a Dilatory Su&s;pence, there came to the Village a certain young Swa&s;h-buckler, who&s;e Name was <HI>Thomas</HI> of <HI>Waltham,</HI> the Son of a ravenous Pettifogger, that liv'd
<PB N="283" REF="154"> in the &s;ame Hamlet. This <HI>Thomas</HI> of <HI>Waltham,</HI> at twelve Years of Age, ran away from his Father, and having rambl'd <HI>Flanders</HI> and the Low Countries, where he pretended to put his Cheats upon the Duke of <HI>Luxem|burgh</HI> and the Prince of <HI>Orange,</HI> twelve years after that return'd home again in the Habit of a Souldier, but &s;o bedizon'd with Gla&s;s-beads of a thou&s;and Co|lours, &s;et in Branches of St. <HI>Martin</HI>'s Wier, that he made a more gli&s;tring &s;hew i' the Sun, then a Prince of <HI>Guinney;</HI> and the&s;e Beads he &s;o well knew how to chop and change, and put others in their places, that he &s;eem'd to have a new Suite for every Day i' the Month. The Countrey People, who are naturally malicious, and when they have nothing to do, become as en|vious as the Devil him&s;elf, could not be content to admire, but &s;et them|&s;elves to examine diligently this &s;ame odd &s;ort of Jay-like Bravery. And at length by &s;trict Ob&s;ervation found, that he had no more then three different Suits of Apparel of ordinary Stuffs; but he had &s;o many fan|ta&s;tick Tricks and Inventions to di&s;gui&s;e 'em, that you wou'd ha' &s;worn he had had a Duke's Wardrobe. He would u&s;ually &s;it upon a Bench under a &s;preading Oak that grew in the Village, and there make long Relations of his Adventures, and his famous Atchievements; there was not any part of the World where he had not &s;et his feet; not a con&s;iderable Battel had been fought, wherein he had not been pre&s;ent; he had kill'd more <HI>Moors</HI> then all <HI>Barbary</HI> contain'd; he had fought more Duels then all the <HI>Bullies</HI> in <HI>London,</HI> in every one of which he had &s;till come off with Victory. Then he would pretend to &s;hew us the Scars of Wounds, which tho they could not be di&s;cern'd, yet he made us believe they were the Shots and Sla&s;hes which he had receiv'd in &s;everal de&s;perate Encounters; he was &s;o arrogant, that he would <HI>Dick</HI> and <HI>Tom,</HI> and <HI>Thou</HI> and <HI>Thee</HI> his Superiours with an unu&s;ual In&s;olence, boa&s;ting that his <HI>Arm</HI> was his only <HI>Parent,</HI> and his <HI>Atchievements</HI> were his <HI>Pedigree;</HI> and that being as he was a Souldier, he was not inferiour to the King him&s;elf. Be&s;ides the&s;e rare Qualities, he could &s;ing a little better then a Countrey Pari&s;h-Clerk; he had a Voice like a Bird call'd a Swine, and &s;crap'd upon a Violin like a Countrey Fidler. But his chief Excellency lay in his Poetry, for he had his Rhymes ready upon all Occa&s;ions, as if he had emulated the great Fame of Poet <HI>Ninny;</HI> and if a Wench did but fart in her &s;leep, would &s;cribble ye two or three Sheets upon the Subject in a Quarter of an hour; &s;o that he furni&s;h'd the whole Village with wa&s;t Paper for a long time.</P>
<P>Now this <HI>Thomas</HI> of <HI>Waltham,</HI> this Bugle-merchant, this <HI>Gu&s;man,</HI> this Braggado&s;hio, this Huff-&s;nuff, this Doggerel-Rhymer, did the more fair then wi&s;e <HI>Leandra</HI> behold from a Window of her Father's Hou&s;e, and was pre&s;ently &s;mitten; the Souldier's invi&s;ible Weapons immediately wounded her Heart; his Pedlar's Trinkets dazl'd her Eyes; &s;he was charm'd with his Rodomontado's, &s;he look'd upon him as a &s;econd Sir <HI>Eglamore,</HI> took every thing for Gold that gli&s;ter'd, and the Devil owing her a particular Shame, &s;he fell &s;o de&s;perately in love with this &s;ame Son of O&s;tentation, that &s;he became his Pri&s;oner before he had the confidence to &s;ummon her to a Surrender; and as no Intrigue in Love is carry'd on &s;o &s;moothly as that, where the Gallant is favour'd by his Mi&s;tre&s;s, 'twas a Match between <HI>Leandra</HI> and <HI>Thomas</HI> of <HI>Waltham,</HI> before either of us had the lea&s;t Su&s;picion of it; for <HI>Argus</HI> him&s;elf, had he been &s;ent to watch her, would ne're ha' &s;u&s;pected &s;uch a Thief as he. In &s;hort, the bu&s;ine&s;s being thus &s;uddenly concluded, and the time appointed, the precious <HI>Map of Mode&s;ty</HI> makes up her Fardle, (for &s;till you mu&s;t know, that in &s;uch Ca&s;es as the&s;e the Father always
<PB N="282" REF="155">
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<PB N="283" REF="155">
<GAP DESC="duplicate" EXTENT="1 page">
<PB N="284" REF="156"> entru&s;ts his beloved Darling with the Keys of his Trea&s;ure) takes one of the Old Man's be&s;t Geldings, and away &s;he troops as fine as Pins could make her, with &s;he hardly knew whom, &s;he &s;carcely knew whither.</P>
<P>An Accident &s;o unexpected &s;trangely &s;urpriz'd the whole Village, which was pre&s;ently all in an Uproar; the Father tore his Beard from his Chin, while poor <HI>An&s;elm</HI> and I, amaz'd, di&s;tracted, confounded, and overwhelm'd with De&s;pair, were ready to hang our &s;elves in our own Garters, for Grief and Sorrow. Pre&s;ently <HI>Hue and Cry</HI> was &s;ent after the two Fugitives with all the &s;peed imaginable; and the Officers, partly for love of the Old Man, partly well paid before-hand, us'd &s;uch diligence, and made &s;uch ha&s;te, that in three days they found <HI>Leandra</HI> &s;tript to her very Skin (for <HI>Thomas</HI> of <HI>Waltham</HI> was rid away with all the re&s;t, but her Maiden-head, not thinking it &s;afe to &s;tay the taking it along with him.) In that Condition, only with an old Coat left her in Charity to hide her Nakedne&s;s, they brought her back to her Father, to whom &s;he confe&s;s'd that <HI>Thomas</HI> of <HI>Waltham</HI> had deceiv'd her, got her good Will, and per&s;waded her to along with him to the <HI>Devil's Ar&s;e i' the Peak,</HI> or &s;ome place or other where he had va&s;t Preferments, and where &s;he &s;hould be the Lord knows what. By which means abu&s;ing her ea&s;ine&s;s and the Confidence &s;he had in him, he carry'd her the &s;ame Night to the Cave where they found her, and where the <HI>Raggamuffin,</HI> af|ter he had &s;tript her, left her to condole her Folly and Misfortune, with|out offering any other Violence to her Body. Which was a difficult thing to believe of a lu&s;tful, rough-hewn young <HI>Gu&s;man</HI> as he was. But <HI>Leandra</HI> made &s;o many Prote&s;tations of the Truth of her <HI>Paramour</HI>'s Continency, that her Father over-joy'd he had her again unplunder'd of her mo&s;t ine&s;tima|ble Jewel, forgave her all the re&s;t of his Lo&s;&s;es. However, the &s;ame day &s;he appear'd, &s;he vani&s;h'd again, being privately convey'd away to a &s;afer Lock and Key then his own, in a Nunnery di&s;tant &s;ome few miles off, hoping that time would obliterate the Mi&s;carriage of her imprudent Heat.</P>
<P>'Tis true, that they who had only a Neighbourly Kindne&s;s for the Maid, were willing to accept her Youth for a &s;atisfactory Excu&s;e of her Vanity, and improvident Ra&s;hne&s;s. But they who were well acquainted with her Wit and Di&s;cretion in other things, rather blame the natural Inclination of Women, which is fickle and humour&s;ome.</P>
<P>As for <HI>An&s;elm,</HI> ever &s;ince <HI>Leandra</HI>'s fir&s;t di&s;appearing, he is fall'n into a deep Melancholy, &s;its mu&s;ing and picking a' Straws, like a Changeling; and 'tis thought 'twill come to that in time, that we &s;hall &s;ee him &s;itting upon the High-way in a long Coat and a clean Bib, begging the Charity of Travellers. And for my own part, that lov'd her dearly, and perhaps may have a Kindne&s;s for her &s;till, I am in &s;uch a Quandary, that I know not whether I &s;hall ever &s;ee the Female Sex more: Which has made me retire into this Valley, where I feed a Herd of Bea&s;ts, as wanton as Wo|men, but more ea&s;ie to be rul'd. How many Cur&s;es have I be&s;tow'd up|on that Son of a Whore <HI>Gu&s;man?</HI> How many times have I blam'd the Carele&s;ne&s;s of <HI>Leandra</HI>'s Father, that had not a &s;tricter Watch over her? Nay, how many times have I be&s;tow'd a kind Malediction upon <HI>Leandra</HI> her &s;elf, for her Folly and Indi&s;cretion? But all &s;ignifies not a Ru&s;h; &s;o that I know not whether I &s;hould abide here any longer, were it not to be|hold the Folly of others. For you mu&s;t know, the&s;e Mountains are full of <HI>Leandra's Inamorato's,</HI> as if <HI>Arcady</HI> were remov'd hither; at lea&s;t, the&s;e de&s;ert Hills are become the Habitations of &s;uch a number of puling, whi|ning Lovers, as may ju&s;tly give the&s;e Groves and Thickets the Title of
<PB N="285" REF="156"> <HI>Fools Paradi&s;e.</HI> Here is nothing el&s;e to be heard but <HI>Leandra</HI>'s Name. One Shepherd calls her Fan&s;tatick and Light; another, Ea&s;ie and Imprudent; &s;ome accu&s;e and ju&s;tifie her, all in a Breath; &s;ome talk of her Beauty, o|thers bemoan her Ab&s;ence, others blame her for all the Misfortunes which they &s;uffer; almo&s;t all de&s;pi&s;e, and all adore her; &s;ome complain of her Cruelty that never &s;aw her i' their lives; and others are jealous of her, that never had any Occa&s;ion; for &s;he di&s;pos'd of her Body before any one could claim an Intere&s;t in her Heart. Here &s;its one upon the Clift of a Rock, with his Arms a-cro&s;s, and his Hat over his Eyes, bewailing his Misfortunes; there &s;its another by the &s;ide of a purling Stream, invoking Heaven to witne&s;s he knows not what him&s;elf; there lies another leaning up|on his Elbow at the foot of a &s;hady Tree, breathing out loud Complaints to the &s;ilent Air, again&s;t a per&s;on that never did 'em any harm, God knows. The Trees, for ought I find, are the only Sufferers, as being daily wounded and ga&s;h'd to make way for <HI>Leandra</HI>'s Name. And thus the Name of <HI>Le|andra,</HI> that I dare &s;ay, never dreams of any of the&s;e her raving Admirers, bewitches and enchants 'em after the &s;trange&s;t manner i' the World, while they live continually in Hopes and Fears, yet know not what to hope, nor what to expect.</P>
<P>But among the whole Crowd of the&s;e Fopdoodles, there is none &s;o frantick as my Rival <HI>An&s;elm,</HI> who having the mo&s;t ju&s;t Complaints of any but my &s;elf, to make, and perhaps not without rea&s;on, does nothing all day long but bewail her Ab&s;ence, when he knows the way to her again; and if that be all he has to except again&s;t, I dare &s;ay, might be a wel|come Gue&s;t to her Father, who would be glad to &s;ee his Daughter's Re|putation &s;titch'd up again upon any Conditions. For my part, I think I take a wi&s;er Cour&s;e, for I &s;pend my time in exclaiming again&s;t the Incon|&s;tancy of Women, the Fal&s;hood of their Promi&s;es; and in laughing at the Folly of their Actions, their Scorn and Contempt of tho&s;e that truly love 'em, and their fanta&s;tick Choice of Fools and Knaves. And then come the De&s;cants of the World, when &s;he's &s;ent home again to her Pa|rents, without a Rag to her Tail&mdash; She was told on't&mdash; but &s;he would not be advis'd by her Friends&mdash; She might have had an hone&s;t Gentle|man&mdash; but &s;he would needs have a Roy&s;ter&mdash; and now &s;he may thank her unpity'd &s;elf&mdash; And this, Gentlemen, was the meaning of tho&s;e words which I talk'd to my Goat, when I follow'd her to this place, for which I have but a very &s;mall Re&s;pect, as being a Female, tho &s;he be one of the faire&s;t in my Herd. I know not whether my Story may have an&s;wer'd your Expectation, however, if you plea&s;e to go along with me to my Cottage hard by, I will endeavour to repair the Injury I ha' done ye, with a &s;hort Collation of Chee&s;e, and Milk, and Fruits of the Sea&s;on, which perhaps may be more acceptable.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="25" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="286" REF="157">
<HEAD>CHAP. XXV.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing the quarrel between <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and the Goat-herd, and the rare Adventure of the Penitents, which co&s;t him the Sweat of his Brows to accompli&s;h.</HEAD>
<P>THE Story pleas'd the whole Company, e&s;pecially the <HI>Prebend,</HI> who highly applauded the Goat-herd's Elocution; who was now no more in his Thoughts the Clown and Ru&s;tick which he took him to be, but a Per&s;on literate, and of excellent Sen&s;e; of whom the <HI>Curate</HI> had rea&s;on to &s;ay, That the de&s;art Mountains were not always without Men of Wit, and &s;uch as knew the World. Therefore they repaid him with all the Ci|vilities and kind Offers imaginable: but <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> more liberal then any of the re&s;t, Truly, hone&s;t Friend, &s;aid he, were I in a Condition to undertake an Adventure, I would make it my bu&s;ine&s;s to &s;erve ye, without delay. For I would go immediately and tear <HI>Leandra</HI> out of the Nunnery, where, without que&s;tion &s;he is detain'd again&s;t her Will; and in de&s;pite of the Abbe&s;s, and all the Monks and Nuns under Heaven, would &s;urrender her into your hands, to di&s;po&s;e of at your own plea&s;ure; ob&s;erving however, the Laws of Chivalry-Errant, which do not permit the lea&s;t Injury to be done to Ladies. But I hope in God, the Malice of a villainous Inchanter will not always be &s;o powerful, but that another <HI>Ne|cromancer</HI> better affected, will deliver me out of his Clutches, and then I will &s;ecure ye both my Favour and A&s;&s;i&s;tance, according to the Laws of my Pro|fe&s;&s;ion, which oblige me to the Relief of tho&s;e that are oppre&s;&s;ed.</P>
<P>The Goat-heard, who had as yet taken little notice of <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> hear|ing him utter &s;uch <HI>Romantick</HI> Bomba&s;t, view'd him from heat to foot, but finding neither his Habit, nor his Phy&s;iognomy corre&s;pondent to his Offers, he turn'd to the <HI>Barber</HI> that &s;ate next him, and whi&s;pering him in the Ear; Sir, &s;aid he, who is this per&s;on that talks at this extravagant rate? I never &s;aw &s;uch a &s;trange Creature i' my life. 'Tis a &s;ign you live in a Fore&s;t, quo the <HI>Barber;</HI> who &s;hould it be but the famous <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> the Flail of Oppre&s;&s;ion, the Revenger of Injuries, the Pro|tector of Ladies, the Ribroa&s;ter of Giants, invincible in Battel? This, quo the Goat-heard, is ju&s;t like what we read i' your Books of <HI>Knight-Errants,</HI> who were all &s;uch a &s;ort of De&s;perado's. But for my part, I am apt to think you are only merry with the Gentleman, as one that has empty Lodgings to let in his Co&s;tard. Ye damn'd in&s;olent Son of thirty Tinkers, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> 'tis thou art the Skimmer-&s;cull'd Ra&s;cal&mdash; I have a thou&s;and times more Brains then the carted Bawd thy Mother, and all thy Bitch-whelp'd Generation; and &s;o &s;aying, he took up a Six-penny Loaf that &s;tood upon the Table, and flung it with &s;uch a malicious fury at the Goat-herd's Head, that the hard Cru&s;t had almo&s;t levell'd his No&s;e with his Face, and loo&s;en'd all his Fore teeth. The Goat-herd not under&s;tanding &s;uch kind of Railery, and as ha&s;ty to return Civility for Civility, never minded Table cloth, nor Victuals, nor the Squeezing of Tarts as flat as Pan-cakes, but flew upon <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and catching him by the Throat, had throatl'd him without mercy, had not <HI>Sancho,</HI> taking him by the Shoulders, pull'd him backward, cro&s;s the Collation, upon Di&s;hes, Pots, and Gla&s;&s;es, among the Relicks and Orts of the <HI>Prebend</HI>'s good Chear.
<PB N="287" REF="157"> On the other &s;ide, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> finding him&s;elf free, threw him&s;elf again upon the Goat-herd, who being thus unequally be&s;et, two for one, with his Face and Eyes all bruis'd, and <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;till laying on like a <HI>Loathbury</HI> Bra|zier, felt about for one o' the Carving-knives to have tak'n a fatal Revenge, by tapping the Brea&s;t and Guts of Knight and Squire both at once. But the <HI>Prebend</HI> had warily caus'd tho&s;e unlawful Weapons to be remov'd out of the way; &s;o that 'twas only a de&s;perate kind of <HI>Counter-&s;cuffle,</HI> where neither Di&s;h nor Cup could &s;tand &s;till, but the Salutations were &s;o rude and unmannerly, that tho the Meat was well dre&s;t, the Gue&s;ts were all raw, and the Blood ran about their Chaps, as if they had been <HI>Cannibals</HI> feeding one upon another. And as yet the Goat-herd had the wor&s;e, till the <HI>Barber</HI> willing to &s;ee a little fair Play, gave him an Oppor|tunity to get upon <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who then be&s;triding the Knight, ply'd him &s;o fa&s;t with his Knuckles, that he was even with the <HI>Hero</HI> for the Blood which he had lo&s;t before; and now you'd ha' &s;worn they had both put on their Vi&s;or-Masks to hide their own handy Work; Du&s;t and Blood had &s;o bemoyl'd their Faces, where their Eyes were no more to be &s;een for the Rainbows and Swellings that u&s;ually accompany &s;uch kind of Hor&s;e-play. The <HI>Prebend</HI> and the <HI>Curate</HI> were ready to bur&s;t; the Bailiffs hoop'd and hollow'd, clapp'd their hands, and with Halloos, and <HI>to him Lion, there Brindle,</HI> &s;et 'em on as they do Ma&s;tiffs i' the Street. Only <HI>Sancho</HI> was as mad as a March-Hare, to find him&s;elf held by one of the <HI>Prebend</HI>'s Servants, to prevent his helping the Knight his Ma&s;ter.</P>
<P>Now while this <HI>Bear-garden</HI> Sport made all the re&s;t of the Company merry, but the two Combatants, who lay battering one another with an un&s;peakable Antipathy, what animates to fight at other times, did here di&s;&s;olve the Fray. For by and by they heard the &s;ound of a Trumpet &s;o &s;ad and doleful, that it enforc'd their Ears to a more then ordinary Attention. But it wrought upon none &s;o much as it did upon <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> who, tho he lay full &s;ore again&s;t his Will under the Op|pre&s;&s;ion of the Goat-herd's Body, more then moderately bruis'd and pound|ed, and unable to relieve him&s;elf, yet was his Spirit of Revenge at that time willing to &s;ubmit to that of his Curio&s;ity. And therefore <HI>Brother Devil,</HI> quo he; for other then a Devil thou can&s;t not be, that ha&s;t both Valour and Strength to equal mine; prethee let's make a Truce, and leave off this &s;ame Butcherly Boxing; I am quite weary of it&mdash; be&s;ides that, I am per&s;waded the dolorous Sound of this &s;ame Trumpet calls me to the more noble Recreation of killing out-right. Upon which the Goat-herd, no le&s;s weary of pounding, then being pounded, pre&s;ently gave off; at what time <HI>Don Quixote</HI> getting upon his Legs, after he had &s;hook his Limbs and wip'd his Face, turn'd him&s;elf toward the place from whence the &s;ound came, and pre&s;ently &s;py'd de&s;cending down the &s;ide of a Hill &s;everal People clad in white, which others readily di&s;cern'd to be a Clu|&s;ter of Penitents, but <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;trongly fancy'd to be Devils in Ma&s;|querade. Now it &s;eems there had no Rain fall'n all that year, which made the Countrey People think it convenient to implore the mercy of Heav'n by a devout Proce&s;&s;ion to a Hermitage that lay at the foot of the Moun|tain. But <HI>Don Quixote</HI> no &s;ooner beheld the &s;trange Habiliments of the <HI>Penitents,</HI> but he imagin'd it to be &s;ome de&s;perate Adventure which he was to undertake, as being the only <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> in the Com|pany. And that which confirm'd him in this reverend piece of Do|tage, was an Image cover'd with Mourning, carry'd by the <HI>Penitents,</HI>
<PB N="288" REF="158"> which he took to be &s;ome forlorn Prince&s;s, which tho&s;e Mi&s;creants, and di&s;loyal Knights had ravi&s;h'd away by force, and were hurrying to &s;ome di&s;mal Ca&s;tle of their own. Full of the&s;e Imaginations, he buckles on his Armour, &s;houlders his Buckler, and having mounted <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> with no le&s;s &s;peed; Now, Lords and Gentlemen, quo he, be patient a while, and you &s;hall &s;ee how va&s;tly it concerns the whole World, that there &s;hould be per&s;ons like my &s;elf, that make Profe&s;&s;ion of <HI>Knight-Errantry.</HI> Now I &s;ay, the Hour is come, that you, beholding my courageous Actions in &s;etting at liberty this captive Lady, &s;hall acknowledge the high Honour that is due to the Lamba&s;ters of the <HI>Wicked.</HI> And &s;o &s;aying, he clapp'd his Heels to <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI>'s Sides, as having lo&s;t his Spurs, and putting on a good round Gallop (for in all this true Hi&s;tory you never read, that ever <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> trotted) rode directly toward the <HI>Penitents,</HI> who little dreamt of the Storm that was coming, while they were praying for Rain. And all this, notwith&s;tanding the vigorous Endeavours of the <HI>Prebend</HI> and <HI>Curate</HI> to re&s;train him, and little regarding <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Excla|mations, who yauling ince&s;&s;antly after him, cry'd out, Where the Devil are ye po&s;ting, Ma&s;ter <HI>Don Quixote?</HI> Does <HI>Beelzebub</HI> him&s;elf po&s;&s;e&s;s ye, thus to &s;end ye a tilting again&s;t the Catholick Faith? Don't ye &s;ee 'tis only a Proce&s;&s;ion? and that the Lady which they carry upon that &s;ame Pede&s;tal, is the Image of the ble&s;&s;ed Virgin &mdash; Upon my life y' are di&s;tracted&mdash; Ma&s;ter&mdash; Ma&s;ter&mdash; Hey&mdash; Ma&s;ter&mdash; Ma&s;ter come back i' the Devil's Name, and don't ride headlong to Hell. But <HI>Sancho</HI> worry'd his Lungs in vain; for his Ma&s;ter was &s;o bent upon delivering the Lady i' the Mourning, that he would not ha' return'd back, no, not for the Pope him&s;elf, nor all the Per&s;wa&s;ions of the whole Council of <HI>Trent.</HI></P>
<P>Stopping <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> therefore, within twenty Paces of the Proce&s;&s;ion, with a hoar&s;e and furious Tone; Hold Rake-hells, cry'd he, that under &s;acred Ve&s;tments, di&s;gui&s;e the wor&s;t of Mi&s;creants, attend and heark'n to my Words&mdash; The fir&s;t that &s;tood &s;till, were tho&s;e that carry'd the Image; at what time one of the four Prie&s;ts that &s;ang the <HI>Letanies,</HI> be|holding <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s extravagant Garb, the meagre Ribs of <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> and &s;everal other ridiculous Circum&s;tances, which he ob&s;erv'd in the menacing Champion; Friend, &s;aid he, if you have any thing to &s;ay to us, &s;peak it quickly; for all this while the&s;e poor People are &s;courging their own Fle&s;h, and we have no lei&s;ure to hear a long Di&s;cour&s;e. Why then, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> in &s;hort&mdash; Pray relea&s;e that fair Lady, who&s;e di&s;|con&s;olate Looks and Tears &s;ufficiently declare, that you have done her &s;ome ungracious Injury, and that you are hawling her away from her Parents and Kindred, again&s;t her Will. For my part, I came into the World to prevent &s;uch Violences as the&s;e, and cannot therefore in Ho|nour con&s;ent to let ye pa&s;s, till ye have re&s;tor'd her to her de&s;ir'd Li|berty.</P>
<P>There needed no more to confirm tho&s;e People, that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was no wi&s;er then his Father had begot him; &s;o that they could not forbear laughing in his Champion like Face: and it is to be fear'd, that one was &s;o bold as to bid him troop about his own Bu&s;ine&s;s, like a Fool as he was&mdash; But this was to &s;et a lighted Match to a Barrel of Gun-pow|der&mdash; For <HI>Don Quixote</HI> enrag'd to &s;ee him&s;elf derided, made directly, with his Sword drawn, toward the Image. At what time one of the per&s;ons that carry'd it, leaving his Employment to the re&s;t of his Com|panions, ran to meet the menacing <HI>Hero,</HI> with one of the Forks that
<PB N="289" REF="158"> &s;u&s;tain'd the Pageant when it re&s;ted in any place: Which, tho the mighty Champion &s;lit in two pieces with the fir&s;t Blow of his Sword that he &s;truck, yet with the other half that remain'd, the &s;tout Opponent return'd the Knight &s;uch a u&s;e of Admonition upon the right Shoulder, that his Buckler not being bound to take care of both &s;ides, the Violence of the Randan-Rub fetch'd him from his Steed to the Ground, where he lay yerking with his Legs at fir&s;t, like a Capon newly Neck-twi&s;ted, and by and by became as motionle&s;s as the Image he &s;ought to deliver.</P>
<P><HI>Sancho,</HI> who &s;till follow'd his Ma&s;ter, came in puffing and blowing ju&s;t at the <HI>God-&s;peed</HI> of this unfortunate Mi&s;chance; and &s;eeing the di&s;mounted Knight in that bad and di&s;a&s;trous Condition, cry'd out to the Countrey|man to hold his hand, for that his Ma&s;ter was a poor &s;illy inchanted Knight that never did any body harm in his life. However, 'twas not <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Interce&s;&s;ion that &s;topp'd the Countryman's Fury, but his own Fears; for he perceiving that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> lay like a Dormou&s;e in a Box of Cotton, not &s;o much as wagging Hand or Foot, verily believ'd he had murder'd him; and therefore tucking up his long Gown about his Wa&s;te, for Ex|pedition-&s;ake, he fell a' running, as if the Con&s;table and all his Watch had been at his Heels.</P>
<P>By this time the <HI>Curate</HI> and the <HI>Prebend,</HI> with all the re&s;t of <HI>Don Quix|ote</HI>'s Company were come into the end of the Fray; upon who&s;e Ap|proach, the <HI>Proce&s;&s;ioners</HI> beholding the Bailiffs with their Swords and Pi|&s;tols, and conceiting Revenge i' their heated Countenances, clu&s;ter'd to|gether about the Image, and lifting up their Veils, the <HI>Penitents</HI> with their <HI>Scourges,</HI> and the <HI>Prie&s;ts</HI> with their <HI>Torches,</HI> re&s;olv'd to abide the A&s;&s;ault, and defend them&s;elves and their Idol, as well as they could. But Fortune order'd the Bu&s;ine&s;s better then they could expect, to the Ad|vantage and Satisfaction of both Parties. For while <HI>Sancho</HI> lay &s;tretch'd out at his full lenghth over his Ma&s;ter's Body, mo&s;t dolefully lamenting and bewailing him for dead, the <HI>Curate</HI> happen'd to be known to the <HI>Curate</HI> of the <HI>Proce&s;&s;ion,</HI> which pre&s;ently di&s;pers'd all Fears and Jea|lou&s;ies on both &s;ides; &s;o that the <HI>Curate</HI> having given his Brother Par&s;on a &s;hort Account who <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was, they went all together, <HI>Penitents</HI> and all, to &s;ee if he were within the Cure of <HI>Spruce-bear</HI> and <HI>Iri&s;h-&s;late,</HI> or no.</P>
<P>But when they came near the Thing that &s;eem'd to lie for dead, like one of the Knights of <HI>Jeru&s;alem</HI> i' the Temple Rounds, there they found <HI>Sancho</HI> with the Tears trickling down his Cheeks as big as counterfeit Pearls, and making his Ma&s;ter's Funeral-oration in the&s;e Words: <Q>Bright Flower of Chivalry, quo he, by Ignominious Cudgel thus laid low, a Sacrifice to a damn'd Sexton's Wrath; farewel eternal Honour of thy Race, not only <HI>Mancha</HI>'s Darling, but the whole World's Glory, now by thy death become like a defencele&s;s <HI>Orphan,</HI> expos'd to the Rage and Violence of wicked men, that fearle&s;s now of thy cha&s;tizing Arm, will ravi&s;h Vertue, and &s;et Ju&s;tice naked with her Heels upward. Liberal above a thou|&s;and <HI>Alexanders,</HI> who for eight Months Service only, had&s;t enrich'd me with one of the be&s;t I&s;lands i' the World! O thou that wert humble to the Proud, and lofty to the humble, that frighted&s;t every one, of all afraid; daring in Danger, tame Sufferer of Affronts; a Lover of Shadows, the Scourge of Oppre&s;&s;ors, and Enemy of Penitents, as Oppre&s;&s;ors of them|&s;elves! In a word, a <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> and then what Tongue of Mor|tals can &s;ay more? But only farewel Ma&s;ter, farewel I&s;lands, farewel all the World.</Q></P>
<PB N="290" REF="159">
<P>The&s;e loud Moans and Lamentations fetch'd <HI>Don Quixote</HI> again to him&s;elf; at what time, after a long and profound Sigh, which was the fir&s;t Sign he gave of Life; He that is ab&s;ent, quo he, from Thee, mo&s;t peerle&s;s <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> can never be other then mi&s;erable&mdash; Help me, dear <HI>Sancho,</HI> once more into the <HI>Inchanted Chariot,</HI> for I am not in a Condi|tion to be&s;tride unruly <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI>&mdash; Oh&mdash; <HI>Sancho&mdash; Sancho!</HI> never was a Tavern-bisket crack'd into &s;o many pieces, as my Shoulder-blade&mdash; I have no more u&s;e of my right Arm, then a joynted Baby&mdash; With all my heart, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> I am &s;till ready to a&s;&s;i&s;t my dear Ma&s;ter&mdash; And &s;o, Sir, let's e'en return home to our own Village, where we may at lei&s;ure con&s;ider of &s;ome other Adventure, more to our Honour and Profit. Thou &s;ay'&s;t well, an&s;wer'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> 'tis Prudence to weary the malicious Influences of the Stars. Upon which words, the <HI>Prebend,</HI> the <HI>Curate,</HI> and the <HI>Barber</HI> fail'd not to &s;trike while the Iron was hot, and having &s;ooth'd him up in his provident Care of him&s;elf, return'd him into his inchanted Cage, where they laid him forth upon a Tru&s;s of Hay, to the great grief of <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> who at that time did not a little en|vy him his Cu&s;hion.</P>
<P>Thus the Proce&s;&s;ion went on in good order; the Goat-herd retir'd, after he had tak'n leave of the Company, and the Bailiffs were paid and di&s;mi&s;s'd by the <HI>Curate.</HI> The <HI>Prebend</HI> al&s;o embrac'd the <HI>Curate,</HI> and after he had obtain'd his Promi&s;e to give him an Account of <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Cure, pur&s;u'd his Journey. And thus the <HI>Curate,</HI> the <HI>Barber, Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho,</HI> were left alone with <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> who a|mong &s;o many Hurly-burlies had &s;hew'd no le&s;s Patience then his Ma&s;ter. So that now the almo&s;t di&s;member'd Knight being laid at his ea&s;e, as we &s;aid before, upon his Bottle of Hay, di&s;creetly &s;trew'd under his bruis'd Bones, the Waggoner drove on according to the <HI>Curate</HI>'s Directions; and at the end of &s;ix days, according to the grave pace of tho&s;e lazy Animals, happily arriv'd at <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Village; into which they made their entry at high Noon, upon a <HI>Sunday,</HI> of all the Days i' the Week. Pre&s;ently Men, Women, and Children came forth to &s;ee the Man i' the Cage; but when they knew their old Landlord and Acquaintance, Joy and Admiration put 'em into &s;uch a fit of hooping and hollowing, enough to ha' wak'd the &s;even Sleepers three years before their time. In the mean while, a little Boy ran to carry the News to <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Neece and <HI>Governante,</HI> telling 'em, That their Uncle and Ma&s;ter was come home, laid upon a Bottle of Hay, but &s;o lean and disfigur'd, that he hardly knew him again.</P>
<P>'Twou'd ha' griev'd your Heart to ha' heard the Lamentations of his Kin&s;woman, and his old Maid, when they &s;aw him&mdash; Lord! Sir, cries one, What makes ye come home thus in a Cage? And then &s;he thump'd her Brea&s;t, and water'd her Cheeks, like a Nur&s;e at a Funeral. Was there ne're a Stage-Coach, cries t'other, to be got, but that you mu&s;t be thus cag'd home, like a wild <HI>Swedi&s;h</HI> Cat? The Devil take all tho&s;e Diabolical Books of <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> cries the Neece&mdash; Is this the fruit of Adventuring, cries the Maid? The Lord ble&s;s me with that little Wit I have, and no more&mdash; And all this, and a great deal wor&s;e they repeated, when they &s;aw him creep in a-doors, like one that had &s;hatter'd his Bones from the top of a Pear-tree. Pre&s;ently comes <HI>Sancho Pancha</HI>'s Wife (for the News flew like a fir'd Rocket) and meeting her Husband, Well, quo &s;he, and how does the A&s;s? Better then his Ma&s;ter, quo <HI>Sancho.</HI> The Lord be
<PB N="291" REF="159"> prais'd for that, i' the fir&s;t place, quo his Wife&mdash; But prithee, Husband, tell me, quo &s;he, What ha&s;t got all this while by thy <HI>Squiring?</HI> Ha&s;t brought me home e're a new Petticoat? or any Shoos and Stockins for the Children? I ha' brought none of tho&s;e Trifles home, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> but I ha' brought things of greater value. Now thou chear'&s;t my Heart, quo his Wife, prithee let's &s;ee tho&s;e things of Value. I will &s;hew thee at home, reply'd <HI>Sancho;</HI> in the mean time be &s;atisfy'd, good Wife; for if it be our good Fortune to take another frisk, as I hope we &s;hall, thou &s;halt &s;ee me in a &s;hort time Gover|nour of an I&s;land, I &s;ay of an I&s;land, and that one of the be&s;t I&s;lands in the World; none of your paltry I&s;lands of thirteen to the Dozen. Pray God thou be'&s;t <HI>John,</HI> Husband, quo &s;he&mdash; But what do&s;t mean by an I&s;land, <HI>Sancho,</HI> for I don't under&s;tand your hard Words? Why look ye, quo <HI>Sancho, Tell a Mare a Tale, and &s;he'l let a Fart&mdash; 'Tis not for A&s;&s;es to lick Honey</HI>&mdash; Thou &s;halt under&s;tand what I mean time enough, when thou &s;halt wonder to hear thy &s;elf call'd nothing but <HI>Lady</HI> and <HI>Madam,</HI> and &s;ee all thy Slaves and Va&s;&s;als bow|ing and cringing about thee, with their Hats off&mdash; What do&s;t think on't?&mdash; won't the&s;e be brave <HI>new-Petticoat-days?</HI> &mdash; I' the mean time, good dear <HI>Joan Pan&s;a,</HI> not a word o' the Pudding&mdash; &s;tay till the time comes, and make no Brags&mdash; 'Tis enough, that what I tell thee's true &mdash; And therefore believe thy nown <HI>San|cho</HI>&mdash; Only by the way let me tell thee, There's no &s;uch Plea&s;ure i' the World, as to be a Squire to a <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> that goes a Nutting after Adventures&mdash; 'Tis true indeed, that all we meet with, do not always &s;ucceed&mdash; Of a hundred, not four&s;core and nineteen hit right&mdash; I know it by Experience, Wife&mdash; thanks be to God, I ha' try'd it&mdash; I ha' been to&s;s'd in a Blanket&mdash; I ha' been thra&s;h'd till my Bones ha' rattl'd i' my Skin, like a Bag of Che&s;s|men &mdash; Neverthele&s;s, 'tis a mo&s;t plea&s;ant life to ride a hunting, as we do, in cha&s;e of that Whore Fortune&mdash; over Rocks, over Moun|tains, through De&s;arts and Fore&s;ts, to vi&s;it Ca&s;tles, and lodge at Inns, without paying the Devil a Cro&s;s to the Sot of an Inn-keeper, that gives us the be&s;t Dyet and Lodging he has.</P>
<P>Thus <HI>Sancho</HI> mus'd his Wife, while <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Niece, and his Maid undre&s;s'd him, and put him in his old Bed, where he lay ca&s;t|ing a melancholy Look, &s;ometimes upon the one, &s;ometimes the o|ther; yet not knowing either them or him&s;elf. At the &s;ame time the <HI>Curate</HI> laid a &s;trict Charge upon the Niece to take care of her Uncle, but above all things, narrowly to watch him, to prevent his making a third E&s;cape; telling her withal, what a deal of Pains and Trouble it had co&s;t him to get him home again. With that the Niece and the Maid began again to lift up their Voices; they thun|dred out a thou&s;and Maledictions again&s;t Books of <HI>Knight-Errantry;</HI> and be&s;ought of Heaven to confound, and &s;end to the very Center of the Aby&s;s the Authors of &s;o many Lyes and Impo&s;tures. In &s;hort, they made it their bu&s;ine&s;s diligently to watch the good Gentleman, continually alarm'd with Fears and Jealou&s;ies, le&s;t they &s;hould lo&s;e him again, as &s;oon as recover'd; which unhappily not long after fell out accordingly, notwith&s;tanding all their Indu&s;try and Diligence.</P>
</DIV3>
</DIV2>
<TRAILER>The End of the Fir&s;t Part.</TRAILER>
<PB REF="160">
<PB REF="160">
</DIV1>
<DIV1 N="2" TYPE="part">
<PB REF="161">
<P><FIGURE>
<FIGDESC>Don Quixote and players</FIGDESC>
<P>Don Quixots Encounter with the Players page 339.</P>
</FIGURE></P>
<P><FIGURE>
<FIGDESC>Don Quixote and lions</FIGDESC>
<P>Don Quixots Adventure of the Lyons page 363.</P>
</FIGURE></P>
<DIV2 N="1" TYPE="book">
<PB N="295" REF="161">
<HEAD>THE SECOND PART OF THE LIFE and ATCHIEVEMENTS Of the mo&s;t Ingenious KNIGHT, Don Quixote DE LA MANCHA. PART II. BOOK I.</HEAD>
<DIV3 N="1" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. I.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing the manner of <HI>Don Quixote's</HI> third E&s;cape.</HEAD>
<P><HI>CID Hamet Benengeli</HI> recounts in the &s;econd Part of this Hi|&s;tory, and the <HI>third E&s;cape</HI> of <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that the <HI>Curate</HI> and the <HI>Barber</HI> were above a Month before they would Adventure to give him a Vi&s;it, for fear of recalling to his Memory what in time they were in hopes he might have clean forgot. Ne|verthele&s;s, they fail'd not every day to &s;ee his Neece, and his old Maid, to whom they gave a &s;pecial Charge every time they came, to be care|ful of their Nur&s;ery, and as well to diverti&s;e him with their Company, as to recruit his Body with whole&s;ome Diet, proper to comfort the Heart and Brain, where lay his chiefe&s;t Di&s;temper. To which they an&s;wer'd, That all the <HI>Mad-hou&s;es</HI> about <HI>London</HI> could not be more tender of him, then they both were, and wou'd be; &s;o much the rather, becau&s;e they ob|&s;erv'd a &s;trange Amendment in him, and that he would many times talk as rationally and di&s;creetly, as the <HI>Pre&s;ident</HI> of a <HI>Synod.</HI> This was joyful News to the <HI>Curate</HI> and <HI>Barber,</HI> who look'd upon it as a good Effect of the Inchantment they had them&s;elves divis'd. Thereupon they determin'd to
<PB N="296" REF="162"> give him a vi&s;it, and make tryal them&s;elves of the Progre&s;s of his Cure, which, however, they thought impo&s;&s;ible. And becau&s;e they would not wake a &s;leepy Lion, they agreed not to &s;peak a word of <HI>Knight-Errantry.</HI> With the&s;e Re&s;olutions they enter'd his Chamber, where they found him &s;itting up in his Bed, in a Wa&s;tcoat of green Bays, with a Turban-fa&s;hion'd Cap upon his Head, but with his Skin &s;o wither'd and &s;allow, and &s;o Dog-lean, that he look'd like the Picture of Death it &s;elf. Neverthele&s;s, he was very glad to &s;ee his Friends, thank'd 'em very civily for their kind Vi&s;it, and like a man in his perfect Sen&s;es, gave 'em an Account of his Condition as rationally as a Colledge-Doctor, and made 'em an An|&s;wer to all their Que&s;tions pertinently and di&s;creetly, beyond their Ima|gination. After they had thus prattl'd, for &s;ome time, of ordinary Mat|ters, they fell at length upon State-affairs, and began to di&s;cour&s;e of Go|vernment, reforming &s;ometimes this bad Cu&s;tome, &s;ometimes another Grievance, and e&s;tabli&s;hing new Laws, as if they had been the <HI>Solons</HI> of the Age. Upon all which Subjects <HI>Don Quixote</HI> rea&s;on'd with that Gravity, that Di&s;cretion, that Knowledge, as if he had been Privy-Coun|&s;ellor to <HI>Charles the Great,</HI> and &s;o to all his Succe&s;&s;ors; in&s;omuch that the <HI>Curate</HI> began to think him once more a rational Creature. Nay more, his Neece and old Maid, who were pre&s;ent at all the&s;e Di&s;cour&s;es, wept for Joy, and could not forbear to give thanks to Heaven, the one to &s;ee her Uncle, the other to find her dear Ma&s;ter had &s;o cleverly recover'd his Under&s;tanding. For between the <HI>Curate,</HI> the <HI>Barber,</HI> and <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> they had &s;o new minted the Government, as if they had made a Stamp a' purpo&s;e for it, and had refin'd the Common-wealth into another <HI>&V;|topia.</HI></P>
<P>But the <HI>Curate,</HI> a&s;toni&s;h'd at this &s;udden Change, was re&s;olv'd to &s;ee whether <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Sen&s;es were Mu&s;quet-proof again&s;t the mo&s;t dan|gerous Tryal of all; and therefore, notwith&s;tanding his fir&s;t Re&s;olutions, not to open his Lips about <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> he told him there was great News at Court, how that the <HI>Grand Signior</HI> had rais'd a va&s;t Army, and no body knew where the Tempe&s;t would fall. However, all Chri&s;ten|dom was alarm'd, and that the King was providing to &s;ecure <HI>Malta,</HI> and the Coa&s;ts of <HI>Naples</HI> and <HI>Sicily.</HI> The King, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> does like a prudent Warriour; for by that Precaution he prevents the Surprizes of his Enemy. But if he would take my Coun&s;el, he &s;hould take another Cour&s;e, which I am apt to believe he little thinks of at this pre&s;ent; which, neverthele&s;s, would be much the &s;afer way. Scarcely had the <HI>Curate</HI> heard <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;peak, but he &s;hrugg'd up his Shoulders, and &s;haking his Head; Alas, poor Gentleman! quo he, I find thee out already; and I am much deceiv'd, if thou art not now more Fool then ever. There|upon the <HI>Barber,</HI> who was clearly of the <HI>Curate</HI>'s Opinion, de&s;ir'd <HI>Don Quixote</HI> to let 'em under&s;tand what &s;ort of important Coun&s;el his might be. Certainly, &s;aid he, the King has &s;o well con&s;ider'd, that yours can de&s;erve no better then to be rank'd among tho&s;e impertinent Admoni|tions that are u&s;ually given to Princes, much like the Frenzies of that great State&s;woman, <HI>Hannah Trapnel.</HI> Mr. <HI>Soap&s;uds,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> 'tis neither Frenzie, nor Impertinency, but Pondero&s;ity it &s;elf. May it plea&s;e ye, Sir, I thought no harm in what I &s;aid, quo the <HI>Barber,</HI> only we find by Experience, that mo&s;t of the&s;e kind of Projects that are offer'd to his Maje&s;ty, are either impo&s;&s;ible, or ridiculous, or to the Detriment of the King and Kingdom. But mine, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> is neither ridiculous, nor impo&s;&s;ible; but politickly invented, thoroughly weigh'd, and the
<PB N="297" REF="162"> ea&s;ie&s;t thing i' the World to be put in Execution. However, quo the <HI>Cu|rate,</HI> methinks your Wor&s;hip is too chary of it. Frankly then I mu&s;t tell ye, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I &s;hould be very loath to tell it you to day, for the Lords of the Council to be inform'd of it to morrow, and &s;o another &s;hall go and reap the Fruits of my Invention. For my part, quo the <HI>Bar|ber,</HI> I &s;wear by my Mother's Cha&s;tity, to tell neither <HI>King, Queen, Rook, Pawn, nor Knight, or any Man or Woman that lives upon the Earth, of it.</HI> An Oath, Sir, that I learnt out of the Vicar's Tale; in the Pre|face to which, he tells the King who it was that robb'd him of his hun|dred Pieces, and his ambling Mule. I know nothing o' the Story, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> but I rely upon the Oath, becau&s;e I believe Mr. <HI>Barber</HI> to be a Man of Honour. Let him be what he will, quo the <HI>Curate,</HI> in this Ca&s;e I'le be his Surety, that he &s;hall be as &s;ilent as a red Herring. And who &s;hall be Bail&s;man for you, Mr. <HI>Curate,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote? Super verbum Sacerdotis,</HI> quo the <HI>Curate,</HI> which obliges me to all the Secrecy i' the World. I' the Name of <HI>Bethlem Gabor,</HI> then, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> what has the King to do more, then to make publick Proclamation only for all the <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> of his Kingdom, to appear upon a prefix'd day, at Court? For tho there &s;hould meet but half a dozen, there may be one among 'em, &s;ingly of him&s;elf &s;ufficient to de&s;troy the whole Power of <HI>Turky.</HI> For mark what I &s;ay, Gentlemen, and take me along with ye&mdash; Perhaps you may think it a miraculous thing for one Knight alone to de|feat an Army of two hundred thou&s;and men, as ea&s;ily as if they had all, being joyn'd together, but one Head; and yet you &s;ee Hi&s;tories are full of the&s;e Prodigies. Cud's life! 'tis a thou&s;and Pities, that the famous <HI>Don Belianis,</HI> with a Pox to me, for I'le cur&s;e no body el&s;e, is not alive i' this Age; or any one of that innumerable Throng of the Race of <HI>Amadis de Gaul;</HI> for were but one of them now living to meet the&s;e <HI>Mahometans,</HI> y' faith I wou'd not be i' their Coats&mdash; He would &s;o handle 'em without Mittens, that not a Sutler &s;hould return to <HI>Con&s;tantinople.</HI> However, patience awhile, God will provide for his People, and rai&s;e up one, it may be, who, tho he have not the Reputation of the <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> of former Ages, yet may be no way their Inferiour in Courage&mdash; God knows my heart, I &s;ay no more. Let me die, quo the Neece, if my Uncle ha' not &s;till a hankring after <HI>Knight-Errantry.</HI> 'Tis very true, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> a <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> I am, and a <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> I will die; and let the <HI>Turk</HI> land where he plea&s;e, when he plea&s;es, and with all the Power he can make, once more I &s;ay, God knows my heart. I be&s;eech ye, Sir, quo the <HI>Barber,</HI> gi' me leave to tell your Wor&s;hip a Story of an Accident that happen'd not long ago, not far off, very pertinent to our Di&s;cour&s;e at this time. Good leave have ye, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> go on a' God's Name; for I'm a great Lover of Stories to the purpo&s;e. With that, the <HI>Barber</HI> thus began:</P>
<P>There was in the Ho&s;pital of <HI>Bedlam</HI> a certain Per&s;on, who&s;e Relations had put him in for no other Rea&s;on, but becau&s;e he was mad. He was only a Batchelor of Art, tho had he been a Doctor, many are of opinion, he might ha' been mad enough for all that. This Batchelor in &s;ome few years, weary of his Confinement, believing him&s;elf &s;o well recover'd, that he might well de&s;erve his Liberty, wrote to &s;ome Noble-man in great Authority, be&s;eeching him for the Love of God, to relea&s;e him out of his Mi&s;ery, &s;ince he was &s;o well come to him&s;elf; only his Relations kept him in &s;till, to enjoy his E&s;tate, which they had got into their Po&s;&s;e&s;&s;ion. The Noble-man, per&s;waded by his Letters, &s;ober and well penn'd, that what he alledg'd was true, gave order to his Secretary to inform him&s;elf of the
<PB N="298" REF="163"> Governours, whether what the Batchelor wrote, were real or no: More|over, that he &s;hould him&s;elf di&s;cour&s;e him, with an ab&s;olute De&s;ign, if he were fully recover'd, to order his Liberty. Thereupon the Secretary went to the Keeper of <HI>Bedlam,</HI> and ask'd him in what Condition the Batchelor was? Who made An&s;wer, That he was as mad as ever; That, true it was, he would &s;ometimes talk like a Man of Rea&s;on and Sen&s;e, but &s;till at the end of the Story he would relap&s;e into his former Extravagan|cies, as he might try him&s;elf, if he pleas'd to take the Pains. Thereupon the Secretary reque&s;ting the Favour, he was carry'd to the Mad man's Chamber, where he di&s;cours'd the Lunatick a full hour together, without perceiving the lea&s;t Di&s;turbance in his Brains imaginable. On the other &s;ide, he utter'd &s;o much Rea&s;on, and deliver'd him&s;elf with &s;o much Wit, and &s;o di&s;creetly, that the Secretary was fully convinc'd of his Recovery. Nay, he went &s;o far as to make a plau&s;ible Complaint again&s;t the Keeper, alledging, That to plea&s;e his Relations, and for the &s;ake of tho&s;e Pre&s;ents, which they continually &s;ent him, he repre&s;ented his Pri&s;oner to his Friends that came to &s;ee him, as one that was &s;till a Mad-man, only that he had now and then &s;ome few lucid Intervals. But after all, that his greate&s;t Enemy was his E&s;tate, which his Friends unwilling to re&s;tore him, would not acknowledge him to be in his right Sen&s;es, tho they knew better things. In &s;hort, he di&s;cours'd at that rate, that the Secretary believing the Kee|per to be a <HI>Canary-Bird,</HI> and his Relations to be no better then they &s;hould be, re&s;olv'd to take him along with him to his Lord, that he might be able to &s;atisfie him&s;elf of the Truth of the whole matter. The Keeper labour'd all he could to per&s;wade the Secretary to quit his De&s;ign, de&s;iring him to have a care what he did; a&s;&s;uring him, that the Batchelor was mad, and that all he would get by the Bargain, would be only the trouble to find him&s;elf mi&s;taken. But the Secretary per&s;i&s;ting in his Re&s;olution, and the Order which his Lord had procur'd, being po&s;itive, the Keeper was fain to return the Mad man his Habit, and to deliver him into the Hands of the Secretary, to do with him as he pleas'd.</P>
<P>The Mad-man now &s;tript of his <HI>Bedlam</HI>-Weeds, and finding him&s;elf re|&s;tor'd to the number of Rational Men, begg'd the Secretary's Permi&s;&s;ion, that he might only take leave of his late Companions in Affliction. To which the Secretary readily con&s;ented, de&s;irous as well to &s;ee the re&s;t of the mad Folks, as to ob&s;erve a little more narrowly the Humour of his re|leas d Captive. In his Rounds, the Batchelor by and by came to a Chamber that was fa&s;t lock'd, and where lay a man that was as mad as mad could be, only he had his <HI>lucida Intervalla</HI> now and then; to whom, Adieu, Brother, quo the Batchelor, I am ju&s;t going home, thanks be to God, that has re|&s;tor'd me to my Sen&s;es; only I call to know what Service I can do thee a|broad. I hope God will be as merciful to thee, as he has been to my &s;elf. In the mean time u&s;e the means, pray to him, and tru&s;t in him. For my part, I &s;hall not fail to &s;end thee many a hot Bit: For 'tis my Opinion, that all our Madne&s;s proceeds from Stomachs empty of Victuals, and Brains full of Air. Eat, therefore, drink, and be merry; for this de&s;ponding in Mi&s;|fortune, is but a lingring way of dying.</P>
<P>Ju&s;t over again&s;t this Aparmtent lay another three &s;izes madder then he, who li&s;tning with an envious Attention to the Batchelor's Di&s;cour&s;e, &s;tarts up in a great Fury out of his Straw, where he lay as naked as a Virgin that has put off one Smock to put on another, and all enrag'd; Who's that, quo he, that's going away &s;o well recover'd, and &s;o wi&s;e? 'Tis I, Brother, reply'd the Batchelor, 'tis I, Brother, that have no longer need of Whey
<PB N="299" REF="163"> and Butter-milk, thanks be to God. Par&s;on, quo the Mad man, take heed what thou &s;ay'&s;t, and let not the Devil deceive thee; return to thy Cham|ber, and &s;tay there, for fear thy Friends be troubl'd to bring thee back. I'le warrant thee, Brother, for coming here any more more, quo the Batche|lor. I know my &s;elf as &s;ound i'my Intellects as a Bi&s;hop, and therefore 'tis time for me to leave my place free for &s;ome new <HI>Collegiate.</HI> You are &s;ound you &s;ay&mdash; farewel, quo the Mad man; but by the eternal <HI>Jupiter,</HI> who&s;e Maje&s;ty I repre&s;ent on Earth, for this very &s;ame Crime alone, and no other, in &s;uffering thee to be releas'd out of this Colledge, I intend to take &s;uch a &s;evere Revenge upon this City, that they &s;hall have cau&s;e to remember it <HI>in &s;ecula &s;eculorum.</HI> Thou think'&s;t, poor brainle&s;s Par&s;on, 'tis not in my power; but thou &s;halt find that I am the mighty <HI>Jupiter,</HI> that gra&s;p the Thunder-bolts of Heaven in my Hands, and in the twinkling of an Eye, can reduce the whole World into A&s;hes. But I will not puni&s;h the ignorant, &s;illy People &s;o &s;everely; I will be more merciful, I will only &s;hut up the Flood-gates of the Skie, &s;o that there &s;hall not fall a drop of Rain upon the City, nor the Suburbs, nor the Countrey twenty Miles round, for three years together, counting from this very Day and Moment that I make this &s;olemn Prote&s;tation, till the particular Expiration of every day inclu&s;ively. Thou free, thou &s;ound, and in thy Sen&s;es, and I here mad, di&s;temper'd, and chain'd to my Straw! By my Thunder, let me be hang'd and damn'd, if it rain a Spoon full in all that time. The Batchelor having heard the Mad-man rave at this rate, turns to the Secretary, and taking him by the Hand; Sir, &s;aid he, never let the Menaces of this Mad-man trouble ye; for&mdash; if he be <HI>Jupiter,</HI> and will not let it rain, I am the Sun that draws up the Clouds into the Skie, and it &s;hall rain when I plea&s;e, and where I plea&s;e in &s;pite of his Teeth. Oh&mdash; Mr. <HI>Phoebus!</HI> cry'd the Secretary, you &s;peak very well; however, i' the mean time 'twill not be &s;afe to provoke my Lord <HI>Jupiter,</HI> &s;tay i' your Chamber to day, and we'll come to morrow, or next day to fetch ye away, when Mon&s;ieur <HI>Jupiter</HI> is in a better Humour. The Keeper, and the People that were with him, could not forbear laughing; only the Secretary was not a little troubl'd to find him&s;elf &s;o cheated by a Mad-man. In &s;hort, the Batchelor being di&s;|rob'd again, was &s;ent to his Chamber; and &s;o my Tale ends.</P>
<P>Well! Mon&s;ieur <HI>Barber,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and this at length is your Tale, which you &s;ay was &s;o pat to the bu&s;ine&s;s, and which you could not forbear telling for the Heart, Blood, and Guts of ye! Oh&mdash; <HI>Signior Wa&s;h-ball, Signior Wa&s;h-ball!</HI> How blind mu&s;t he be, that can't &s;ee through a Mill-&s;tone? Does not your wor&s;hipful <HI>Logger-head-&s;hip</HI> know, that all Compari&s;ons made between <HI>Wit</HI> and <HI>Wit, Beauty</HI> and <HI>Beauty, Courage</HI> and <HI>Courage,</HI> are odious? Good Mr. <HI>Barber,</HI> I am neither <HI>Jupiter</HI> nor the Sun, neither do I pretend to be one of the Sages of the Age; all that I aim at, is only to make the World to under&s;tand the Prejudice it does it &s;elf, in not endeavouring Might and Main the Re&s;toration of contemn'd and &s;lighted <HI>Knight-Errantry.</HI> But after all, I find, that this unfortunate and paltry Age is unworthy that va&s;t Advantage, which former Ages enjoy'd, when <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> took upon them&s;elves the Defence of King|doms, the Protection of Ladies, the Relief of Widows and Orphans, the Reward of Vertue, and the Puni&s;hment of violent and lofty Oppre&s;&s;ors. Knights now adays are for their &s;oft Garments of Ti&s;&s;ue and Silk, and not for ponderous Cuira&s;&s;es and Coats of Mail; they had rather &s;tand i' their Shops perfum'd and perriwig'd, mea&s;uring a yard of <HI>Bombazine,</HI> or <GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="UOM" EXTENT="1 letter"> <HI>Paul Methin</HI>'s Cloath, then meet an Enemy; they had rather lead up
<PB N="300" REF="164"> a City-Company into the <HI>Artillery-ground,</HI> with their Half-pike carry'd af|ter 'em by a Foot-boy, then coap an Adver&s;ary in the Field. Where are any now adays, that will leave their Feather-beds to take a Nap i' the open Air, arm'd from head to foot, and expos'd to all the Inconvenien|ces of Heat and Cold? Where are any now, that without &s;tirring from their Stirrups, only leaning their Heads again&s;t the unea&s;ie Pillow of their Lances, &s;trive, as it were, to out-brave Sleep, Drouth and Hunger, and a thou&s;and other Di&s;comforts of Life? I &s;ay again, where is that Knight at this time of the day, who, after he has clamber'd Mountains, and tra|vers'd Forre&s;ts and De&s;arts, finding him&s;elf upon the brink of the Sea, where there is no other Ve&s;&s;el to be had, but only a &s;mall Wherry that has neither Sails, Ma&s;ts, Oars, or Sea-men, without any <HI>Shilly-Shally's,</HI> throws him&s;elf hand over head into the Boat, con&s;ulting nothing but his Courage, tho he &s;ees the Sea all in an Uproar, one Wave mounting him to the Skie, and another tumbling him down to the bottom of the deep; yet all this while th' undaunted Knight &s;its his Boat as firmly as his Saddle, as if he knew not what Danger was; and by and by, when he lea&s;t ex|pects it, finds him&s;elf three thou&s;and Leagues from the place where he fir&s;t embark'd; and skipping a&s;hore, like a Taylor from his Shop-board, in a &s;trange Countrey, performs tho&s;e extraordinary Atchievements, that de&s;erve to be engraven i' Bra&s;s, as an Eternal Monument of his Renown. But now Effeminacy, and paltry Lazine&s;s, and the Theory of Cu&s;tard-En|counters are the Vertues <HI>A-la-mode,</HI> that triumph, unpuni&s;h'd, over Labour, Vigilancy, and the true practice of Arms, that only flouri&s;h'd in the Age of Gold, and among <HI>Knight-Errants.</HI> But give me leave to ask ye, Where d' ye find more Honour, or more Courage, then in <HI>Amadis de Gaul?</HI> Who more prudent, then <HI>Palmerin</HI> of <HI>England?</HI> Who more affable then the <HI>White Tyrant?</HI> Who more a Courtier then <HI>Li&s;nart</HI> of <HI>Greece?</HI> Who more hack'd and hewn, or a greater <HI>Hewer</HI> and <HI>Hack&s;ter,</HI> then <HI>Belianis?</HI> Who more undaunted, then <HI>Perion</HI> of <HI>Gaul?</HI> Who more daring, then <HI>Faelixmart</HI> of <HI>Hyrcania?</HI> Who more prudent, then King <HI>Sobrin?</HI> Who more invinci|ble, then <HI>Orlando?</HI> Who can compare, for Valour and Courte&s;ie, with <HI>Ro|ger,</HI> from whom the Dukes of <HI>Ferrara</HI> are de&s;cended, according to <HI>Turpin</HI> in his <HI>Co&s;mography?</HI> All the&s;e Knights, and a great many more that I have i' the Budget of my Memory, were <HI>Knights-Errant,</HI> the Glory and Orna|ment of Chivalry; and &s;uch as the&s;e are they, whom I would advi&s;e the King to make u&s;e of, if he aim at his own good, and to &s;ave Charges; and then let the <HI>Turk</HI> ki&s;s where he &s;ate a' <HI>Saturday.</HI> However it be, I am re&s;olv'd not to keep Hou&s;e, whether the Secretary come to fetch me out, or no; and whether <HI>Jupiter</HI> will &s;end Rain or not, 'tis not a Fart mat|ter to me. And now, Mr. <HI>Ton&s;or</HI> of <HI>Ep&s;om,</HI> you find that I under&s;tand your wor&s;hipful Tale.</P>
<P>Truly, Sir <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> quo the <HI>Barber,</HI> I had no de&s;ign to di&s;plea&s;e your Wor&s;hip, God is my Witne&s;s, and therefore I hope you will take no|thing ami&s;s that I ha' &s;aid. Whether I take it ami&s;s or no, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> you are not to be &s;o &s;aucy as to examine me. Let that pa&s;s, quo the <HI>Curate,</HI> and as I have hitherto been a Hearer only, without inter|rupting your Di&s;cour&s;e, pray give me leave i' my turn, to be &s;atisfy'd in one Scruple, which <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s words have skewer'd into my Con&s;cience. Speak on, Mr. <HI>Curate,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote.</HI> Why then, Sir, reply'd the <HI>Curate,</HI> I cannot, for the Soul o' me, be per&s;waded, that any of this whole Troop of <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> which your Wor&s;hip has mu&s;ter'd together, were ever i' the number of Men that were born of a Woman without &s;he <GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="UOM" EXTENT="2 letters">s,
<PB N="301" REF="164"> as they &s;ay, into this World, or chri&s;ten'd without the Con&s;ent of the Pari&s;h; but to deal ingeniou&s;ly with ye, that they were only Tales made at random, and invented by a &s;ort of idle Fellows, that knew not how better to employ them&s;elves, if they were not half a&s;leep when they wrote 'em. See now the common Error, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that mi&s;|guides the chiefe&s;t part of Mankind, and makes 'em &s;uch &s;tupid Infidels to que&s;tion the Being of tho&s;e renowned Champions. Neither is it the fir&s;t time that I have had &s;everal Di&s;putes and Quarrels in defending this ma|nife&s;t Truth, wherein &s;ometimes I ha' got the better, &s;ometimes not. And yet the Truth is &s;o apparent, that I dare be confident I ha' &s;een <HI>Amadis de Gaul</HI> with my own Eyes. He was a tall man, with a &s;anguine lively Com|plexion, a well &s;hap'd black Beard, and a &s;owr, affable A&s;pect: He was no great Talker, &s;eldom angry, and never long in a Pa&s;&s;ion. And I could as ea&s;ily give you a De&s;cription of all the <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> i' the World, as I ha'done this of <HI>Amadis;</HI> for that after you have well &s;tudy'd in Hi&s;tory their famous Exploits, and various Humours, ordinary Philo&s;ophy will teach ye to delineate their Features, their Complexion, their Stature, nay, the very Air of their Faces, and whatever el&s;e you de&s;ire to know.</P>
<P>Pray, <HI>Signior Don Quixote,</HI> how tall was the Giant <HI>Morgante?</HI> Whe|ther there were Giants or not, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> is a great Di&s;pute a|mong the learned. However, holy Scripture that cannot err an Atom from the Truth, informs us there were Giants, as we find by the Story of <HI>Goliah,</HI> who was &s;even Cubits and a half high. In <HI>Sicily</HI> al&s;o have been found the Bones of Men's Shoulders and Thighs &s;o big, that from thence we mu&s;t of nece&s;&s;ity conclude by the certain Rules of Geometry, the men, to whom they belong'd to, have been as big, and as high as St. <HI>Pulcher</HI>'s Steeple. Neverthele&s;s, I do not affirm for Truth, that <HI>Morgante</HI> was &s;uch a hideous May-pole, rather I am apt to believe he was not altogether &s;o tall. And that which moves me to think &s;o, is this; That the Story &s;aies, he &s;ometimes &s;lept within doors. Now if there were any Hou&s;e that could contain him, he could never be &s;uch an unrea&s;onable Mon&s;ter. That's very true, reply'd the <HI>Curate,</HI> who being highly pleas'd with the&s;e extra|vagant Fancies of <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> ask'd him at the &s;ame time, what he thought of <HI>Rinaldo,</HI> and <HI>Orlando,</HI> and the re&s;t of the <HI>Twelve Peers,</HI> who all had been <HI>Knight-Errants?</HI> As for <HI>Rinaldo,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I dare be bold to &s;ay, That he was a Man broad-fac'd, of a lively ruddy Com|plexion, &s;parkling Goggle-eyes, damnable captious, extreamly cholerick, a Protector of Thieves and High-way-men, and a great keeper of lew'd and debauch'd Company. As for <HI>Rowland, Rotoland,</HI> or <HI>Orland,</HI> for all the&s;e Names he went by; without doubt he was a &s;hort, &s;quat Man, broad-&s;houlder'd, &s;omewhat bow-leg'd, and hunch-back'd, brown-vi&s;ag'd, red-bearded, and very hairy in his Body; a menacing, &s;urly A&s;pect, and a great Talker, but withal, very civil and gentile. If <HI>Orlando,</HI> quo the <HI>Cu|rate,</HI> were &s;uch a &s;ort of a rough-hewn, ill-&s;hap'd Blade, as you de&s;cribe him, no wonder that <HI>Madam Angelica</HI> preferr'd the downy-bearded <HI>Medor</HI> before him, who was young, hand&s;ome, and courtly. As for Madam <HI>Angelica,</HI> Mr. <HI>Curate,</HI> gi' me leave to tell ye, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> &s;he was as right as my Leg, as they &s;ay, a meer fickle Gil-flurt, a giddy-brain'd Slut, a confound|ed Strumpet, more famous in Hi&s;tory for her drinking Healths, and &s;train|ing the Wine through her Smock, then for her Beauty or Vertue. She &s;et at nought Kings and Princes, and di&s;daining the mo&s;t prudent and valiant Warriours and Knights that ever were i' the World, pick'd up a beardle&s;s Page to cool her wanton Heat, that had neither Honour, nor E&s;tate,
<PB N="302" REF="165"> but only the Reputation of being one that pleas'd his Mi&s;tre&s;&s;es. And therefore the celebrated <HI>Ario&s;to,</HI> that had a great Kindne&s;s for her, extoll'd her Beauty, and flatter'd her more then ever Lady was flatter'd in a <HI>Dedi|cation</HI> to a <HI>Play,</HI> when he found what a Choice &s;he had made for her &s;elf, &s;eems to ha' been a&s;ham'd of her, and concludes her Story with the&s;e two Ver&s;es:
<Q><L>But how &s;he came to be a Prince's Mi&s;s,</L>
<L>I' the next Age you'll know, but not in this.</L></Q></P>
<P>Whether this were &s;poken by way of Prophe&s;ie, I cannot tell (for Poets formerly, as &s;till they pretend, were taken to be a &s;ort of Sooth-&s;ayers) but this is certain, that in proce&s;s of time there was a Poet or Poeta&s;ter that wrote a Poem, and call'd it <HI>Angelica's Tears,</HI> perhaps for the rarity of the Subject; for it may &s;o happen, that a Whore may live to repent; and another wrote a Panegyrick in Prai&s;e of her Beauty and Mode&s;ty, peradventure well hir'd by &s;ome of her natural I&s;&s;ue, who were unwilling their great Grandmother &s;hould lie under &s;o foul a Scandal. I wonder, ant like your Wor&s;hip, quo the <HI>Barber,</HI> that no body ever writ a Satyr again&s;t her, &s;ince &s;he was &s;o bad as you &s;ay &s;he was. I make no que&s;tion, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> but <HI>Sacripant</HI> or <HI>Orlando</HI> had done it, had they been Poets, For it is the fa&s;hion among de&s;pis'd Lovers to rail upon their Mi&s;tre&s;&s;es, tho to tell ye true, 'tis an unhand&s;om piece of Revenge, and beneath a generous Spirit. However, I never heard of any Libel that ever came forth to <HI>Angelica</HI>'s Di&s;advantage, tho &s;he were one that always made Mi&s;|chief where e're &s;he came. That was a wonder indeed, quo the <HI>Curate</HI>&mdash; But here they were interrupted by a Noi&s;e below i' the Court, where the Niece and the old Maid were ringing a <HI>Billings-gate</HI> Peal, as loud as two Saints Bells&mdash; which made 'em li&s;ten to hear what was the matter.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="2" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. II.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Of the plea&s;ant quarrel that happen'd between <HI>Sancho</HI> and <HI>Don Quix|ote</HI>'s Niece and <HI>Governante.</HI></HEAD>
<P>THE Occa&s;ion of the Noi&s;e, it &s;eems, was this; that <HI>Sancho Pan&s;a</HI> knock'd at the Door, and endeavour'd to force his way into the Hou&s;e, de&s;iring to &s;ee his Ma&s;ter. But <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Neice and Governe&s;s at the &s;ame time oppos'd him with all their Might; ye idle Varlet, ye Pum|kin-headed Rogue, they cry'd, ye &s;han't come within the&s;e Doors&mdash; for you are he, and none but you that debauch my Uncle, and put him upon all his impertinent Rambles&mdash; Get ye home to your own Kennel, with a murrain, and don't trouble us wi' your Vi&s;its. <HI>Pandre&s;s</HI> to <HI>Satan,</HI> quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> thou art deceiv'd above half in half; for if any body be debauch'd, 'tis I am the Per&s;on; 'tis I that ha' been lead the Devil's Dance from Po&s;t to Pillar, upon Promi&s;es of more Butter then Bread, and not your Ma&s;ter; 'twas he that inveagl'd me from my Wife and Children with his colloguing, and di&s;&s;embling, and fair Promi&s;es of an I&s;land he would give me&mdash; and I think a blind Man wou'd be glad to &s;ee't. Hell con&s;ume thee, and all thy I&s;lands together, reply'd the Governe&s;s&mdash;what &s;hould &s;uch a
<PB N="303" REF="165"> greedy Gut-cur do with I&s;lands, unle&s;s they were made of Bag pudding, to eat 'em&mdash; Be gone, ye hungry, beggarly Rake&s;hame, be gone, ye Gor|belly'd Cur&mdash; I don't mean I&s;lands to eat, but to govern, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> and that far better then any four of the King's be&s;t Mayors of his Corpora|tions. Govern where thou wilt, quo the Maid, thou come'&s;t not within the&s;e Doors, thou Bundle of Iniquity, and Sack-full of Mi&s;chief&mdash; work ye lazy Rogue, work, and ne're trouble your head about I&s;lands. The <HI>Curate</HI> and the <HI>Barber</HI> were ready to kill them&s;elves with laughing at this plea&s;ant Dialogue. But <HI>Don Quixote</HI> fearing le&s;t <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;hould grow mu|tinous, and blunder out in his Pa&s;&s;ion &s;ome Di&s;coveries prejudicial to his Reputation, order'd the cholerick Governe&s;s to govern her Tongue, and let him in. Thereupon <HI>Sancho</HI> enter'd victoriou&s;ly, and the <HI>Curate</HI> and the <HI>Barber</HI> took their leaves of <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> de&s;pairing of his Cure, finding him &s;till &s;o bewitch'd to his Dreams and <HI>Deliriums</HI> of <HI>Knight-Errantry.</HI> When they were out a' doors, Well, Neighbour, quo the <HI>Curate</HI> to the <HI>Barber,</HI> now &s;hall we &s;ee that this Knight of ours, when we lea&s;t think of it, will leave us i' the lurch for another Fegary. I expect no le&s;s, quo the <HI>Barber;</HI> i' the mean time, however, I would give a couple a Te&s;ters to hear the wi&s;e Di&s;cour&s;e at this juncture between the Cuccow-brains of a Knight, and the Jobber-nole of a Squire; for indeed the Ma&s;ter's Madne&s;s without the Servant's Impertinency, were not worth a Straw. Patience, quo the <HI>Curate,</HI> I'le warrant ye an exact Account from the Niece and the Maid, for their itching Ears I'm &s;ure will be li&s;t'ning. In the mean time <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho</HI> having lock'd the Chamber door, thus interparly'd.</P>
<P>Thou do&s;t very ill, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> to report, as thou do&s;t, that I entic'd thee from thy Dog-hole of a Cottage, knowing that I left my own Hou&s;e at the &s;ame time, a Palace, in compari&s;on of thine. VVe went out both together, we travell'd both together, and we run the &s;ame For|tune, and the &s;ame Hazzards both together; now if thou ha&s;t been to&s;s'd in a Blanket once, I ha' been thwack'd and pounded a hundred times, and that's all the Advantage I have had above thee. 'Twas but Ju&s;tice, re|ply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;eeing that by your own Confe&s;&s;ion, Rubbs and Misfortunes. Sla&s;hes and dry Ba&s;ting belongs properly to the <HI>Knight-Errants,</HI> and not to their Squires. Thou deceiv'&s;t thy &s;elf, <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> ac|cording to the old Ver&s;e, <HI>Quando caput dolet,</HI> &amp;c. I under&s;tand no Language but my own, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho.</HI> I'le tell thee then, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> when the Head akes, the re&s;t of the Body is never well at ea&s;e: So then I being thy Ma&s;ter, I am al&s;o thy Head, and thou art one of my Members, as being my Servant: whence it follows, that if I am well &s;waddi'd at any time, much of the Pain will fall to thy &s;hare; as if thou art &s;oundly cudgell'd, I mu&s;t in like manner be &s;en&s;ible of thy Sufferings. It may be &s;o, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> and yet when I was to&s;s'd i' the Blanket, my Head was a' t'other &s;ide the Wall, beholding me vaulting, and cutting Capers i'the Air, regard|le&s;s of my Affliction; why did not you come in and take your &s;hare? Oh, <HI>Sancho!</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> thou art greatly mi&s;taken; for at that very time I was more troubl'd in Mind, then thou wert tormented in Body. But leaving this Di&s;cour&s;e till another time, and more lea&s;ure to rectifie what has been done ami&s;s, prithee tell me, <HI>Sancho,</HI> what do the Neighbours talk of me? What do they &s;ay of me i' the Village? What Opinion has the Nobility of me? How do the Knights di&s;cour&s;e of my Valour, my Ex|ploits, and my Affability? What do they think of my De&s;ign to re&s;tore to its ancient Lu&s;ter, the almo&s;t-forgotten Order of <HI>Knight-Errantry?</HI> In a word, without any Con&s;ideration of Flattery or Re&s;pect, tell me truly and
<PB N="304" REF="166"> &s;incerely, like a true and faithful Servant, what thou ha&s;t heard. For I would have thee to know, <HI>Sancho,</HI> that if Princes were inform'd, as they ought to be, of the naked Truth, by men of unbya&s;s'd Vertue, Tranqui|lity and Peace, Ju&s;tice and Abundance, would ble&s;s the World, and this Iron Age of ours, by a miraculous Philo&s;opher's Stone, would be chang'd into an Age of Gold. Remember this Adverti&s;ement, friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> to &s;peak the Truth, without apparelling and di&s;gui&s;ing her Beauties; for &s;he's a Lady that always ought to be &s;een naked. That I &s;hall do from the bot|tom of Heart, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> provided you will not bee offended, if I tell what I heard, ju&s;t as I heard it, and no otherwi&s;e, and pre&s;ent ye Madam <HI>Truth</HI> as naked as ever you &s;aw Lady i' your Life. Upon my Honour, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> nothing &s;hall offend me, &s;peak freely, and without Cir|cumlocution.</P>
<P>In the fir&s;t place then, Sir, you are to know, that your Neighbours take ye for a perfect Mad-man, and me for a man, that at be&s;t, has not over|much Wit. The Gentlemen &s;ay, that your Wor&s;hip, vent'ring beyond the Limits of Gentility, have a&s;&s;um'd to your &s;elf mo&s;t arrogantly the Title of <HI>Don,</HI> and have Dubb'd your &s;elf a <HI>Knight with two Acres of Land,</HI> a Tat|ter before and another behind. The Knights take Pepper i' the No&s;e, to &s;ee that your Gentlemen think them&s;elves equal with them, e&s;pecially your Gentlemen Squires, that mend and lam-black their own Shoes, and are forc'd to beg a Needle-ful of cour&s;e Yarn to darn their own Stockins. All this, nothing concerns me, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> for thou know'&s;t, I always wear good Cloaths, and never patch my Breeches. True it is, they may be a little out at Elbows &s;ometimes, or want a Skirt, but that's the fault of my Armour that loo&s;ens the Stitches, and rubs out the Cloath. Then <HI>Sancho</HI> proceeding, as for your Valour, your Courte&s;ie, your Exploits, and your great De&s;ign, the World &s;peaks variou&s;ly. Some &s;ay he's mad, but a good merry-conceited Fellow&mdash; others, that he's valiant, but his Luck's naught&mdash; others, that he's affable, but damn'd impertinent&mdash; In a word, they &s;pend &s;o many &s;everal Verdicts upon us, that they leave neither you nor me a &s;ound Bone in our Skins. Hark ye me, <HI>Sancho,</HI> the more emi|nent Vertue is, the more &s;he's expos'd to Calumny. Few of the great men of this World could e&s;cape her venomous Teeth. <HI>Julius Cae&s;ar,</HI> that valiant and prudent Captain, was lookt upon as ambitious, and reproach'd for his Luxury, and Effeminacy in his Habit. <HI>Alexander</HI> was accus'd for a Drun|kard and a Debau&s;hee; that <HI>Hero,</HI> who for his renown'd Atchievements well de&s;erv'd the Name of <HI>Great. Hercules,</HI> after he had con&s;um'd him&s;elf in re&s;tle&s;s Toil, and Labours incredible, was be&s;patter'd with the Titles of voluptuous and la&s;civious. 'Twas reported of <HI>D. Galaor,</HI> the Brother of <HI>A|madis,</HI> that he was &s;o huffy no body could keep him Company; and of <HI>Amadis</HI> him&s;elf, that he would cry like a Child. And therefore, my dear <HI>Sancho,</HI> I never mind the Quips and Girds of Malice, if they gall my Re|putation no more then the&s;e; being &s;atisfy'd &s;he deals no wor&s;e by me then &s;he did before by tho&s;e unblemi&s;h'd and renowned Warriors. <HI>Body o' my Father,</HI> quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> you &s;ay well, if this were all&mdash; but the Devil's in 'em, they don't &s;top here: Why, what can they &s;ay more, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote?</HI> More! quo <HI>Sancho</HI>&mdash; Cuds-foot, Sir, why we are &s;till to flea the Cat's Tail, you have had nothing yet but Cream of <HI>Almonds</HI> and white Bread. But if y' have &s;uch a De&s;ire to hear what &s;evere Sentences are daily pa&s;s'd upon ye, I'le bring ye one pre&s;ently that &s;hall give ye a full Account, with|out mi&s;&s;ing a Tittle. For here's <HI>Bartholemew Carra&s;co</HI>'s Son, who makes it his Bu&s;ine&s;s to vi&s;it all the noted <HI>Coffee-hou&s;es</HI> about the City, twice a day,
<PB N="305" REF="166"> newly come to Town with a Sack-ful of News. And he tells me, your Life is already in Print, under the Name of the <HI>Mo&s;t Ingenious Gentle|man, Don Quixote de le Mancha.</HI> He &s;aies, I am in too by by own Name of <HI>Sancho Pancha,</HI> and that they have jumbl'd in Madam <HI>Dulcinea del To|bo&s;o</HI> by Head and Shoulders; nay, and as if the Devil had been their Intelligencer, they have crowded in &s;ome things too, that were only pri|vate Di&s;cour&s;es between you and I; how the murrain they &s;hould come to know 'em otherwi&s;e, I can't for my Soul imagine. A&s;&s;uredly, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> it mu&s;t be &s;ome <HI>Necromancer</HI> that has writ this Story&mdash; for they are here, and there, and every where, like <HI>Satan</HI> him&s;elf. How &s;hould he be a <HI>Necromancer,</HI> quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> for young <HI>Corra&s;co</HI> tells me, he writes his Name <HI>Cid Hamet Hen-en-baken?</HI> That's an <HI>Arabian</HI> Name, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote.</HI> That may very well be, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> for they &s;ay, your <HI>Arabians</HI> are great Admirers of Hen and Bacon; if they don't, I'm &s;ure I do. And thus, friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> thy Belly has put thee out; for thou art in|deed within a mile of an Oak of the Name, which is <HI>Benengeli,</HI> not <HI>Hen|an-baken,</HI> you Logger-head, if I mi&s;take not; and <HI>Cid</HI> &s;ignifies Lord. I never &s;tand upon Names, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> but if you de&s;ire to hear young <HI>Cor|ra&s;co</HI>'s News, I'le bring him hither flying&mdash; Prithee go, <HI>Sancho,</HI> cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for my Victuals will do me no good, till I under&s;tand the Truth of this matter. With that, <HI>Sancho</HI> ran down Stairs, and returning in a &s;hort while after, brought young <HI>Corra&s;co</HI> along with him; and now how plea&s;antly they chatted you &s;hall hear i' the next Chapter.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="3" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. III.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing the learned Di&s;cour&s;e between <HI>Don Quixote, Sancho Pan|&s;a,</HI> and the young <HI>Corra&s;co.</HI></HEAD>
<P>ALL the while <HI>Sancho</HI> was gone, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> thought every Minute a thou&s;and years, till he came again. He &s;ate like one that had been &s;tudying the Philo&s;opher's Stone, mu&s;ing, and dreaming, and wondring who the Devil this Per&s;on &s;hould be, that had fini&s;h'd and printed the Story of his famous Atchievements, e're the Blood of his Enemies had &s;carce|ly done reaking upon the Blade of his Sword. But at length he concluded it mu&s;t be &s;ome <HI>Necromancer</HI> who had wrought this Miracle, either as a Friend to extol his great Exploits, above whatever yet had been perform'd by the mo&s;t famous Knights that ever pranc'd upon the Ball of the Earth; or el&s;e as an Enemy, to di&s;parage the Merit of his noble Actions, and de|ba&s;e 'em below the mo&s;t pitiful Orchard-Robberies of the meane&s;t Squires; tho, quo he to him&s;elf, I do not remember that ever the little Hen-roo&s;t Attempts of Squires, were ever recorded in the Book of Fame. But let it be what it will, if the Book were printed, he thought it could not chu&s;e but be magnificent, lofty, and true, &s;ince 'twas the <HI>Hi&s;tory</HI> of a <HI>Knight-Errant.</HI> This was his Con&s;olation for a while; but then agen, when he con&s;ider'd, that the Author had given him&s;elf the Title of <HI>Cid,</HI> and con|&s;equently mu&s;t be a <HI>Moor;</HI> reflecting, I &s;ay, that the <HI>Moors</HI> were all a Company of <HI>Mountebanks</HI> and <HI>Chymi&s;ts,</HI> then he was ready to hang him|&s;elf, fearing le&s;t the Hi&s;torian &s;hould have been too lavi&s;h in talking of his Amours, to the Prejudice of his illu&s;trious Lady <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o</HI>'s Cha|&s;tity;
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<PB N="306" REF="168"> and mortally dreading, le&s;t the Hi&s;torian &s;hould ha' forgot to extol his own Fidelity, and the <HI>Decorum,</HI> and Re&s;erv'dne&s;s, which he had al|ways ob&s;erv'd in his Pa&s;&s;ion for her; and how he had always &s;lighted Em|pre&s;&s;es, Queens, and Ladies of all &s;orts of Qualities, and kept all his wan|ton and la&s;civious Inclinations at a Bay; for fear of tarni&s;hing his Loyalty to his beloved Dam&s;el.</P>
<P>Plung'd over head and ears in the&s;e melancholy Fancies, <HI>Sancho</HI> and the young <HI>Corra&s;co</HI> found him; at what time he &s;eem'd to wake out of a Dream, to receive the <HI>young Schollar,</HI> whom he complemented with all the Civility imaginable.</P>
<P>This <HI>Corra&s;co,</HI> tho his Name were <HI>Samp&s;on,</HI> was none of the bigge&s;t in Body, but an anointed <HI>Crackrope,</HI> about four and twenty years of Age, lean and pale, but witty, and a notable Fellow for Bantring, as they call it now adays. He was round-vi&s;ag'd, flat-nos'd, and wide-mouth'd, all the Signs of a wicked and &s;currilous Di&s;po&s;ition, and of one that would never &s;cruple to abu&s;e his Friend, &s;o he could make Sport for him&s;elf, as he plainly di&s;cover'd, when he &s;aw <HI>Don Quixote.</HI> For immediately he threw him&s;elf upon his Knees before him; and after he had humbly beg'd the Favour to ki&s;s his <HI>Highne&s;s</HI>'s <HI>Hands,</HI> My Lord <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> &s;aid he, by the holy Order of Prie&s;thood, you are certainly the mo&s;t famous and renowned <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> that ever was, or ever will be through the whole extent of the Univer&s;e. All the Ble&s;&s;ings of Paradi&s;e be upon <HI>Cid Hamet Benengeli,</HI> for writing the Hi&s;tory of your valiant Exploits; and may he never want <HI>Claret,</HI> as long as he lives, that tran&s;lated it into <HI>Engli&s;h,</HI> for the Delight and Pa&s;time of Male and Female. And ble&s;t are we, that the Copy comes out now in Peace and Quietne&s;s; for there had like to ha' been a foul Stir about it, while one <HI>Book&s;eller</HI> claim'd one Limb of your <HI>Lord&s;hip,</HI> and another another. Is it true then, reply'd <HI>D. Quixote,</HI> that my Life is in Print, and that a <HI>Moor</HI> has writ it? 'Tis very certain, my Lord, reply'd <HI>Corra&s;co;</HI> and that I believe there has been printed already in &s;everal Languages above twelve thou&s;and Volumes at <HI>Lisbon, Valentia, Barcelona, Antwerp, Colen, Paris, London,</HI> &amp;c. and I don't believe that any other Books will be printed for the&s;e &s;even years together. Truly, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> one of the greate&s;t Happine&s;&s;es that can befall a Man i' this World, is to &s;ee him&s;elf in good E&s;teem and Reputation in the World. For E&s;teem and Reputation, quo the young Schollar, I'le a&s;&s;ure ye, my Lord <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> you ha' won it above a hundred Pikes length, from all the <HI>Knights-Errant</HI> that ever were. And the <HI>Moori&s;h</HI> Author, and his Tran&s;|lators have been very indu&s;trious to &s;et forth your Character with all the Ornaments that can give it lu&s;ter, your Undauntedne&s;s in Danger, your Con&s;tancy in Misfortune, and Patience in &s;uffering Wounds, Buffets, and Ba|&s;tinado's, and your Re&s;erv'dne&s;s and Continency in your Platonick-Amours between your &s;elf and the mo&s;t Illu&s;trious <HI>Madam Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o. Bo|dikins,</HI> quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I never heard her call'd the <HI>Illu&s;trious Madam</HI> before, but only <HI>Madam Dulcinea;</HI> and therefore certainly that mu&s;t be a fault i' the Hi&s;tory. That's a &s;mall Mi&s;take, if there be no wor&s;e, quo the Schollar&mdash; Well&mdash; but <HI>Signior Corra&s;co,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> which of all my At|chievements and Adventures does the Hi&s;tory mo&s;t take notice of, and lay its greate&s;t &s;tre&s;s of Remark upon? Why, truly my Lord, quo <HI>Corra&s;co,</HI> in this the Judgments and Opinions of Men are divided; &s;ome cry up the <HI>Adventure of the Windmills,</HI> which your Highne&s;s took for &s;o many <HI>Mor|gantes</HI> and <HI>A&s;caparts;</HI> &s;ome, that of the <HI>Fulling-mills:</HI> Others extol to the Skie that other, when you fought with the <HI>two Armies,</HI> that afterwards
<PB N="307" REF="168"> prov'd to be <HI>two Flocks of Sheep,</HI> where you wrought Miracles. Others are Tooth and Nail for the Adventure of the <HI>dead Corps</HI> that was carrying to <HI>Segovia.</HI> Others will lay ten pound to a Crown upon that of the <HI>Gal|ley-Slaves:</HI> &s;ome are mad to pawn their very Souls upon that of the <HI>Bene|dictine Giants;</HI> but the more prudent &s;ort are ready to make <HI>affidavit,</HI> that the Adventure of the <HI>Bi&s;cayner,</HI> ought to be engrav'd in Marble, above all the re&s;t. I be&s;eech ye, Mr. <HI>Schollar,</HI> quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> is there no mention of the Adventure of the <HI>Carriers,</HI> when our precious <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> long'd for the forbidden Fruit? There's every thing in, reply'd the Schollar, the Author has left nothing out, not &s;o much as hone&s;t <HI>Sancho</HI>'s dancing <HI>Trenchmore</HI> i' the <HI>Blanket.</HI> I did not dance i' the Blanket, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> for I danc'd i' the Air, to my grief be it &s;poken; and therefore that's another Lye. Certain|ly, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> there is no Hi&s;tory i' the World where you &s;hall find one man to be always pro&s;perous, much le&s;s any Story of <HI>Knight-Erran|try;</HI> where many times you meet with nothing but Cro&s;&s;es and Misfortunes. 'Tis very true, reply'd <HI>Corra&s;co,</HI> and therefore there are &s;ome who have read your Life, that very much blame the Author for being &s;o careful to inventory that infinite number of Drubbs, and Rubs, and Ribroa&s;tings, that you have receiv'd with Cudgels, Candle&s;ticks, and Pitch-forks, from Car|riers, Mule-drivers, and <HI>Penitents,</HI> in &s;everal de&s;perate Encounters. How|ever, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> 'twas Truth of Hi&s;tory. Why, truly, Mr. Schollar, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> they might as well ha' been left out, now I think on't; for Actions that neither impair, nor alter the Hi&s;tory, are better bury'd in &s;i|lence, then continu'd to Po&s;terity, if they redound to the Prejudice of the Lord of the Story. A&s;&s;uredly, <HI>Aeneas</HI> was never &s;o pious as <HI>Virgil</HI> makes him, nor <HI>&V;ly&s;&s;es</HI> never &s;o wi&s;e as <HI>Homer</HI> de&s;cribes him. I believe it, re|ply'd <HI>Corra&s;co;</HI> but 'tis one thing to write like a <HI>Poet,</HI> another thing to write like a <HI>Hi&s;torian.</HI> 'Tis &s;ufficient for a Poet to report things as they ought to be; but a Hi&s;torian mu&s;t relate Matter of Fact, as it was really tran&s;|acted, without &s;werving from the Truth, upon any Pretence what|ever.</P>
<P>If the wor&s;hipful <HI>Moor,</HI> quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> be &s;o con&s;ciencious in telling of Truth, I hope, among all the Showrs of Ba&s;tinado's that fell upon my Ma&s;ter, he has not forgot mine; for they never took mea&s;ure of my Ma|&s;ter's Shoulder, but they were always &s;o kind to take the &s;ame mea&s;ure of my whole Body to boot. But 'twas no wonder, that, &s;ince 'tis his own Rule, that if once the Head akes, all the re&s;t of the Members &s;hould &s;uf|fer. Y' are an unlucky, di&s;&s;embling Knave, <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> for now, Sirrah, I &s;ee you can find a Memory, when y' 'ave a mind to't. How the Devil &s;hould I forget the Swadlings I ha' &s;uffer'd, that are not well out o' my Ribs to this Hour? Hold your prating, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and let Mr. <HI>Corra&s;co</HI> proceed. You &s;peak very &s;ea&s;onably, reply'd the Schollar, for with all the&s;e Interruptions, we &s;hall ne're ha' done. Yet I mu&s;t needs &s;ay this for hone&s;t <HI>Sancho,</HI> that he is no &s;uch con|temptible per&s;on, as being the &s;econd i' the Story; and &s;ome there are, who had rather hear his impertinent Prattle, then all the learned Di&s;cour&s;es of his Lord. Tho &s;ome there are agen, that take him for a Cully, at lea&s;t, a very credulous <HI>Simpleton,</HI> to believe his Ma&s;ter &s;poke a tittle of Truth, when he offer'd him the Government of an I&s;land. Forbear, Mr. Schollar, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> what I &s;aid, I &s;aid; and what I &s;aid, I intended; but this it is, I find that <HI>Sancho</HI> has not &s;ow'd his wild Oates, there's a Glimmer in his Touch-box &s;till; however, Age and Experience may fit him in time for a Government, at lea&s;t, by that time I have one to give him. Fore George, Sir,
<PB N="308" REF="169"> quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> that I&s;land which I cannot govern at this Age, I &s;hall never govern at the Age of <HI>Methu&s;elah;</HI> but the Mi&s;chief is, we ha' Brains e|nough, but we want the I&s;land. Well, but leaving this bu&s;ine&s;s of the <HI>unfortunate I&s;lands,</HI> I am very glad, Mr. Schollar, that the Hi&s;torian is &s;o kind as to remember me, and &s;o to &s;peak of me, as not to give me an ill Character: For, by the Faith of a Chri&s;tian, had he &s;aid any thing that did not become an <HI>old Chri&s;tian,</HI> as I am, I &s;hould ha' rung him &s;uch a Peal, that the Deaf &s;hould have heard me. I confe&s;s, quo the Schollar, as &s;illy, and as illiterate Fellows as thou, have wrought greater Miracles then that, i' this Age. <HI>Miracle me no Miracles,</HI> quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> let every one have a care what he writes concerning other Men, and not put down at random, right or wrong, whatever comes into his Noddle. The main fault found with this Hi&s;tory, quo the Schollar, is this, That the Author has thru&s;t into it, by Head and Shoulders, the Novel of the <HI>Curious Imperti|nent;</HI> not that the thing is ill writ, or badly invented, but becau&s;e it has no coherence with the Story of <HI>Don Quixote.</HI> I'le lay my life, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> the Son of a Whore has made a Gallimaw&s;rey of my <HI>Ma&s;ter's Life,</HI> and crowded <HI>foul and clean, Higglede-pigglede,</HI> into his Cloak-bag. Pox take him, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I'le be hang'd if the Fellow ben't &s;ome <HI>Narra|tive-writer,</HI> or one of tho&s;e that &s;cribble the Lives of Great Men, now a|days, as &s;oon as the Breath is out of their Bodies, in abominable Six-penny <HI>Duodecimo's.</HI> And thus has this <HI>Dogbolt</HI> undertaken my Story <HI>Habnab,</HI> like the Painter, who being ask'd, What he painted? an&s;wer'd, What comes next to hand&mdash; and when he had made a mi&s;hapen Cock or Bull, was forc'd to write in <HI>Gothick</HI> Letters, <HI>This is a Cock,</HI> or <HI>This is a Bull.</HI> And &s;o I fear me, my Life will require another confounded Commentary of <HI>wit|le&s;s, fe&s;tivous Notes</HI> to explain it. Trouble not your &s;elf for that, Sir, quo <HI>Corra&s;co,</HI> for the Gentleman has taken a world of Pains, and made every thing &s;o plain, that a Boy of twelve years of Age may under&s;tand what he means. Nay, 'tis come to that already, that if the People do but &s;ee a lean, &s;cragged Jade, &s;carce able to draw one Leg after another upon the Road, they pre&s;ently cry, <HI>There goes Ro&s;inante.</HI> Pages already Dogs-ear it, Boys read it, young Ladies make them&s;elves merry with it; Gentlemen under&s;tand it, old Men applaud it; there's hardly a Dining-room Window, where you &s;han't find a <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> when one leaves him, another takes him up. In a word, 'tis a Hi&s;tory that plea&s;es all &s;orts of Sexes and Ages, as being a Book, wherein there is nothing that borders upon <HI>Ari&s;totle</HI>'s <HI>Problems,</HI> nor &s;o much as a profane Thought. Other|wi&s;e it were not a true Hi&s;tory, quo <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> and we know, that fal&s;e Hi&s;torians de&s;erve the &s;ame Puni&s;hment as the Coiners of counterfeit Money. Nor do I know why the Author &s;hould &s;tuff his Hi&s;tory with Tales of a Tub, that are nothing to the purpo&s;e; as if there had not been matter &s;ufficient for the Exerci&s;e of his Wit, had he only confin'd him&s;elf to my De&s;igns, my Sights and Tears, my Encounters, my Penances, <HI>&amp;c.</HI> which, I'm &s;ure, would ha' made a Volume bigger then all <HI>To&s;tatus</HI>'s <HI>Works,</HI> or the <HI>Book of Martyrs.</HI> In my Opinion, Mr. Schollar, 'tis not &s;o ea&s;ie a thing as men imagine, to write a Hi&s;tory, or any Book what&s;oever, which requires a &s;olid Judgment, and a ripe Under&s;tanding. To &s;peak wittily, and write plea&s;antly, belongs to great Wits. The plea&s;ante&s;t Part in a Play, is the Fool's, and yet he mu&s;t be no Fool, I'm &s;ure, that acts that Part. On the other &s;ide, Hi&s;tory is a &s;acred thing &s;o far as it contains Truth; for where Truth is, there God him&s;elf is al&s;o: and therefore, for tho&s;e that make Books, equal in number to Fritters upon a <HI>Shrove-Tue&s;day,</HI> I cannot con|ceive
<PB N="309" REF="169"> their Compo&s;itions can be worth a Straw. There is no Book &s;o bad, quo the Schollar, but &s;omething u&s;eful may be pickt out of it. That's true, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> yet oft it happens, that Men who have gain'd a Reputation for doing well once or twice, lo&s;e it again when they come to print often. The rea&s;on's plain, quo the Schollar, for the more they write, the more they are pry'd into, and examin'd. All your great Poets and fa|mous Hi&s;torians are &s;till &s;ubject to the Cen&s;ures, ev'n of &s;uch as never could put Pen to Paper i' their Lives. That's no wonder, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for there are many Divines, not worth a Ru&s;h in a Pulpit, will judge in|comparably of another man's Sermon. All this is Truth, reply'd <HI>Corra&s;co,</HI> and therefore I could wi&s;h the&s;e <HI>Momus's</HI> and Cen&s;urers wou'd be more merciful, and le&s;s &s;crupulous in examining the Motes of that &s;ame <HI>Sun,</HI> who&s;e Works they callumniate; and that they would con&s;ider, tho <HI>Homer</HI> &s;ome|times may &s;eem to take a little Nap, How many a tedious hour con&s;um'd his Lamp? How many a live-long Night he kept him&s;elf awake, to bring tho&s;e famous Works of his to light? For many times it may &s;o happen, that what tho&s;e moro&s;e Cen&s;urers reprehend for Faults, may be rather Perfections; like Moles, which, tho they are Blemi&s;hes i' the Skin, yet &s;ometimes add to the Beauty of the Face. Be&s;ides that this is certain, let a man be never &s;o eloquent, never &s;o learned, never &s;o ju&s;t, it is impo&s;|&s;ible for him to plea&s;e all the World. And that, I fear me, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> will be the Fate of my Hi&s;tory, to plea&s;e but few, there being but few wi&s;e Men to read it. But the number of Fools, reply'd <HI>Corra&s;co,</HI> is without number, and they from high to low, from rich to poor, ad|mire your Story. Only &s;ome there are, who tax the Author for want of Memory, or defect of Intelligence, becau&s;e he does not give us an Ac|count who 'twas that &s;tole <HI>Sancho</HI>'s <HI>Grizle;</HI> only we find by the Story, that the A&s;s was &s;toll'n, and yet by and by, we find him riding the &s;ame individual A&s;s again, not knowing how he came by her; enough to make a man think that <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;tole her him&s;elf again. Then they &s;ay, that the Author forgot to tell us what <HI>Sancho</HI> did with the hundred Pieces in Gold, he found i' the Cloak-bag upon <HI>Sierra Morena.</HI> Mr. Schollar, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I am not in a Condition at pre&s;ent to ca&s;t up Accompts, for I find a gnawing at my Stomach; and &s;uch is my Con&s;titution, that if I don't repair the Detriments of Concoction every two hours, I &s;hall wa&s;te like a &s;tale Lob|&s;ter, and grow as lean as a Hermite&mdash; When I ha' din'd, I am for ye,&mdash; that is, when I ha' &s;atisfy'd Nature, I'le &s;atisfie you, or any man that wears a Head, either as to the lo&s;s of my A&s;s, or the true laying out of the hundred Pieces, or let the Demand be what it will&mdash; And &s;o, with|out &s;aying a word more, or expecting any Reply, away he went. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> de&s;ir'd the Schollar to &s;tay and take a Colledge-Commons with him, to which he added a couple of Pigeons more then u&s;ual, by way of <HI>Exceedings.</HI> The young <HI>Corra&s;co</HI> accepted his Invitation, and &s;taid. All Dinner-time they di&s;cours'd of <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> and the Schollar ob|&s;erv'd the Knight's Humour exactly; after that, they took a Nap for Di|ge&s;tion's-&s;ake, till waken'd again by <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Hobnails, they prepar'd for a &s;econd Colloquie.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="4" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="310" REF="170">
<HEAD>CHAP. IV.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Wherein <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;atisfies all the young Schollar's Queries, with other things profitable to know, and fit to he related.</HEAD>
<P><HI>SAncho Pan&s;a</HI> being now return'd, and beginning where he left off, Mr. Schollar, quo he, you de&s;ire to know when, and where, and by whom my A&s;s was &s;toll'n. To which I an&s;wer, and &s;ay, That the &s;ame Night that we fled to avoid the <HI>Hue and Cry,</HI> which we had ju&s;t rea&s;on to fear would pur&s;ue us, after tho&s;e two cur&s;ed Adventures of the Galley-Slaves, and the dead Man, that was going in peace to his Grave, my Ma&s;ter <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and I betook our &s;elves into the thicke&s;t, and mo&s;t unfrequented Part of all the <HI>Black Mountain:</HI> where he re&s;ting his Head again&s;t his Lance, and I, without alighting from my nown dear <HI>Grizle,</HI> wearied with our late Encounters and Ba&s;tinado's, fell fa&s;t a&s;leep, and &s;lept as &s;oundly as if we had been &s;tretch'd out upon two Feather-beds, e&s;pecially your Friend and <HI>Sancho.</HI> For to &s;ay Truth, the Devil had hung &s;uch a Weight upon my Eye-lids, that the Thief, whoe're he was, had lei&s;ure enough to &s;up|port the four Corners of the Pack-&s;addle with four &s;tout Stakes, and then to lead away the A&s;s from between my Legs, without being per|ceiv'd by me i' the lea&s;t. Which is no new thing, nor &s;o difficult to be done; for &s;o it &s;eems the Country-fellow's Hor&s;e was &s;toll'n from under him in <HI>Bartlemew-Fair;</HI> and thus was <HI>Sacrapant</HI> al&s;o robb'd at the Siege of <HI>Albraca,</HI> of a Steed that co&s;t him four&s;core and fifteen Pound, by the great Thief <HI>Brunel,</HI> the Hor&s;e being fairly &s;toll'n from betwixt his two Thighs, as he be&s;trid'd him. At length I wak'd, but with my &s;tirring, and &s;tretch|ing my &s;elf i' my Pack-&s;addle, down came the Stakes, and down came I all a' t'one &s;ide upon the hard Stones, wi' the Pack-&s;addle upon me. Pre|&s;ently I look'd for my A&s;s, but no A&s;s was to be found&mdash; Woe is me then! how thick the Tears fell from my Eyes as big as <HI>French-beans,</HI> and I made &s;uch a dreadful Lamentation, that if your Hi&s;torian has forgot it, I would not give him a bra&s;s Farthing for his Dedication. Some few days after, attending upon <HI>Madam,</HI> the Prince&s;s of <HI>Micomicon,</HI> I knew my A&s;s again, and the Fellow that rid her, in the Habit of a <HI>Gyp&s;ie,</HI> who was one of tho&s;e wicked <HI>Rake-hells,</HI> that my Ma&s;ter and I had &s;av'd from the Gallies. This is not the Mi&s;take of the Hi&s;torian, quo the Schollar, but only that he &s;ets <HI>Sancho</HI> upon the &s;ame A&s;s's Back that was lo&s;t, before he gives us Intelligence of his being found. As for that, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> if the Hi|&s;torian be more Bea&s;t then my A&s;s, how can I help it; but it may be, 'twas a Fault of the Printer. 'Tis very probable, quo <HI>Corra&s;co;</HI> but now i' the &s;econd Place, What became of the hundred Pieces, did your Ma&s;ter and you divide?</P>
<P>No, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> my Ma&s;ter, I'd ha' ye to know, &s;corns Money&mdash; I &s;pent 'em my &s;elf upon my &s;elf, my Wife and Children&mdash; they ha' far'd well ever &s;ince&mdash; for I mu&s;t needs &s;ay this for my Wife, &s;he loves her Belly better then her Back&mdash; and that's the rea&s;on &s;he takes &s;o patiently my late Rambling and &s;caperloitring after my Ma&s;ter <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Tail&mdash; For had I come home with empty Pockets, as I went out&mdash; Heaven knows whether I had not been in <HI>Holofernes</HI>'s Condition before now&mdash; I am &s;ure, at lea&s;t, one hou&s;e could ne're have held us, be&s;ides the lo&s;s of both the Drums of my Ears. And now if y' have any thing more to &s;ay to me,
<PB N="311" REF="170"> I am here ready to an&s;wer the King in Per&s;on; for what has any body to do, whether I brought home, or not brought home, whether I &s;pent or not &s;pent&mdash; and therefore, pray &s;pare your Quips and your Quirks, good Mr. <HI>Schollard,</HI> for if all the Thumps and Thwacks that I ha' receiv'd i' the&s;e Rambles, were valu'd but at Ha'pence a piece, and I to be &s;atisfy'd in Money for every one, a hundred and a hunderd Pound in Gold more would not pay for the tenth part; which I wi&s;h Mr. <HI>Curate</HI> had for his &s;hare&mdash; Come, come, Mr. <HI>Schollard; He that will meddle with all things, may go &s;hoe the Go&s;lings&mdash; but let every man take his own No&s;e by the end,</HI> and not be &s;o bu&s;ie to mi&s;take <HI>black</HI> for <HI>white,</HI> or <HI>white</HI> for <HI>black&mdash;</HI> every man is as God made him, and &s;ometimes a great deal wor&s;e. Truly, friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo the Schollar, your Proverbs are very &s;ententious, and I &s;hall take &s;pecial care that they be recorded by the Author in his next Edition.</P>
<P>How, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> will the Author print a &s;econd Edition? Yes, Sir, quo the young <HI>Corra&s;co,</HI> and would fain put out a &s;econd Part too&mdash; But he &s;aies, he cannot find it, neither does he know where it is&mdash; &s;o that for this &s;ame very rea&s;on, and for that 'tis generally &s;aid, That <HI>&s;econd Parts</HI> are &s;eldom worth reading, I fear me, we are like to &s;ee no more of it. And yet abundance of People that love Mirth, and hate Me|lancholy, cry out&mdash; <HI>More Quixote's Fegaries&mdash; More Quixote's Fegaries&mdash;</HI> let but <HI>Don Quixote</HI> appear, and <HI>Sancho</HI> talk&mdash; 'tis as good as a Play at any time.</P>
<P>And how &s;tands the Author affected, quo <HI>Don Quixote?</HI> Fully re&s;olv'd, Sir, quo the Schollar, as &s;oon as he has found what he &s;eeks for, to fur|bi&s;h it up, and publi&s;h it immediately; more for his own Profit tho, then for any Kindne&s;s to your Wor&s;hip. Nay then&mdash; quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> if the <HI>Author</HI> &s;eek his own Gain, he's like to write a fine Hi&s;tory, by fore-<HI>George;</HI> ra|ther like your Taylors upon an <HI>Ea&s;ter-Eve,</HI> that &s;titch with hot Needles and burnt Silk to make ha&s;te; we &s;hall have a Huddle of <HI>Flim-flam,</HI> and <HI>Trim-tram,</HI> that will never hang together&mdash; But let Mr. <HI>Moor</HI> have a little Patience, and my Ma&s;ter and I will furni&s;h him, my life for his, with Matter &s;ufficient of all &s;orts, as well &s;ucce&s;sful and unfortunate, as between both, not only to make a &s;econd, but a hundred Parts more, if his lei&s;ure will permit him; &s;urely he thinks we do nothing but &s;leep in a Hay|mow&mdash; but let him come to the point&mdash; and &s;ee whether we fail him. In &s;hort, Mr. <HI>Schollard,</HI> if my Ma&s;ter <HI>Don Quixote</HI> would have taken my Advice, we had been i' the Field before now, redre&s;&s;ing Wrongs, and &s;ubduing Oppre&s;&s;ion, as all <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> are oblig'd to do.</P>
<P>Scarce were <HI>Sancho</HI>'s la&s;t words out of his Mouth, but they heard <HI>Ro|&s;inante neighie;</HI> which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> took for &s;uch a lucky <HI>Omen,</HI> that he re&s;olv'd to take t'other <HI>Ramble</HI> within three or four days at farthe&s;t. To which purpo&s;e he di&s;cover'd his Re&s;olutions to the young <HI>Corra&s;co,</HI> de&s;iring his Advice which way he &s;hould &s;teer his Cour&s;e. If you will follow my Advice, reply'd <HI>Corra&s;co,</HI> you will do well to take the Road for <HI>Sarago&s;&s;a;</HI> where within, the&s;e few days, upon St. <HI>George</HI>'s Fe&s;tival, there is to be a mo&s;t famous Tilting Bout, and much Honour to be won, if you can but bear away the Bell from the <HI>Arragonian Champions;</HI> for that done, you ham-&s;tring all the other Champions i' the World. Moreover, the young Schollar applauded his De&s;ign, yet admoni&s;hing him withal, not to be too free in expo&s;ing him&s;elf to Danger, but to be a good Husband of his life, which was none of his own, but theirs that &s;tood in need of his Succour and A&s;&s;i&s;tance in their Afflictions and Di&s;tre&s;&s;es. That's the very thing
<PB N="312" REF="171"> now, Mr. <HI>Samp&s;on,</HI> let me be hang'd if it ben't, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> that makes me &s;ometimes ready to run mad; for my Ma&s;ter, I'le a&s;&s;ure ye, will make no more, when he's i' the Humour, to &s;et upon a hundred armed Men, then old <HI>Marriot</HI> wou'd ha' done to have encounter'd a dozen roa&s;ted Chickens. Cuds-me-life, Mr. Schollard, there's a time to a&s;&s;ail, and time to retreat, and not to be always St. <HI>George, and have at thee, bold Dragon.</HI> For if my Memory don't fail me, I ha' heard my Ma&s;ter <HI>Don Quixote</HI> him|&s;elf &s;ay, That Valour lies ju&s;t i' the middle between Cowardi&s;e and Ra&s;h|ne&s;s: which being &s;o, I wou'd not have him run, when there's no need: On the other &s;ide, I wou'd not have him venture his Fle&s;h, but when he's &s;ure to get the better. But above all things, I wou'd have my Ma&s;ter to under&s;tand, That if he intends to take me along with him, the Bargain's to make upon this Condition, That he &s;hall fight all the Battels, Rancoun|ters, Encounters, Skirmi&s;hes, Duels, Quarrels, and On-&s;ets him&s;elf; and that I am only to look after his Cloaths, the Wine, and the Victuals, wherein he &s;hall find I'le &s;erve him as diligently as a <HI>Fairie;</HI> but for me to draw my Sword again&s;t <HI>Carriers</HI> and <HI>Mule-drivers,</HI> becau&s;e they are no <HI>Knight-Errants,</HI> in good &s;ooth-law, I beg his pardon&mdash; 'tis a thing I &s;hall never con&s;ent to; and I think I do fairly to tell him before-hand. For my part, Mr. <HI>Sam|p&s;on,</HI> 'tis not Fame and Honour that I covet, nor do I care to be thought a &s;econd <HI>Orlando,</HI> but only to be renown'd for one of the mo&s;t faithful Squires that ever follow'd the Heels of <HI>Knight-Errant.</HI> And if after all my Services, my Ma&s;ter <HI>Don Quixote</HI> will be &s;o kind as to be&s;tow upon me one of tho&s;e I&s;lands he talks of, I &s;hall be his humble Servant, and thank him; but if he does not, why then, naked I came into the World, and 'twill be no &s;uch great matter if naked I return to the Du&s;t. It may be, the Bread I &s;hall eat without a Government, may ta&s;te as well as if I were the greate&s;t Governour i' the World. And what do I know, but that the Devil is providing me one of the&s;e Governments for a Stumbling-block to give me a Fall, and da&s;h out my Teeth? I was born <HI>Sancho,</HI> and <HI>Sancho</HI> I intend to die. Neverthe&s;s, if Heaven would be&s;tow an I&s;land or a Pro|vince upon me, without any Trouble, or running any Hazard, I am no &s;uch Fool neither, God be thanked, to refu&s;e a good thing when 'tis offer'd me; according to the Proverb, <HI>When the Cow's given thee, ne're refu&s;e to lead her home by the String.</HI> In truth, friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo the young <HI>Corra&s;co,</HI> thou &s;peak'&s;t like an Oracle. But be patient, <HI>Patience is a Plai&s;ter for all Sores;</HI> Tru&s;t in God and thy Ma&s;ter, my Lord <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and he'll gi' thee, not only an I&s;land, but a Kingdom. I am afraid, as &s;oon one as t'other, &s;o God help me, quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> and yet let me tell ye, Mr. <HI>Samp&s;on,</HI> &s;hould my Ma&s;ter give me a Kingdom, he &s;hould not find it thrown into an old Sack; for I have felt my own Pul&s;e, and find my &s;elf, thanks be to Hea|ven, &s;ufficiently &s;trong, and healthy to govern either a Kingdom, or an I&s;land, which he plea&s;es; and this I ha' told my Ma&s;ter a hundred times. <HI>Sancho,</HI> cry'd <HI>Corra&s;co, Honours change Manners;</HI> have a care, that when you come to be a Governour, you do not grow proud, and forget your own Mother. That's good Advice indeed, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> for tho&s;e that were born among Hogs, but not for &s;uch, who&s;e Souls are cover'd four Fingers thick with your old Chri&s;tian Fat, as mine is. Men of my Condition &s;corn to be proud or ungrateful. Stick to thy Principles, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> the <HI>Proof of the Pudding's at hand;</HI> for, if I mi&s;take not, I have a Govern|ment ju&s;t now i' my Eye. But, Mr. <HI>Corra&s;co,</HI> added he, pray tell me, Are you a Poet?&mdash; if you are, I would de&s;ire ye to make me a Copy of Ver&s;es upon the Subject of my Departure, which you may call <HI>D. Quixote</HI>'s
<PB N="313" REF="171"> <HI>Farewel to his Mi&s;tre&s;s,</HI> Madam <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o;</HI> and I would have it be an <HI>Acro&s;tick,</HI> if you plea&s;e, that is, for every Ver&s;e to begin with the Letters of her <HI>Name.</HI> Why, truly Sir, I am none of the be&s;t Poets in <HI>Europe,</HI> of which there are a very few now adays, God knows, no, not a|bove three and a half in all your Poetical Countries, as <HI>Italy, France,</HI> and <HI>England,</HI> put 'em all together; however, I'le endeavour to &s;atisfie your Lord&s;hip; tho the Task will prove the more difficult, becau&s;e there are &s;eventeen Letters in the whole; &s;o that if I make four <HI>Stanza's</HI> of four Ver&s;es a piece, then there's a Letter too much; and if I make five <HI>Stanza</HI>'s, then there will be three too little; but I'le endeavour to &s;mother one, and &s;o it may do well enough. By any means, Mr. <HI>Corra&s;co,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> make 'em &s;o, that no other Woman living may pretend the Ver&s;es were made for her. After this, they concluded to be gone within eight Days. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> al&s;o enjoyn'd the Schollar to be &s;ecret, and not to &s;ay a word either to his Niece, his old Maid, the <HI>Curate,</HI> or Mr. <HI>Nicholas</HI> the <HI>Barber;</HI> who would be &s;ure to u&s;e their utmo&s;t Endeavours to put a &s;top to their generous De&s;ign. <HI>Corra&s;co</HI> promis'd not to open his Lips to any Soul living; and &s;o having begg'd of <HI>Don Quixote</HI> to give him an exact Account of his Misfortunes and Succe&s;s, took his leave, and departed. And <HI>Sancho</HI> at the &s;ame time went to make all nece&s;&s;ary Provi&s;ions for his Jour|ney.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="5" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. V.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing the plea&s;ant Di&s;cour&s;e between <HI>Sancho Pan&s;a</HI> and his Wife, <HI>&amp;c.</HI></HEAD>
<P>THE Tran&s;lator of this Hi&s;tory, when he came to look over this fifth Chapter, would needs have it to be down-right <HI>Apocrypha,</HI> becau&s;e it introduces <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;peaking in a more lofty Style, and after a more &s;chola&s;tick manner, then could be expected from &s;uch a &s;tupid <HI>Ignoramus</HI> as he; and becau&s;e he talks of matters far above his Under&s;tanding. How|ever, he would not leave it out, believing it to be his Duty faithfully to follow his Original.</P>
<P><HI>Sancho</HI> then, &s;aies he, came home &s;o blithe, and &s;o merry about the Eyes, that his Wife beheld him with a joyful A&s;pect, as far as &s;he could &s;ee him. So that when he came near; <HI>Husband,</HI> quo &s;he, you look as pert as a Pear|monger's Mare; what is the Occa&s;ion of your Mirth, <HI>my Heart?</HI> I &s;hould be much more merry, dear Chuck, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> were I not &s;o well pleas'd as I am. You &s;peak Riddles, <HI>Husband,</HI> quo his Wife, I don't under&s;tand ye&mdash;for I am no &s;uch Fool yet, to think a Man would be di&s;contented, if he could help it. Why, know then, my dear Honey, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I am over-joy'd becau&s;e I am going to &s;erve my Ma&s;ter <HI>Don Quixote</HI> again, who is re&s;olv'd upon a third <HI>Frisk</HI> in cha&s;e of Adventures; and I for my part, think 'tis better to go along with him, then to lie &s;tarving at home; for who knows, Wife, but we may find another Bag of Gold, as big as that we ha' &s;pent?&mdash; On the other &s;ide, it grieves me to leave my &s;weet Swot|terkin, and my poor Children, the Pledges of our Youth; for to tell thee Truth, I take no delight to lead a Goat's life in clambring over Mountains, and jaunting over Forre&s;ts&mdash; So that if Heaven had been &s;o kind to have
<PB N="314" REF="172"> granted me a &s;mall E&s;tate, that I might but eat Bread dry-&s;hod at home, I wou'd ha' renounc'd the&s;e Wild goo&s;e Chaces after Knocks and Ba&s;tina|do's&mdash; But Misfortune has otherwi&s;e di&s;pos'd of my &s;hort time i' this World&mdash; And the&s;e are the Hopes, and the&s;e the Sorrows that make me both joyful and di&s;con&s;olate at the &s;ame time. In good faith, quo <HI>Te|re&s;a,</HI> y'are got &s;o deep into your <HI>Knight-Errantries,</HI> that ye talk above my Element. The God above under&s;tands me, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> and that's &s;ufficient. In the mean time, Honey, take care for the&s;e next three days, of my dear <HI>Grizle|pate,</HI> that &s;he may be in a Condition to bear Arms; double her Ordinary, look out my Pack-&s;addle, and let it be mended&mdash; for in &s;hort, we are not going to a Wedding, but to compa&s;s the Earth; to meet with Giants, and Dragons, to encounter Hobgoblins, and to hear nothing but roaring, and rumbling, and bellowing, and howling, and yelling, which, neverthe|le&s;s, will be all but meer Scare crows, if we don't meet with your cur&s;ed <HI>Carriers,</HI> and enchanted <HI>Moors&mdash;</HI> Do&s;t under&s;tand me, Wife? I make no que&s;tion, reply'd <HI>Tere&s;a,</HI> but that <HI>Squires-Errant</HI> do not eat their Ma|&s;ter's Bread for nothing; only I be&s;eech God to pre&s;erve thee from all Mi&s;chances. Truly Wife, quo <HI>Zancho,</HI> did I not think thou &s;hould'&s;t &s;ee me in a &s;hort time, Governour of an I&s;land, I' my Con&s;cience I &s;hould fall down dead immediately at thy feet. Not &s;o, my dear Love and Joy, quo <HI>Tere&s;a; Let the Pullet live, tho &s;he ha' got the Pip;</HI> only live, and let all the Governments i' the World go to the Devil. Thou cam'&s;t out of thy Mother's Womb without any Government that I know of, thou ha&s;t liv'd without a Government hitherto, and without a Government thou may&s;t be carry'd to thy Grave, when it &s;hall plea&s;e God. How many People are there i' the World that live without Governments, and yet live at Ea&s;e and Content? The be&s;t Sauce i' the World, is Hunger; and therefore the Poor always eat with a good Stomach. But to the purpo&s;e, Husband, if it &s;hould be thy good luck to get a Government, prithee don't forget thy poor Wife and Children: Con&s;ider that our Son already numbers fifteen, and I think 'tis time for him to be &s;ent to School, e&s;pecially if his Uncle de&s;ign him for the Church. Then for your Daughter, I am per&s;waded a Hu&s;|band wou'd not &s;care her out of her Wits; for, if I am not mi&s;taken, &s;he longs as much to be marry'd, as you do for a Government. For what &s;aies the Proverb, <HI>Marry your Daughter betimes, le&s;t &s;he marry her &s;elf;</HI> and 'twere better &s;he were ill be&s;tow'd, then be a Mi&s;s, tho 'twere to two Lords at a time. Hark thee me, my dear Wife, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> upon the Faith of a man believe me now, the &s;econd day after I come to my Government, it &s;hall be my bu&s;ine&s;s to marry our Daughter, and to match her &s;o well, that &s;he &s;hall be, at lea&s;t, a Lady all over the World. Prithee now, good Husband, none of your <HI>Ladi&s;hips,</HI> I be&s;eech ye,&mdash; <HI>Like Blood, like good, and like Age make the happie&s;t Marriages.</HI> Let her have plain Neat's-leather and Sarge&mdash; and for lac'd Shoes and fine Petticoats, they are fitter for Ladies. She that never was at the Dancing-School, how ridiculou&s;ly would &s;he behave her &s;elf in her Silks and her Sattins? What fine Di&s;coveries wou'd &s;he make of her Swine-&s;erving Breeding? Th' art a Fool, quo <HI>San|cho,</HI> I'le &s;end her to a Boarding-School but for two Years, and thou &s;halt &s;ee how &s;trangely &s;he'll alter. Prithee let her be but a Lady, and let all the Go&s;&s;ips i' the Town be hang'd, if they plea&s;e&mdash; I warrant thee, Woman, &s;he'll do well enough i' the Countrey. I &s;ay &s;till, Husband, quo <HI>Tere&s;a, Let every one mea&s;ure him&s;elf with his own Ell.</HI> 'Twould be a very plea&s;ant thing indeed for us, to go and marry our Daughter to a Lord, for him, in a &s;hort time, to be always upbraiding her, and calling her
<PB N="315" REF="172"> <HI>Madam Hog-wa&s;h, Gillian a' Croydon,</HI> and <HI>Pig-driver's Daughter&mdash;</HI> No, no, Husband&mdash;I'le ne're marry my Daughter to &s;uch fine Folk, by our ble&s;&s;ed Lady, not I&mdash;I han't bred her up, I hope, as I ha' done, to throw her away at length. No, no, <HI>Sancho,</HI> do thee bring me Money, and let me alone wi' my Daughter&mdash; There's young <HI>Dick Tree,</HI> old <HI>Tree</HI>'s Son, I find him beginning to &s;mirk upon the Wench already, he's an hone&s;t Fellow, and her Match&mdash; and then we &s;hall have Parents, Children, and Grandchildren, and God's Ble&s;&s;ing always among us; marry her the Lord knows where, and we &s;hall &s;ee our Son-in-law and Daughter, the Lord knows when&mdash; Marry her at Court among Lords and Ladies, and then &s;he'll under&s;tand no body, and no body will under&s;tand her. Wife of <HI>Barabas,</HI> and Bea&s;t of the Forre&s;t, quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> why, without Rhime or Rea&s;on, &s;hould'&s;t thou thus ob&s;tinately di&s;&s;wade me now from mar|rying my Daughter to one that &s;hall make her a Jointure of eight hun|dred a Year, and get me Lords for my Grandchildren be&s;ides?&mdash; Suppo&s;e the Lord her Husband dies, do&s;t think eight hundred a Year wont main|tain her as long as &s;he lives? Be&s;ides, &s;he'll live near, and &s;ave &s;ome|thing by Hou&s;e-keeping in his life-time. I have heard my Grandfather &s;ay, That <HI>he that will not, when he may, when he fain would, &s;hall have nay&mdash;</HI> Shall we, when Fortune knocks at the Door, &s;hut her out?&mdash; No, no, when the Wind blows fair, let's take the Advantage of the Gale&mdash; and let's hold Opportunity by the Forelock, before &s;he turn her Tail&mdash; [This Huddle of wi&s;e Sayings, and &s;ome others out of <HI>San|cho</HI>'s Mouth, made the Tran&s;lator take this Chapter for <HI>Apocrypha</HI>] Then <HI>Sancho</HI> proceeding; <HI>Bruit,</HI> &s;aid he, what Injury will it be to thee, for me to get a Government, and rai&s;e our Fortunes? What Harm will it be to thee, for me to marry my Daughter to a Lord, and make thee thy &s;elf, Woman, a Lady; and then thou may&s;t come to Church, and lean over the Gallery upon thy Velvet Cu&s;hion, in de&s;pite of all the giggling La|dies i' the County? Why, what a God's name, Woman! would&s;t always live i' the &s;ame Po&s;ture, neither lower nor higher, like a Picture i' the Hangings? Fy&mdash; fy&mdash;talk no more on't; I &s;ay, little <HI>Sanchia</HI> &s;hall be a Counte&s;s, &s;peak till thy Caul bur&s;t. Husband, quo <HI>Tere&s;a,</HI> have a care what thou &s;ay'&s;t; I am afraid the&s;e Earldoms will be the ruine of your Daughter. You may make her a Dutche&s;s, or a Prince&s;s, if you can, but I'le never give my Con&s;ent. For my part, I was always a Lover of Equa|lity&mdash; I was chri&s;ten'd <HI>Tere&s;a,</HI> without any Additions of <HI>Madam</HI> or <HI>Madamoi&s;ell&mdash;</HI> my Father was call'd <HI>Gaffer Ca&s;cayo,</HI> or <HI>Gaffer Stone;</HI> and my Name's <HI>Tere&s;a,</HI> or <HI>Margery Pan&s;a,</HI> becau&s;e I am unfortunately your Wife; otherwi&s;e my Name might ha' been &s;till <HI>Margery Stone;</HI> but where the Kings are, there are the Laws. However, either of the&s;e &s;ingle Names content me, without being lac'd with any Additions. By him that made me what I am, I'le be as he made me, and no otherwi&s;e&mdash; I'le be no body's Laughing &s;tock&mdash; I'le give no body cau&s;e to cry out, when they &s;ee me, Look, look&mdash; &s;he that kept Hogs i' the Stubble t'other day, &s;he that went to Ma&s;s with an old Napkin pin'd about her Head, look, how &s;he &s;truts it in her Cloth a'Gold <HI>Manteau</HI> turn'd up with Vel|vet&mdash; What! no le&s;s then a whole Silkman and Milliner's Shop upon her maingy Back at one time! Lord ble&s;s us! What will this World come to! No, no, by my faith-law, God grant me my five or &s;ix Sen&s;es, or as many as I have, and I'le tie up their Tongues from quipping a' me i' this fa&s;hion, I'le warrant 'em&mdash; that is, I'le give 'em no cau&s;e, and then let 'em &s;peak, if they can. You may go, Husband, and be a <HI>Lord,</HI> or a <HI>Go|vernour,</HI>
<PB N="316" REF="173"> or a <HI>Pre&s;ident,</HI> or what you plea&s;e, by the Parent of my Mother, your Daughter and I will not &s;tir an Inch from our Station&mdash; let them &s;eek for Jointures, that cannot work with their ten Fingers. For my part, I had rather have a broken Leg, then a Crack i' my Reputation&mdash; And therefore, Husband, march you, and your <HI>Don Quixote</HI> together, to your I&s;lands, and your Governments, and don't &s;tudy Contrivances to debauch your poor Daughter; tho after all's done, I wonder how your Ma&s;ter came to be a <HI>Don;</HI> for I'm &s;ure, neither his Father, nor Grand|father were any more then Headboroughs of the Hundred. May I be roa&s;ted, Wife, if I don't believe thou ha&s;t got a Familiar i' thy Belly&mdash; The Lord ble&s;s thee for a Woman, what has all this Stuff that thou ha&s;t twi&s;t|ed together, thy <HI>Ca&s;cayo's,</HI> thy Cloath a' Gold Manteaus, and thy Pre&s;i|dents, to do with what I ha' &s;aid? <HI>Ninny-hammer</HI> and <HI>Shallow-brains,</HI> as thou art, for I can call thee no other, &s;ince thou can&s;t not under&s;tand Rea&s;on&mdash; For &s;hould I ha' told thee, that thy Daughter was to throw her &s;elf from the top of the Monument, or to trot about the World like a <HI>Gyp&s;ie,</HI> or a <HI>Be&s;s-a-bedlam,</HI> then I &s;hould not ha' blam'd thee for being troubl'd; but if in le&s;s then two <HI>Hits</HI> of a Tap-ball, I make her a Counte&s;s; if I fetch her from the Straw, to &s;it under a Canopy, and to &s;et her Bum up|on more Velvet Cu&s;hions then all the Empre&s;&s;es of <HI>Morocco,</HI> why &s;hould&s;t thou be again&s;t it? Oh! Husband, Husband&mdash;quo <HI>Tere&s;a,</HI> 'tis becau&s;e of the Proverb, Husband, <HI>That that covers thee, di&s;covers thee&mdash;</HI> No body minds the Poor, but all Eyes are gazing upon men in Grandeur and Authority&mdash; if a poor man become wealthy and great, it &s;ets all Tongues a grumbling and back-biting; and the wor&s;t is, that when they once begin, they never leave off. Oh, but my dear <HI>Tere&s;a!</HI> I tell thee things that thou never heard'&s;t of i'thy life; nor do I &s;peak of my own Head, but what I heard from one of our <HI>Lent-Preachers,</HI> who told us, if my Memory fail me not, That what we &s;ee daily before our Eyes, take a deeper root in our Remem|brances, then things that are pa&s;t and gone. [And this Di&s;cour&s;e, &s;o far above <HI>Sancho</HI>'s <HI>Genius,</HI> was another, and one of the &s;tronge&s;t Arguments to per&s;wade the <HI>Tran&s;lator,</HI> that this Chapter was not <HI>authentick.</HI>] And therefore, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> proceeding in his Philo&s;ophy, when we &s;ee a man &s;umptuou&s;ly habited with a great Rope of Lacquies, hanging like Onions at the Tail of his Coach, we pay him Re&s;pect in &s;pite of our Teeths; tho we remember him formerly to have been but a Foot-boy, or at mo&s;t, a <HI>Clerk</HI>'s <HI>Clerk</HI> him&s;elf; and his pre&s;ent Condition cau&s;es us to forget his former Poverty; and how mean and ba&s;e &s;oever his Parentage were, we look upon him what he is, and not what he was. Let him have been found in a Church-porch, if after he comes to Preferment, he &s;hews him|&s;elf liberal and courteous, he de&s;erves as much e&s;teem as if he had been a Lord of five hundred years &s;tanding; and that all the Records of his Pedi|gree i' the Herald's Office, were Worm-eaten with Age.</P>
<P>I don't under&s;tand a Tittle what you &s;ay, Husband, reply'd <HI>Tere&s;a,</HI> and therefore e'en follow your own Inventions, and don't break my Brains with your Retricks and Philo&s;ophies&mdash; but if y' are &s;o <HI>devolv'd</HI> to do as ye &s;ay&mdash; <HI>Devolv'd,</HI> Wife! what's that?&mdash; you &s;hould &s;ay, <HI>re&s;olv'd&mdash;</HI> &s;peak like a Schollard, my dear Honey-&s;uckle&mdash; For the Lord's-&s;ake, Hu&s;|band, quo <HI>Tere&s;a, Schollard</HI> me no <HI>Schollards,</HI> I &s;peak as God-a-mighty taught me&mdash; and for hard words, I give all my &s;hare to Mr. <HI>Curate</HI>&mdash; only this I ha' to &s;ay farther, That if you are &s;o mad to be a Governour, pray take your Son <HI>Sancho</HI> along with ye, and teach him to be a Gover|nour after you are dead. For 'tis but rea&s;onable for Parents to teach
<PB N="317" REF="173"> their Children their Trades. When I am fix'd i' my Government, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I'le &s;end for him by the Po&s;t, and &s;end thee Money withal&mdash; for there is no body, but will lend Money to a Governour&mdash; and do thou pro|vide him &s;uch Cloaths, that he may appear not what he is, but what he ought to be. Well, well, Husband, for that take you no care&mdash; do you but &s;end Money, and I'le make him as fine as a Parrot. So then, Wife&mdash; 'tis concluded, you &s;ay, between us, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> that our Daugh|ter &s;hall be a <HI>Counte&s;s.</HI></P>
<P>Mercy a' my Soul i' the mean time, cry'd <HI>Tere&s;a,</HI> for I'm &s;ure my Daugh|ter's fir&s;t <HI>Lady-day,</HI> will be the la&s;t of my life&mdash; However, do what you plea&s;e&mdash; you Men are the Ma&s;ters, and we poor Women mu&s;t bear our Cur&s;e of Obedience, tho our Husbands are no better then Cowcumbers. And &s;o &s;aying, &s;he fell a' weeping, as if her Daughter had been breathing her la&s;t Ga&s;p&mdash; But <HI>Sancho</HI> appeas'd her with a Promi&s;e to delay her Pre|ferment as long as he could with conveniency. And having &s;o &s;aid, away he po&s;ted to <HI>Don Quixote</HI> to receive Orders for his Departure.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="6" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. VI.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing what pa&s;s'd between <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> his Niece, and his Maid; which is one of the mo&s;t important Chapters in the whole Hi&s;tory.</HEAD>
<P>WHile <HI>Sancho Pan&s;a</HI> and <HI>Tere&s;a Ca&s;cayo,</HI> or <HI>Margery Stone,</HI> his Wife, were thus no le&s;s eagerly then impertinently arguing the Ca&s;e, <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Niece and Maid were at their Wits end. They &s;aw the good old Knight was as full of his Frenzies as ever, and was re&s;olv'd up|on a third Frolick; and therefore they us'd their utmo&s;t Endeavour to per|&s;wade him to the contrary: but all they could do, was but <HI>ba&s;ting of Stones with Butter.</HI></P>
<P>Among other Arguments which they us'd to bring about their De&s;ign, the Governe&s;s adventur'd to u&s;e this threatning Language; Sir, quo &s;he, if you will not be rul'd, but will needs run a rambling again, like a <HI>Jack with a Lanthorn</HI> in a Winter-night, and &s;till be vagabonding from your Family, in &s;earch of <HI>Hobgoblins</HI> and <HI>Fairies,</HI> to make your &s;elf a Laugh|ing &s;tock to all the World; I'le never cea&s;e petitioning both God and the King, till I either prevail for cure, or get ye lock'd up in <HI>Bedlam,</HI> for a Mad-man, as ye are. <HI>Joan,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> what An&s;wer Heaven will give thee, I know not; neither can I tell what the King will &s;ay to thee, but this I know, that if I were in his Maje&s;ty's place, I would ne're be troubl'd with a quarter of tho&s;e impertinent Sheets of gilt-Paper that are deliver'd to Princes every day; and therefore, as it is one of the greate&s;t Vexations they have, to hear this idle Story, and t'other <HI>Flim-flam,</HI> I hope the King will be &s;o kind to him&s;elf, to make thee &s;tay till he has nothing i' the World el&s;e to do. But, I be&s;eech ye, Sir, quo the Maid, pray tell me, Are there no Knights at Court? Yes, without doubt, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> &s;everal&mdash; as well for the Ornament of the Court, as to &s;et forth the Lu|&s;ter of Royal Grandeur&mdash;Why then, quo the Maid, would it not be better for you to be one of tho&s;e Knights, then thus to run a <HI>Robinhooding,</HI> as you do. Hear me, <HI>Joan,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> all Knights cannot be Cour|tiers, neither can they, nor ought all Courtiers to be <HI>Knight-Errants;</HI>
<PB N="318" REF="174"> there mu&s;t be of all &s;orts i' the World; and tho there were no other but Knights i' the World, yet &s;hould there be a great difference between Knights and Knights. For Courtiers, without &s;o much as &s;tirring over their Thre|&s;holds, or quitting the Court, travel all the World over with their Eyes, &s;urveying the Maps, without Labour or Expence. But we that are the true <HI>Knight-Errants,</HI> really and truly roam and wander over Hill and Dale, Night and Day, Summer and Winter, expos'd to Heat and Cold, Hunger and Thir&s;t, and all the Hard&s;hips that Nature can endure. We not only behold the Pictures of our Enemies, but meet 'em arm'd Cap-a-pe, at every turn, and every hour, never &s;tanding upon Trifles, or the Laws of Duels, or examining whether our Lances or Swords are of an exact Size, or no; whether our Enemies have any Charms about 'em, or any privy Armour on; nor ever regarding whether the Sun be in our Faces, or upon our Backs, nor any other Punctilio's or Ceremonies ob&s;erv'd among &s;ingle Dueli&s;ts; things which thou under&s;tand'&s;t not, but I perfectly do. And yet I would have thee know thus much however, That every <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> is &s;o far from being afraid to meet ten Giants, who&s;e heads are as high as the Clouds, their Thighs like the Tower of <HI>Babel,</HI> and their Arms like Ma&s;ts of Ships; their Eyes as big as Mil&s;tones, and burning like Gla&s;s-hou&s;e Furnaces; I &s;ay, a <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> is &s;o far from being afraid of meeting ten of the&s;e Giants, that he meets 'em with a &s;ettl'd Counte|nance and undaunted Courage, he a&s;&s;ails 'em, clo&s;es in with 'em, and if it be po&s;&s;ible, vanqui&s;hes and murders 'em all in an In&s;tant, tho arm'd at the &s;ame time with the Scales of a certain Fi&s;h, much harder then an Adamant; and laying on, in&s;teed of Swords, with di&s;mal Hangers, thirty foot long, and &s;even foot broad, &s;harp as Razors, and all of Steel of <HI>Da|ma&s;cus,</HI> or el&s;e with Iron <HI>Maces</HI> as big as the Monument; &s;uch as I ha' &s;een full often to my co&s;t. This, <HI>Joan,</HI> I ha' told thee, to &s;hew thee the difference between Knights and Knights. And in truth, I could wi&s;h, that all Princes knew how to make the Di&s;tinction, and that they un|der&s;tood a little better the Merit and Importance of <HI>Knight-Errants,</HI> a|mong whom, as we may read in their Lives, there have been &s;ome that ha' &s;av'd not only one, but many Kingdoms at a time. Oh, Sir, quo his Niece, &s;haking her head&mdash; have a care what ye &s;ay&mdash; For is it not plain, that all the Stories of <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> are nothing but a company of Lyes and Fables; and if they are not burnt by the hand of the com|mon Hangman, yet are they &s;o branded and &s;tigmatiz'd for Fal&s;ehood and Impo&s;ture, that they de&s;erve to be &s;o. By the living <HI>Jupiter,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> all inflam'd with Rage and Choler, wert thou not a Woman, and my near Kin&s;woman, I would la&s;h thy bare Buttocks, as bad as ever the <HI>Doctor</HI> la&s;h'd his Maid, for uttering &s;uch unheard-of Bla&s;phemies! What! &s;uch a little pitiful Ar&s;eworm as thou, that can&s;t hardly tell nine, to be &s;o bold and audacious as to cen&s;ure <HI>Knight-Errants!</HI> What wou'd the great <HI>Amadis de Gaul</HI> ha' &s;aid, had he heard thee prate at this rate? And yet I am apt to believe he would ha' pardon'd thee, for he was one of the mo&s;t affable and courteous Knights of his time, and a great Defender of Ladies. But you might ha' lit into the hands of one that wou'd ha' yerk'd your <HI>Bumfiddle</HI> for ye, y' faith, my dear Niece; and therefore have a care next time how ye talk &s;uch Bugg's Words, as the&s;e. For all Knights have not the &s;ame Moderation, nor are they all of the &s;ame mettle; for &s;ome are of Gold, and others of <HI>Copper,</HI> yet all &s;eem to be Knights. Neverthele&s;s, we our &s;elves have a Touch|&s;tone to try 'em by. For you have &s;ome ba&s;e Ra&s;cals that leave no &s;tone
<PB N="319" REF="174"> unturn'd to &s;eem Knights; and &s;ome Knights of Quality there are, that ride Po&s;t to the Devil, on purpo&s;e to &s;tifle the Lu&s;tre of their Birth. Some are advanc'd by their Ambition and Vertue. Others there are, that &s;ink under the Burthen of Effeminacy and Vice; and between the&s;e two &s;orts of Knights, it requires a great Judgment to make a right Di|&s;tinction, for they both carry the &s;ame Title. Ble&s;s me! cry'd the Niece, in truth, Uncle you are &s;o learned, that I believe, for a need, you could &s;tep into a Pulpit, or at lea&s;t, could hold forth upon a Stall. And yet for all that, you have &s;o little Wit, as to think your &s;elf &s;till a young man, that are as crazy as a rotten Po&s;t, that ye are &s;trong, when I dur&s;t venture to blow ye down with one Bla&s;t o' my back-&s;ide my &s;elf; that you can &s;et things to Rights, when ye bend i' the back, like the Sign of the <HI>Dolphin&mdash;</HI> And then you &s;ay y' are a Knight&mdash; I'de fain know who the murrain made you a Knight&mdash; I'm &s;ure the King never did; for Knights mu&s;t have great E&s;tates&mdash; and I am certain you ha' little or none to &s;peak of.</P>
<P>Niece, quo, <HI>D. Quixote,</HI> thou &s;ay'&s;t very right as to the bu&s;ine&s;s of E&s;tates; and therefore to add to thy Knowledge, I have a good mind to tell thee &s;omewhat more then ordinary concerning Pedigrees. All the Pedigrees i' the World may be reduc'd to four &s;orts. Some men there are, who are born of ob&s;cure Parentage, yet rai&s;e them&s;elves by degrees to &s;overeign Dignity. The &s;econd &s;ort, being born to Royal Eminency, pre&s;erve and maintain their Grandeur without any decay. Others there are born Noble and Illu&s;trious, that unravel them&s;elves into nothing; like Pyramids that having a &s;pacious and large Foundation, le&s;&s;en by degrees, till they vani&s;h with an imperceptible Point. The la&s;t &s;ort far more numerous then any of the re&s;t, are they, who&s;e Extraction being mean, or at lea&s;t, not very remarkable, they &s;o continue, neither ri&s;ing higher, nor falling lower Of the fir&s;t we have a notable Example in the <HI>Ottoman Race,</HI> who de|riving their Original from a poor and mi&s;erable Shepherd, have advanc'd their Dominion to the highe&s;t Pinnacle of Grandeur. A great number of Princes, born &s;ucce&s;&s;ively to fair Inheritances, and pre&s;erving their E|&s;tates within their ancient Limits, without Enlargement or Diminution, are an Example of the &s;econd &s;ort. And for the third &s;ort, that have ended in a Pyramid, we have a thou&s;and Examples; all the <HI>Pharaohs</HI> and <HI>Ptolomys</HI> of <HI>Egypt,</HI> the <HI>Cae&s;ars</HI> of <HI>Rome,</HI> together with that infinite Crowd of <HI>Median, A&s;&s;yrian, Per&s;ian, Grecian,</HI> and <HI>Barbarian Monarchs</HI> and <HI>Princes,</HI> of who&s;e Race there are not any now left i' the World; or if happily any might be found, we &s;hould find 'em in very mean and low Condition. I have nothing to &s;ay of the common &s;ort, that only &s;erve to make up the number of the Living, neither ambitious of Fame, or under&s;tanding what Merit is.</P>
<P>From what has been &s;aid, Girls, you may &s;ee, that there is a great difference between the Races of Men, and that only tho&s;e Families are great and illu&s;trious, where Wealth, Magnificence and Vertue mo&s;t emi|nently appear. I &s;ay Vertue, for that a Per&s;on of high Birth, without Vertue, &s;eems more vitious then another per&s;on; and for that he who is rich, and not liberal, may be truly lookt upon as a mo&s;t mi&s;erable Crea|ture, that po&s;&s;e&s;&s;es without Enjoyment. Now the poor Knight has no other way to &s;hew that he is a true Knight, but by his Vertue. It be|hoves him therefore, to be affable, courteous, humble, ju&s;t, without Pride, without Malice; and by that means, tho he give little, as having but little to give, his private Liberality will be as much e&s;teem'd as theirs that are profu&s;e with O&s;tentation before a Multitude; and po&s;&s;e&s;&s;ing all
<PB N="320" REF="175"> tho&s;e noble Qualities, there is no body but will believe him to be of il|lu&s;trious Parentage, and pay him that Re&s;pect, and tho&s;e Honours which are due to his Merit. I mu&s;t inform ye farther, Girls, that there are two ways for men to enrich and advance them&s;elves, by Learning, and by Feats of Arms. Now for my part, I find my &s;elf more inclin'd and adapted for military Employments, as being born under the Influence of the Planet <HI>Mars;</HI> for which rea&s;on, in Compliance with my Stars, and my own Inclina|tions, I am re&s;olv'd to follow that Profe&s;&s;ion in de&s;pite of all the World; and therefore you torment your &s;elves in vain, to re&s;i&s;t the Decrees of Heaven, and to oppo&s;e my own De&s;tiny, my own Rea&s;on, and my own De&s;ires. I know that <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI> is accompany'd with infinite Hard|&s;hips; yet on the other &s;ide, I under&s;tand the infinite Benefit and Glory that attends it. I know that Vertue leads us through a very &s;treight and narrow Path, and that the Road of Vice is broad and &s;pacious, lead|ing us, with all its Charms, to Death Eternal; whereas the narrow way of Vertue, full of Thorns and Briers, and difficult to pa&s;s, guides us to Immortal Life: according to that of the Poet:
<Q><L>Through this &s;ame narrow Path, with Cares oppre&s;s'd,</L>
<L>At length we climb to our Immortal Re&s;t.</L>
<L>They Heav'n renounce, who think the other Way,</L>
<L>More ea&s;ie, leads 'em to the Seats of Day.</L></Q></P>
<P>Ble&s;&s;ed Lady! my Uncle's a Poet too, quo the Niece, he knows all things, and can do every thing&mdash; Nay, I'le hold a Wager, if he would but undertake it, that he could build a Cathedral with as much ea&s;e, as a Bird-cage. Ah, my dear Niece! reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I could &s;afely &s;wear, that were it not for this <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> that tran&s;ports me, as it does, quite be&s;ide my Sen&s;es, there is nothing which I dur&s;t not un|dertake to perform, nor any Curio&s;ity that could &s;cape my hands, e&s;pecial|ly quilted Balls and Tooth-pickers.</P>
<P>But here their farther Di&s;cour&s;e was interrupted by <HI>Sancho,</HI> who rapp'd at the Door, like a Con&s;table, and made a noi&s;e, like <HI>Tom a' Lincoln,</HI> to be let in. Upon which the <HI>Governante</HI> &s;lipp'd out of the way becau&s;e &s;he would not &s;ee him, for &s;he hated him with a mortal Hatred. The Niece open'd the Door, while <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;tood with his Arms expanded to receive him, and having embrac'd him, as the Devil hugg'd the Witch, they lock'd them&s;elves once more into the Chamber, where their Di&s;cour&s;e was no le&s;s plea&s;ant then what they had before.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="7" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. VII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing a &s;econd Colloquie between <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and his Squire, with other mo&s;t famous Adventures.</HEAD>
<P>NO &s;ooner did the Governe&s;s perceive that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho</HI> had lock'd them&s;elves in together, but &s;he pre&s;ently &s;urmis'd their De|&s;ign, and not doubting but the Re&s;ult of this &s;ame private Interview, would prove no le&s;s then a fix'd Determination to take another Vagary, &s;he flung her Scarfe about her Neck, and like a Wench po&s;ting to a Cun|ning
<PB N="321" REF="175"> Man, away &s;he trots as pen&s;ive as a Girl that had lo&s;t three Silver Spoons, to find out young <HI>Corra&s;co,</HI> whom &s;he thought to be the mo&s;t pro|per per&s;on to check her Ma&s;ter's unbridl'd Frenzie, as being a Man of Wit, and one of <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s new Acquaintance. Having found him out, with a black Pot in his hand, and a Pipe in his Mouth, tho &s;omewhat &s;hy, for fear of being arre&s;ted, &s;he fell at his feet all in a cold Sweat. What's the matter, Mi&s;tre&s;s Governe&s;s, quo <HI>Corra&s;co?</HI> What di&s;mal Accident has be|fall'n thee, that brings thy Soul, to this Affright, to the very root of thy Tongue? Nothing, Mr. <HI>Samp&s;on,</HI> quo the Maid, nothing el&s;e, but that my Ma&s;ter's departing, he's departing, there's no help for't. How, departing! What do&s;t mean, quo <HI>Samp&s;on?</HI> Is he fall'n into an Apoplexy? No, no,&mdash; quo the Governe&s;s, he's only leaving his Sen&s;es, and departing from his Wits&mdash; He's going for t'other broken Shoulder&mdash; God forgive me for &s;aying &s;o, I wi&s;h he might break the one half of his Neck down Stairs. The la&s;t time, he was brought home athwart an A&s;s, like a Calf before a Butcher, from head to foot as black as my Hood, with the Knocks and the Brui&s;es his Playfellows had given him. And the &s;econd time, for&s;ooth, he came riding home in a Waggon, &s;hut up in a Cage&mdash; Lord ble&s;s me! I wonder'd what &s;trange Bea&s;t it was&mdash; and who &s;hou'd it be, but my mon&s;trous Ma&s;ter&mdash; for I never &s;aw a man &s;o mon&s;trou&s;ly batter'd, and &s;houlder-&s;prain'd i' my life. He might well &s;ay he was inchanted, for I'le be hang'd if his Mother that bore him, cou'd ha' known him; a' look'd as yellow as the back &s;ide of a Parchment-skin, with his Eyes &s;o bury'd in his head, that to fetch 'em back again, it co&s;t me twenty dozen of Eggs, God knows as well as my poor Hens, that could tell the Truth, were they able &s;peak&mdash; There's no need of Witne&s;&s;es for that, quo the Schollar, all the Pari&s;h knows thou wert never given to lying&mdash; But, Mrs. <HI>Governe&s;s,</HI> d' ye fear nothing el&s;e but your Ma&s;ter's E&s;cape? Nothing el&s;e! quo the Maid; why, is not that enough?&mdash; If that be all, quo Mr. <HI>Samp&s;on,</HI> let me alone, do you only go home, and get me &s;omething hot for my Supper&mdash; You may al&s;o, if you can, &s;ay the fir&s;t four Staves of the <HI>Nunc dimittis</HI> backward, as ye go along&mdash;</P>
<P>Sure you ha' drank a Cup too much, Mr. <HI>Samp&s;on,&mdash;</HI> Say four Staves of the <HI>Nunc dimittis</HI> backward! why, my Ma&s;ter's Pain lies in his Head, and not in his Teeth&mdash; I know what I &s;ay&mdash; don't you di&s;pute with me that ha' been a Reader of a Pari&s;h, till I could read there no longer, tho <HI>Sunday</HI> were a priviledge-Day&mdash; I &s;ay, don't you di&s;pute with me, but go home, and do as I bid ye&mdash; The <HI>Governante,</HI> thus &s;nubb'd, re|turn'd home as fa&s;t as &s;he could trudge; and young <HI>Corra&s;co</HI> went to con&s;ult the <HI>Curate&mdash;</HI> of which we &s;hall give ye a farther Account by and by&mdash;</P>
<P>In the mean time, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho</HI> being alone in their Retire|ment, had a long Conference, which the Story relates after this man|ner:</P>
<P>Sir, &s;aid <HI>Sancho,</HI> I have at length brought it to that pa&s;s, that my Wife is <HI>di&s;&s;olv'd</HI> to let me attend your Wor&s;hip where-ever ye go&mdash; <HI>Di&s;|&s;olv'd! Sancho,</HI> Wilt thou never &s;peak <HI>Engli&s;h?</HI> thou &s;hould'&s;t &s;ay, <HI>re&s;olv'd.</HI> Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> this is now the &s;econd or third time that I ha' warn'd ye of your Captiou&s;ne&s;s at my <HI>Pronun&s;ations,</HI> e&s;pecially when you under&s;tand what I mean. If ye don't&mdash; then you may &s;ay, <HI>Sancho,</HI> the Devil take thee, &s;peak plain&mdash;Then if I don't explain my &s;elf, you may <HI>di&s;tract</HI> me&mdash; for I am not &s;o <HI>infocible</HI> as you think for&mdash;</P>
<P>Now the Devil take thee, <HI>Sancho,</HI> if I under&s;tand thee at this time&mdash;
<PB N="322" REF="176"> <HI>Di&s;tract</HI> thee!&mdash; and thou art not &s;o <HI>infocible!</HI> What a' pox is all this Gibberi&s;h?&mdash; Why, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho, infocible</HI> &s;ignifies a man that is&mdash; as a man &s;hould &s;ay&mdash; not given&mdash; &s;o and &s;o&mdash; <HI>Infocible</HI> is&mdash; what d' ye call that word&mdash; puh&mdash; 'tis at my Tongue's end&mdash; you under&s;tand me, Sir&mdash; By all my Progenitors, le&s;s then e're I did, quo <HI>Don Quixote&mdash;</HI> Why then, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> there's an end of the Di&s;|cour&s;e&mdash;for I can &s;peak no better, and &s;o farewel I&s;land. I gue&s;s, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> thou would&s;t &s;ay, thou art not &s;o indocible, but that thou art able to learn, if I in&s;truct thee&mdash; I'le hold my life, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> you under&s;tood me at fir&s;t, but only you had a mind to puzzle my Brains wi' your Impertinencies, meerly to hear me knock your fine words out a' joint. 'Twas the lea&s;t of my Thoughts, I a&s;&s;ure thee, quo <HI>Don Quixote&mdash;</HI> but prithee tell me&mdash; What &s;aies <HI>Tere&s;a?</HI></P>
<P><HI>Tere&s;a,</HI> quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> bids me make &s;ure work wi' your Wor&s;hip&mdash; She tells me, That <HI>Paper &s;peaks, when Beards never wag;</HI> That <HI>'tis good to be &s;ure&mdash;</HI> That <HI>a Bird i' the Hand's worth two i' the Bu&s;h&mdash;</HI> That <HI>he that lives by hope, dies breaking a' wind backward&mdash;</HI> That <HI>one Hold-fa&s;t, is better then two I'le give Thees&mdash; Better my Dog dirty, then no Dog at all&mdash;</HI>'Tis true, Women and Fools Bolts are &s;oon &s;hot, but &s;ometimes they &s;peak rea&s;on. I believe &s;o too&mdash; quo <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> but prithee go on, <HI>Sancho,</HI> for thou talk'&s;t mon&s;trous &s;ententiou&s;ly to day&mdash;</P>
<P>I &s;ay, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> as you know better then I, that no body knows who &s;hall live, nor who &s;hall die; that a man's here to day, and gone to mor|row&mdash; That as &s;oon goes the <HI>Lamb to the Spit, as the old Weather&mdash;</HI> In &s;hort, we cannot promi&s;e our &s;elves to live an hour longer then God has appointed. For Death is deaf, and when he knocks at the Door, he's in po&s;t-ha&s;te&mdash; nor Force, nor Intreaties, nor Crowns, nor Miters can pre|vail with him for one minute's delay&mdash; at lea&s;t, if we may believe our Preachers. All this is truth, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote&mdash;</HI> What would'&s;t infer from hence? Why, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I think 'tis very requi&s;ite you and I &s;hould under&s;tand one another, and that we &s;hould agree upon a certain Sum to be paid monthly &s;o long as I &s;hall have the Honour to &s;erve your Wor&s;hip&mdash; and to be paid in Money&mdash; not in Recompences, with a Bond for Performance of Covenants&mdash; For the&s;e Recompences al|ways come &s;low, or &s;carce are worth accepting, or el&s;e never come&mdash; but God ble&s;s Me with what is my own. In a word, I would be glad to know what I get, be it little or more. A Hen &s;its upon one Egg, as well as upon twenty&mdash; Sixteen Farthings make a Groat, and four Groats make &s;ixteen Pence; <HI>Many littles make a mickle&mdash;</HI> and while a man gets, he can never lo&s;e. However, &s;hould it &s;o fall out, tho it be a thing that I never expect, or hope for, that your Wor&s;hip &s;hould give me the I&s;land you ha' promis'd me, I am not &s;uch an ungrateful <HI>Pinch-penny,</HI> but that I am willing to di&s;count upon the Revenue for what Wages I receive.</P>
<P>Friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote, a Cat is oftimes as good as a Rat&mdash;</HI> You &s;ay very true, quo <HI>Sancho&mdash;</HI> but I hold a Wager your Wor&s;hip would ha' &s;aid, That <HI>a Rat is as good as a Cat&mdash;</HI> However, 'tis all one &s;ince I find your Wor&s;hip under&s;tands me&mdash; So well, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that I ha' div'd to the very Bottom of thy Thought-bag&mdash; and can &s;ee without a Pro&s;pective-gla&s;s whither all thy mu&s;ty Adages and Proverbs tend. And indeed, becau&s;e th' art a poor fellow, I &s;hould never &s;cruple to pay thee thy Wages by agreement in dry Money, but that I could never di&s;cover in any Hi&s;tory of the meane&s;t <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> that ever they pay'd their <HI>Squires</HI> either by the Month, or by the Year, or indeed, that they ever
<PB N="323" REF="176"> pay'd 'em any Wages at all. That which I can remember is only this, That their Squires &s;erv'd 'em in hopes, and that many times when they lea&s;t expected it, Fortune &s;eating her &s;elf in their Ma&s;ter's Laps, and chucking 'em under the Chin, pre&s;ently they found them&s;elves recom|penc'd with an I&s;land, or a County, or &s;ome &s;uch kind of Trifle. If there|fore you think good to &s;erve me upon the&s;e Terms, and the&s;e Expecta|tions, you may, if not, <HI>be&s;o las manos,</HI> fare ye well&mdash; For I mu&s;t not, for love of your &s;weet Countenance, ranver&s;e all the Cu&s;toms of ancient Chival|ry. And therefore, <HI>Sancho,</HI> go home again, tell your Wife my Re&s;olution, and &s;o advi&s;e together; if either &s;he or you, or both, di&s;like my Propo&s;als, however let's be &s;till Friends, and &s;o part. <HI>While there's a Cummin-loaf i' the Dove-coat, the Pigeon-hou&s;e &s;hall never want Cu&s;tomers.</HI> Neverthele&s;s, <HI>Sancho,</HI> let me tell ye, fair Hopes are better then Mi&s;ery in Po&s;&s;e&s;&s;ion: And 'tis ill wa&s;ting your Bait upon Gudgeons, when you may hope to catch Carps. I &s;peak this to let you &s;ee I can pi&s;s Proverbs as well as another: and &s;o in one word for a thou&s;and, if you will tru&s;t Fortune as I do, you may; if not, God ble&s;s thee, and make thee a Saint; no que&s;tion, but I &s;hall find Squires enow, le&s;s &s;aucy, le&s;s talkative, and more obedient then ever thou wert&mdash;</P>
<P><HI>Sancho</HI> was Thunder-&s;trook when he found his Ma&s;ter &s;o indifferent; for he thought verily <HI>Don Quixote</HI> could ne're ha' pi&s;s'd without him. Now while he was in this &s;ame Agony of Melancholy and De&s;pair, in dropt <HI>Corra&s;co,</HI> together with the Niece and the <HI>Governante,</HI> who follow'd him clo&s;e to &s;ee what Method he would take to di&s;po&s;&s;e&s;s <HI>Don Quixote</HI> of his Devil of <HI>Knight-Errantry.</HI></P>
<P>He was no &s;ooner enter'd, but he embrac'd <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Knees, and with a loud and &s;erious Tone; Choice Flower of Chivalry-Errant, quo he, mo&s;t radiant Light of War, chief Honour and Glory of thy Nation, I beg of <HI>all Saints,</HI> and <HI>all Souls,</HI> that whoever &s;hall oppo&s;e thy generous Re&s;olution of a third Ramble, Pro&s;perity may never ble&s;s 'em; may they be un&s;ucce&s;sful in Woing, and never get their VVives with Child; and then turning to <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Maid, 'Twill be in vain, Mrs. <HI>Governe&s;s,</HI> quo he, to &s;ay the <HI>Nunc dimittis</HI> backward any more: For Heaven has decreed, that my Lord <HI>Don Quixote</HI> mu&s;t return to the famous Exerci&s;e of <HI>Chivalry-Errant;</HI> and I &s;hould act again&s;t my Con&s;cience, &s;hould I not encourage him my &s;elf, to make known the Strength of his Arm, and the Vigour of his invincible Prowe&s;s, which he cannot forbear to do, without defrauding the mi&s;erable of his A&s;&s;i&s;tance, without injuring the Widow and the Or|phan, and expo&s;ing the Honour of Ladies and Virgins, who&s;e Bulwark and Support he is; and without breach of all the Laws of that incomparable Order, which Heaven &s;o potently &s;upports for the general Good and Safety of Mankind. Courage, my Lord <HI>Don Quixote&mdash;</HI> proceed, mo&s;t valiant <HI>Hero&mdash;</HI> and if you want a Squire, I am here ready to &s;erve your magni|ficent Grandure, as deeming it the greate&s;t Honour that the World can be|&s;tow upon me.</P>
<P>Hark ye there, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> turning toward his Squire, I told thee I &s;hould never want <HI>Squires.</HI> Thou &s;ee&s;t who offers me his Service, no le&s;s then a Univer&s;ity Schollar, a Reader, and an In&s;tructor of Youth to boot; one that has &s;uffer'd much by Hunger, Cold, and Drouth, yet nimble, young, and healthy; and which is more then all the re&s;t, one that whatever he knows, never tells any body but Friends. But Heaven forbid, that I &s;hou'd rob the Church of &s;uch a Member, or the Liberal Sci|ences of &s;uch a Pillar and Support. Let him live, and like another <HI>Orpheus,</HI>
<PB N="324" REF="177"> live to <HI>tame Bea&s;ts</HI> in <HI>Ludgate</HI> or the <HI>Fleet,</HI> where his va&s;t Knowledge may be of greater u&s;e. For my part, any Squire &s;hall &s;erve my turn, &s;ince <HI>Sancho</HI> thus for&s;akes me&mdash;</P>
<P>I'le go, I'le go, cry'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> all in Tears and Blubbering, like a Widower of three hours &s;tanding&mdash; 'T &s;hall ne're be &s;aid of me, quo he, <HI>No longer Pipe, no longer Dance;</HI> I am not come of an ungrateful Race, and I am thoroughly &s;atisfy'd in the great De&s;ire you have, and how <HI>your Wor&s;hip</HI> makes it your &s;tudy to do me good. And if I did ask your Wor&s;hip for Wages, 'twas only to plea&s;e my Wife, who, when &s;he &s;ets upon a thing, all the Devils in Hell cannot &s;atisfie her, till &s;he has her Will; but &s;ince God has made me a Man, I'le be a Man at home too, as well as in other places; and if &s;he wont be quiet, I'le nail her up in a Barrel a' Tenter-hooks, and roll her down <HI>Mauvern-Hills,</HI> before I'le be plagu'd with her. And therefore, Sir, you have now nothing more to do, but to make your Will; but be &s;ure to make it without a power of Revocation, and then let's be gone as &s;oon as you plea&s;e. Alas, my dear Ma&s;ter! don't you be|lieve but I am ready to follow ye to all the four Corners of the Wind, and to &s;ignallize my Fidelity and Care of your Per&s;on, above all the Squires-Errant, that ever were recorded in immortal Story.</P>
<P>Thereupon <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho</HI> embrac'd again, and became as good Friends as ever; and &s;o with the Approbation, and good liking of young <HI>Corra&s;co,</HI> who was now <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Privy-Councellor in Ordinary, it was concluded, that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;hould be gone within three days, which they re&s;erv'd for them&s;elves to provide all things nece&s;&s;ary for their Jour|ney; more e&s;pecially a whole Helmet and Vizor, which was the only Ap|purtenance to a <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> wanted at that time. Happy man he, in knowing <HI>Corra&s;co,</HI> who pre&s;ently told him where there was one to be had, a &s;ound and well-temper'd piece of Mettle, only 'twas &s;omewhat ru&s;ty with lying.</P>
<P>The Niece and Governe&s;s were &s;o &s;trangely &s;tartl'd to find that <HI>Signior Corra&s;co</HI> had deceiv'd their Expectations, that they curs'd him to the bot|tomle&s;s <HI>Gehenna,</HI> tore their Hair, claw'd their Faces, and &s;et up &s;uch a howl|ing and yelling, as if they had fore&s;een <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s certain Death, and all the fatal Di&s;a&s;ters of this &s;ame third Vagary. But <HI>Corra&s;co</HI>'s De&s;ign, to tell ye the truth, after he had con&s;ulted the <HI>Curate</HI> and the <HI>Barber,</HI> was to furni&s;h the Author with new matter for a &s;econd Part, wherein I think he did very well.</P>
<P>And now all things being in a readine&s;s, and <HI>Sancho</HI> having pacify'd his Wife, the two <HI>Hero's</HI> &s;et forward i' the dead time of the Night, unknown to any living Soul, but only <HI>Corra&s;co,</HI> who would needs accompany the worthy Knight about half a League upon his way. Which done, the Schollar be&s;ought <HI>Don Quixote</HI> to give him an Account from time to time, of whatever befell him, whether good or bad. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> gave him his hand upon't, and then they both embrac'd, and took their leaves, the Schollar returning back to the Village, and the Knight continuing his Jour|ney for the famous City of <HI>Tobo&s;o.</HI></P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="8" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="325" REF="177">
<HEAD>CHAP. VIII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">What befel <HI>Don Quixote</HI> going to vi&s;it his Lady <HI>Dulcinea.</HI></HEAD>
<P>NOW ble&s;&s;ed be the mighty <HI>Alla,</HI> cry'd <HI>Cid Hamet Benengeli,</HI> at the Beginning of this Chapter, repeating his Benediction no le&s;s then three times, when he heard the News that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho Panca</HI> had once more taken the Field. For now, quo he, Readers of this Story may expect a &s;econd Part of the matchle&s;s Atchievements, unheard of Di&s;cour&s;es, and &s;urprizing Adventures of that famous Baron of <HI>Mancha;</HI> enough, if it were po&s;&s;ible, to drown all his former Tran&s;actions. But let 'em both live together, and let the&s;e his la&s;t Feats of Arms begin from his fir&s;t putting foot in his Stirrup for <HI>Tobo&s;o,</HI> as the former began in the Plains of <HI>Montiel.</HI></P>
<P>The Renowned <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and the faithful <HI>Sancho</HI> were no &s;ooner part|ed from the Schollar, but <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> began to neighie, and <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Grizzle to &s;igh and bray; which the Knight and the Squire took for happy Omens of their Succe&s;s; tho to &s;ay truth, the &s;ighings and brayings of &s;erious Griz|zle, far exceeded <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI>'s Mirth; whence <HI>Sancho</HI> concluded, That this third Frisk would prove much more to his own, then his Ma&s;ter's Ad|vantage. I confe&s;s, I do not believe he grounded his hopes upon any Know|ledge which he had in <HI>Judicial A&s;trology,</HI> or that he had been to enquire of <HI>Saffold</HI> the <HI>Necromancer;</HI> only 'twas a piece of Super&s;tition which he had learnt among the old Women, That if his A&s;s &s;tumbl'd, or tript, or fell down, he wou'd ha' given his be&s;t Sunday's Coat, that he had not &s;tirr'd out of his Hou&s;e all that day; for he was wont to &s;ay, That &s;tumbling or falling, were only Signs of ripp'd Soles and broken Ribs; and tho he were a Cods-head, he was not much out of the way in this.</P>
<P>Friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> the Night comes on apace, &s;o that I doubt me, 'twill be dark before we can reach <HI>Tobo&s;o.</HI> However, thither it is that I intend to go, before I undertake any Adventure, to re|ceive the Benediction, and take my leave of the mo&s;t incomparable <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> being a&s;&s;ur'd after that, of being &s;ucce&s;sful in all my Enterpri&s;es; for no|thing renders a <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> more valiant, and more fortunate in all his Undertakings, then to find him&s;elf belov'd and favour'd by the Lady of his be&s;t Affection. I am apt to believe it, quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> but I'm afraid you'll find it a difficult thing to &s;ee Madam <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> and talk with her, at lea&s;t, in a place proper to give ye her Benediction, unle&s;s &s;he &s;hould throw it ye over the Mud-wall of the Court, where I fir&s;t &s;aw her, when I carry'd her the News of your Gambols, and freaki&s;h Pranks i'the mid&s;t of the <HI>Black Mountain.</HI></P>
<P>Thou art infinitely mi&s;taken, my poor &s;illy Friend, quo <HI>Don Quixote&mdash;</HI> Mud-walls of a Court, do&s;t call 'em, where thou &s;aw'&s;t the peerle&s;s Para|gon of Beauty and Gentility! why, thou art blind, Man&mdash; they were the gilded Balconies, or el&s;e the &s;umptuous Galleries of &s;ome magnificent Palace. It may be &s;ince alter'd, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> but as far as I could then di&s;|cern, it was a perfect ordinary Mud-wall, at lea&s;t, if I ha' not lo&s;t my Me|mory. Be't what it will, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> thither 'tis we mu&s;t go; and provided I may &s;ee her, let it be over the Wall, or through a Window, through Chinks or Lattices, for which way &s;oever the lea&s;t Beam of her Beauty reaches my Eyes, it will &s;o enlighten my Under&s;tanding, and for|tifie
<PB N="326" REF="178"> my Heart, that no mortal will be able to match me for Prudence and Valour. Good faith, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> when I beheld this &s;ame Sun of a Lady <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> methought it did not &s;hine &s;o bright as to ca&s;t forth any Rays or Beams at all that I could &s;ee&mdash; but perhaps it was becau&s;e &s;he was &s;ifting of Wheat, which caus'd &s;uch a thick Cloud, as ob&s;cur'd its Bright|ne&s;s. Wilt thou never beat it out of tho&s;e &s;tupid Brains of thine, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that Madam <HI>Dulcinea</HI> was &s;ifting a' VVheat, an Employ|ment &s;o much beneath her Quality and Merit? Surely thou ha&s;t forgot our Poets Ver&s;es, who telling us how the four Nymphs that he &s;aw a&s;cend from the chry&s;tal Streams of <HI>Tagus,</HI> &s;pent their time; brings 'em in &s;itting upon the Gra&s;s, and working tho&s;e rich Embroideries of Gold and Pearl, which there he de&s;cribes with &s;o much Art and Learning, as if he had been Ma&s;ter of <HI>Embroiderers-Hall</HI> him&s;elf. And &s;o, no doubt, was <HI>Dulcinea</HI> em|ploy'd when thou beheld&s;t her, but that &s;ome damnable Enchanter, en|vious of her Glory, ca&s;t a Mi&s;t before thy Eyes, or &s;o dazl'd thy &s;ight, as to take one thing for another. VVhich makes me fear, that the Author of my Hi&s;tory is one of tho&s;e malicious Wizzards that will never give me a good word, but only &s;port with my Fame and Reputation to diverti&s;e him&s;elf with Lyes and idle Stories, far remote from truth. Oh, Envy, Envy!&mdash; thou mortal Poi&s;on of bright &s;hining Vertue, and inexhau&s;tible Source of infinite Mi&s;chiefs. There is no other Vice, friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> but has &s;omething plea&s;ing in it &s;elf; but Envy trails always at her heels, Di&s;|&s;ention, Madne&s;s, Treachery, and Di&s;order.</P>
<P>This is that which I mortally dread, quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> for I dare &s;ay, that in that &s;ame Story which Neighbour <HI>Corra&s;co</HI> has &s;een of our Lives, my Honour is expos'd like a Curte&s;an &s;et upon her Head naked, and then kick'd down Staires. And yet upon the faith of an hone&s;t Squire, I never &s;poke ill of any <HI>Necromancer</HI> i' my life; nor have I Wealth enough to be envy'd. Tis true, I am a little malicious now and then, and that I do talk at random &s;ometimes, yet I was always counted more Fool then Knave. And were it only for this, That I believe in God and the Catholick Faith, and am a mortal Enemy of the <HI>Jews,</HI> the Hi&s;torians ought to take Compa&s;&s;ion upon me, and &s;pare me i' th' their Libells&mdash; But before-<HI>George,</HI> let 'em &s;ay what they can, naked I came into the World, and naked I mu&s;t go out; I neither win nor lo&s;e; and therefore I &s;ay again, let 'em write their wor&s;t, I care no more then the great <HI>Turk&mdash;</HI> nor will I give 'em, <HI>begar,</HI> what the Cat left i' the Malt, to make 'em hold their Tongues.</P>
<P>This puts me in mind, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> of what befel a famous Poet of our Times, who having made a &s;mart Satyr again&s;t all the Ladies of the Court, who&s;e Names were up, forbore to name one, as not being certain whether &s;he were fit to be put in his Catalogue or no; who not finding her &s;elf in the Li&s;t, made a great Complaint to the Poet, and ask'd him, What Inju|ry &s;he had done him, that he &s;hould leave her out of his Roll? De&s;iring him withal, to enlarge his Satyr, and put her in, according to her Merits, or el&s;e &s;he would claw out his Eyes. Thereupon the Poet went on, and gave her a Character with a Vengeance, to the great Satisfaction of the Lady, who was glad to &s;ee her &s;elf in Print, tho it were at the Expence of her Honour. I mu&s;t tell thee, <HI>Sancho,</HI> this de&s;ire of Honour, and to be talk'd of hereafter, is a bewitching thing. VVhat caus'd <HI>Horatius</HI> to throw him&s;elf arm'd into <HI>Tiber?</HI> What made <HI>Mutius Scaevola,</HI> with that undaunted Patience, hold his Hand in the burning Flame till it was con&s;um'd to A&s;hes? What encourag'd <HI>Curtius</HI> to throw him&s;elf headlong into the gaping Earth? What made <HI>Cae&s;ar</HI> pa&s;s the <HI>Rubicon,</HI> after &s;o many unlucky
<PB N="327" REF="178"> Omens? By the Lord <HI>Harry,</HI> I don't know, quo <HI>Sancho.</HI> And now to come to modern Examples, What made a &s;mall number of <HI>Spaniards</HI> under the famous <HI>Cortez,</HI> being landed in the new world, to &s;ink their Ships, to de|prive them&s;elves of all manner of Safety, by flight? 'Twas all to get Ho|nour, <HI>Sancho;</HI> Honour that &s;purs us on to all great Actions, and in&s;pires us with Re&s;olution to contemn the mo&s;t &s;urprizing Terrors, and even Death it &s;elf; and all in hopes of a determin'd Fame, that ends with the Subver&s;ion of this world. VVhereas we Chri&s;tian <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> cumbat rather for that eternal Honour enjoy'd in Heaven, then for that vain Re|nown that &s;hall peri&s;h with the world's Conflagration. In killing Giants, we aim at the overthrow of Pride. And in our daily war again&s;t our Pa&s;|&s;ions, we combat Envy by Genero&s;ity, Anger by Humility, Gluttony and Drow&s;ine&s;s by Temperance and Vigilancy, Incontinency by that inviolable Fidelity which we ob&s;erve in our very Thoughts toward our Mi&s;tre&s;&s;es; and Sloth by continual Travel through the world, in &s;earch of all Adven|tures, which, together with the Name of Chri&s;tians, may acquire us the Character of Illu&s;trious and Renowned Knights. And the&s;e, <HI>Sancho,</HI> are the Steps, by which we mount the Pinnacle of Honour.</P>
<P>I under&s;tand, Sir, to a hair's breadth, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> every Tittle you have &s;aid. But &s;till I would fain be re&s;olv'd one Doubt that &s;trangely perplexes the in&s;ide of my Scull. What is't, Son <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote?</HI> &s;peak, and I'le endeavour to relea&s;e thee from thy Angui&s;h. Why then, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> pray re&s;olve me&mdash; tho&s;e <HI>Julius's, Augu&s;tus's,</HI> and all the re&s;t of tho&s;e eterniz'd and immortaliz'd Champions you have num|ber'd up, all dead &s;o long ago, where are they now at pre&s;ent? The Hea|thens, an&s;wer'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> are, without all que&s;tion, in Hell. The Chri&s;tians, if they were good Chri&s;tians, either in Paradi&s;e or Purgatory; at lea&s;t, if their Friends were &s;o remi&s;s as not to be at the Charges of having 'em pray'd out; tho I cannot believe &s;uch great Per&s;onages as they could want either Money or Friends upon &s;uch an emergent Occa&s;ion. So far, &s;o good, quo <HI>Sancho.</HI> Now then for the Sepulchers where the&s;e great Lords lie interr'd, be there any Silver Lamps &s;till burning therein? Are they hung about with Crutches, broken Legs and Arms, Wax-heads and Gla&s;s-Eyes, or with what are they hung? The Tombs of the Idolaters, an&s;wer'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> were for the mo&s;t part, magnificent Temples; <HI>Ju|lius Cae&s;ar</HI>'s A&s;hes were &s;et upon the top of a Pyramid, all of one Stone of a prodigious bigne&s;s, which they call at this day, <HI>St. Peter's Needle.</HI> The Sepulcher of <HI>Adrian</HI> the Emperor was a great Ca&s;tle as big as a large Vil|lage, formerly call'd <HI>Adrian's Mole,</HI> now the Ca&s;tle of St. <HI>Angelo.</HI> Queen <HI>Artemi&s;ia</HI> lay'd her Husband in a <HI>Mau&s;oleum,</HI> &s;o large, &s;o magnificent, and &s;o &s;ingular for the Curio&s;ity of the VVorkman-&s;hip, that it was account|ed one of the &s;even VVonders of the world. But never any of the Tombs of the <HI>Gentiles</HI> were adorn'd with Hair-cloths, Hour-gla&s;&s;es, and Death's-heads, or any other Offerings that &s;ignaliz'd 'em for Saints.</P>
<P>Thus far we are right, quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> now pray, Sir, tell me, which is the greater wonder, to rai&s;e a Man from the dead, or to kill a Giant? The Que&s;tion's ea&s;ily an&s;werd, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> certainly to rai&s;e a Man from the dead. Then I'le be with ye pre&s;ently, quo <HI>Sancho:</HI> For then we mu&s;t believe the Fame of tho&s;e that rai&s;e the dead, re&s;tore &s;ight to the blind, and heal the lame, before who&s;e Tombs we daily behold infinite Crowds of devout People continually kneeling and adoring their Reliques, mu&s;t be much more glorious both in this and the other VVorld, then that of all your Heatheni&s;h Emperors, and all the <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> that ever were
<PB N="328" REF="179"> born. I grant it, quo <HI>Don Quixote.</HI> Very good, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> and now ex|pect a &s;parring-Blow&mdash; for if the Bodies of the Saints are allow'd &s;uch Priviledges and Prerogatives, as ye call 'em, to have their Chappels continually burning with Lamps, and with the Approbation and Leave of our holy Mother the Church, to have their Smocks, their Petticoats, their Huckle-bones, their Hollow-Teeth, their Combings, the Bridges of their No&s;es, Tips of their Ears, with a thou&s;and other Reliques pre&s;erv'd in Gold Boxes, and to have their Shrines ador'd and enrich'd with the Offerings of Emperors, Kings, and Princes, to the immortalizing their Fame, and the Propagation of Chri&s;tian Devotion&mdash; And what of all this, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> what's your Inference&mdash; Why I infer from hence, that it would be our be&s;t way, our neare&s;t way, and our &s;afe&s;t way to turn Saints. For by that means we &s;hall acquire that Fame and Immortality, which we a&s;pire to at a far cheaper Rate, and with the ten thou&s;andth part of the Trouble. 'Twas but ye&s;terday, or t'other day, or I cannot tell when, that two <HI>Carmelite Fryers</HI> were canoniz'd, and you cannot imagine the Pre&s;s of People that crowded to ki&s;s the Iron Chains that they wore about their Wa&s;ts, in&s;tead of Girdles; and with their Hankerchiefs to touch their Reliques, which, I warrant ye, were lookt upon with more Veneration, then <HI>Orlando</HI>'s great Sword that hangs up i'the Kings Armory. So that for ought I &s;ee, 'twou'd be much better to be a Fryer of &s;ome begging Order, then one of the mo&s;t valiant <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> that ever &s;lew Giant. Two dozen of La&s;hes be&s;tow'd by a man's own &s;elf upon his own Shoul|ders, are more plea&s;ing to God, then two thou&s;and Blows lay'd on with Heart and good Will upon Dragons Scales, or the in&s;en&s;ible Backs of <HI>Hob|goblins. Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> thou &s;ay'&s;t very well; but we cannot all be Monks&mdash; there are many ways which God makes u&s;e of to bring his Elect to Heaven. <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI> it &s;elf is a religious Order; and there are <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> in Heaven. St. <HI>George,</HI> St. <HI>Taffey,</HI> St. <HI>James,</HI> St. <HI>Andrew,</HI> St. <HI>Patrick,</HI> St. <HI>Martin,</HI> S. <HI>Chri&s;topher,</HI> with a hundred more that I could name. However, quo <HI>Sancho</HI> I have heard &s;ay, there are more Fryers in Heaven then <HI>Knight-Errants.</HI> That may very well be, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for where there's one <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> there are ten thou&s;and Fryers of all &s;orts.</P>
<P>In &s;uch Di&s;cour&s;es as the&s;e, the two Adventurers &s;pent that Night and the next Day, without encountring any Occa&s;ion to &s;ignalize their Vertue, at which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was very much di&s;gu&s;ted. But at length the next day toward Evening, they di&s;cover'd the famous City of <HI>Tobo&s;o,</HI> which our Champion no &s;ooner di&s;cover'd, but his Eyes run over with joy; whereas <HI>Sancho,</HI> on the other &s;ide, became very melancholy, and much di&s;turb'd in his mind, becau&s;e he knew not the Hou&s;e where <HI>Dulcinea</HI> liv'd, and had never &s;een the fair Lady in his life, no more then <HI>Don Quixote.</HI> So that the one was mad till he &s;aw her, and the other ready to be|foul him&s;elf becau&s;e he had not &s;een her. However, <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> not|with&s;tanding the heat of his De&s;ires, would not make his Entry in the day time, but &s;tay'd till 'twas night, for the more Solemnity of the Bu&s;i|ne&s;s.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="9" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="329" REF="179">
<HEAD>CHAP. IX.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Which, when you ha' read, you will &s;ee what is in it.</HEAD>
<P>IT was now near the hour of Midnight, when <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho</HI> de&s;cended from a little Hillock, and enter'd <HI>Tobo&s;o.</HI> There was no body &s;tirring i' the Street, but a profound Silence every where, while every body was a-bed, and fa&s;t a&s;leep, with their Legs &s;tretch'd out at their full Ea&s;e. Only the Dogs kept a filthy noi&s;e, and with loud Acclamations, after their manner, welcom'd the noble Champion to Town. The Hogs grunted, the A&s;&s;es bray'd, and the Cats were at their loud Mu&s;ick upon the Tiles. Which made altogether &s;uch a Confu&s;ion of Di&s;cords, that <HI>San|cho</HI> trembl'd, and fill'd th' inamour'd Champion's Pate with a thou&s;and in|au&s;picious Conundrums. Yet in the mid&s;t of all his Terrors, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo he, ride on, the Devils are at <HI>Barley-break;</HI> however, &s;hew me the way to <HI>Dulcinea</HI>'s Palace, perhaps &s;he may not yet have left off playing at Cards, and &s;o we may chance to &s;peak with her before &s;he retires to her Re&s;t&mdash; <HI>Body of Phoebus,</HI> quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> what Palace do ye mean? The Pa|lace where I &s;aw her, was no more then a Cottage, and one of the mean|e&s;t in all the Village&mdash; I'le lay my life, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> thou met'&s;t her coming from the VVomens <HI>Parlament-hou&s;e,</HI> as they call it&mdash; and yet I dare &s;ay, had&s;t thou &s;een it within, 'twas all over gilded, with Seats of Cedar, and richly perfum'd&mdash; VVell, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;uppo&s;e I am mi&s;taken, and that Madam <HI>Dulcinea</HI>'s Hou&s;e be a Palace, d' ye think this is a time a night to find the Gates open? And would ye ha' me go and knock at &s;uch an un&s;ea&s;onable hour as this, to alarm all the Town? VVhy, what! ye are not going to a Bawdy hou&s;e &s;ure, that you think to be let <GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="UOM" EXTENT="1 letter">n at all hours! Come, come, take my Advice, let's to the next Inn, and rap up the Folks that make it their Trade to be di&s;turb'd i' their &s;leep, and not go to vi&s;it Ladies like Bears&mdash; Fir&s;t, I &s;ay, let's &s;ee where the Palace &s;tands, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and when we ha' found it, I know what to do&mdash; But &s;tay&mdash; methinks I have a Glimmer i' my Eye of &s;omething large and &s;pacious, 'tis a Structure too, and doubtle&s;s mu&s;t be that &s;ame Palace which we hunt for.</P>
<P>Ride on, Sir, then, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> tho I'le fir&s;t &s;ee it with my Eyes, and feel it with my ten Fingers, before I cea&s;e to be an Infidel in this Particu|lar. Thereupon <HI>Don Quixote</HI> led the way, and having rode about two hundred Paces, he arriv'd ju&s;t under the Steeple of the Pari&s;h-Church. We are mi&s;taken, <HI>Sancho,</HI> cry'd he, this is the Church. I &s;ee 'tis reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> and I wi&s;h to God we have not found our Graves i' the Yard; for 'tis a confounded ill &s;ign, and bodes no good to mi&s;take Churches for Palaces i' the Night; e&s;pecially when I told ye, that this Lady's Hou&s;e &s;tood in <HI>Turnagain-Alley.</HI> Dunderhead, accurs'd of Heaven, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> when did&s;t thou ever &s;ee a Royal Palace built in an Alley? Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> all Countries have their particular Cu&s;toms, and perhaps it is the Cu&s;tom of the Princes of <HI>Tobo&s;o</HI> to build their Palaces in &s;mall narrow Streets&mdash; And therefore let me alone, I'le try what I can do to find out this Dog-hole of a Palace&mdash; it may be, I may meet with it in &s;ome Chink or other, unle&s;s the Devil ha' &s;wallow'd it&mdash; Pox take it, for me, for putting us to all this trouble&mdash; Speak reve|rently,
<PB N="330" REF="180">
<GAP DESC="duplicate" EXTENT="1 page">
<PB N="331" REF="180">
<GAP DESC="duplicate" EXTENT="1 page">
<PB N="330" REF="181"> Sirrah, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> of my Mi&s;tre&s;s and her Palace, if thou in|tend'&s;t to live in peace.</P>
<P>I beg your Pardon, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> tho to &s;ay truth, you'd make a Saint &s;wear&mdash; For how d' ye think I &s;hould be able to find our Mi&s;tre&s;&s;es's Hou&s;e, that I never &s;aw but once i' my life, when we ride as it were in an Oven for darkne&s;s; and you your &s;elf cannot find it that ha' &s;een it a hundred times.</P>
<P>Guds my Dignity, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> this Fellow will make me mad by and by; why ye Brute, ye Heretick, I never &s;aw the matchle&s;s <HI>Dul|cinea</HI> i' my life, never &s;et my foot in her Palace, but only fell in love with her upon the loud Report that flew abroad, of her being one of the mo&s;t beautiful and lovely Prince&s;s's in the World. Oh, now I under&s;tand ye, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho!</HI> and gi' me leave to tell ye, if you never &s;aw her i' your life, y' gude faith, no more did I neither. How can that be, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote?</HI> Did&s;t thou not tell me thou &s;aw'&s;t her winnowing of Wheat, when thou brought&s;t me the An&s;wer of the Letter I wrote her? The Cur&s;e of my Grannam po&s;&s;e&s;s him, for me, that knows Madam <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> any more then the great <HI>Turk. Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> there's a time to droll, and a time to be &s;erious&mdash; becau&s;e I &s;ay that I never &s;aw the peerle&s;s <HI>Dulcinea</HI> i' my life, which is true; is it for you, Sauce-box, to &s;ay, you never &s;aw her, which is a damn'd Lye?</P>
<P>In the mid&s;t of the&s;e Quandaries and Di&s;appointments, by and by they heard a man and two Hor&s;es coming towards 'em, and by the noi&s;e of the Plough which the Hor&s;es drew along, they gue&s;t it might be &s;ome body that was going a' field to his Day-labour; and all the way what &s;hould the Fellow &s;ing, but the Ballad of <HI>Chivey-Chace.</HI></P>
<Q><L>With that an Arrow forth he drew,</L>
<L>And feather'd it &s;o fetuou&s;ly&mdash;</L></Q>
<P><HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>D. Quixote,</HI> I'le be hang'd, if we meet with any good luck this Night: Do&s;t hear what this Boar &s;ings? What then, quo <HI>San|cho?</HI> VVhat has Earl <HI>Dowgla&s;s,</HI> or Earl <HI>Piercy</HI> to do with us, or we with them? By this time the Plough-boy being come pretty near 'em; Good mor|row, Friend, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> which is the <HI>Prince&s;s Dulcinea</HI>'s Palace? Sir, quo the Plough-boy, I am but a &s;tranger i' the Town, where I have &s;erv'd a good wealthy Farmer, not much above a Fortnight&mdash; But look ye, Sir, go to yonder Hou&s;e with the Pale before it, and there lives the <HI>Cu|rate</HI> and the <HI>Clerk,</HI> who are the likelie&s;t Per&s;ons i' the Pari&s;h to tell ye where this Prince&s;s lives; tho I don't believe any &s;uch Prince&s;s lives here|about, unle&s;s &s;he be &s;ome per&s;on of Quality that may be a Prince&s;s indeed in her own Hou&s;e. 'Tis a thou&s;and to one, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> we &s;hall find the Lady we inquire for, among that &s;ort of Ladies&mdash; 'Tis very likely, quo the Boy; and &s;o &s;aying, <HI>Yapp,</HI> quo he, to his Hor&s;es; and without &s;tay|ing for any more Que&s;tions, fell a &s;inging his Ballad again to the Mu&s;ick of his Hor&s;es Bells.</P>
<P><HI>Sancho</HI> perceiving his Ma&s;ter di&s;&s;atisfy'd with the Plough-boy's An&s;wer, and very much di&s;order'd in his Countenance; Sir, &s;aid he, you &s;ee 'tis broad day, for Heaven's &s;ake let's not &s;it here to be &s;tar'd at, as if we were drying our &s;elves i' the Sun; either betake your &s;elf to &s;ome good hou&s;e, or el&s;e to &s;ome VVood without the Village, where you may &s;it and pick Strawberries, while I return and enquire from Hou&s;e to Hou&s;e, and Door
<PB N="331" REF="181"> to Door, where this Palace is wherein your Mi&s;tre&s;s lives. Certainly I mu&s;t be curs'd i'my Mother's VVomb, if I don't find it, &s;uppo&s;ing it to be above Ground. And when I ha' found it, I will go to her <HI>Highne&s;s,</HI> and tell her that you are here hard by, and then in mo&s;t humble manner be&s;eech her, that you have the Liberty to pay her a Vi&s;it, and that it may be &s;o contriv'd as to be done without Prejudice of her Honour.</P>
<P>By my Dignity, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> thou ha&s;t &s;poken a thou&s;and Sentences in three words; I approve thy Advice, and therefore let's go i' the fir&s;t place, and find out a convenient place of Retreat. VVhich done, thou &s;halt return to find out, &s;ee, and deliver thy Emba&s;&s;y to this &s;ame Queen of Beauty, from who&s;e Di&s;cretion and Courte&s;ie, I ha' rea&s;on to hope for Favours more then wonderful. <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;ate upon Thorns till he had got his Ma&s;ter out of the Town, for fear he &s;hould di&s;cover the Trick he had put upon him in counterfeiting the An&s;wer which he carry'd him from the Lady <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> when he was i' the <HI>Black Mountain;</HI> &s;o that he led the way, and put on at a more then u&s;ual rate, till after about two miles riding, they came to a VVood, where <HI>Don Quixote</HI> alighted, with a Re&s;olution to &s;tay till <HI>Sancho</HI> had met with his dear <HI>Dulcinea:</HI> In which Negotiation &s;everal Accidents fell out, that require new Attention, and a &s;trong Be|lief.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="10" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. X.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing a Relation how <HI>Sancho</HI> found out a way to enchant the Lady <HI>Dulcinea;</HI> with other Pa&s;&s;ages no le&s;s certain then ridiculous.</HEAD>
<P><HI>DON Quixote</HI> being thus retir'd into a Che&s;s-nut Grove, not far from <HI>Tobo&s;o,</HI> order'd <HI>Sancho</HI> forthwith to be gone, and not to return till he had &s;poken to his Lady, and obtain'd leave, that the Knight, her Beau|ties Captive, might be permitted to ki&s;s her Hands; and a po&s;itive Promi&s;e to vouch&s;afe him her Benediction, from whence alone he could hope for pro&s;perous Succe&s;s in all his Enterpri&s;es. All which <HI>Sancho</HI> chearfully under|took to perform, and oblig'd all his Fidelity to bring him back as good an An&s;wer as he had brought him before.</P>
<P>Go then, my Son, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and have a care of being daunt|ed when thou approache&s;t the bright Rays of that Sun of Beauty. Hap|py, O happy thou, above all the Squires upon Earth; who&s;e fortunate Bli&s;s it is, to behold at once all the Trea&s;ures of the Terre&s;trial Globe, enclos'd in one Per&s;on; forget not, I intreat thee to engrave in thy Memory the manner of thy Reception, whether &s;he change Colour upon thy delivery of thy Emba&s;&s;y; whether thou ob&s;erv'&s;t any Commotion or Di&s;turbance in her Countenance, when &s;he hears my Name; whether &s;he &s;eem to &s;it in her Chair of State, like one that &s;ate upon itching Powder; if &s;he ri&s;e up, whether &s;he &s;tand &s;ometimes upon one Leg, and &s;ometimes upon ano|ther; whether &s;he repeat three or four times the An&s;wer that &s;he gives thee, letting thee go, and then calling thee back; then &s;he nods thee a <HI>Fare|wel,</HI> and then &s;he crys, <HI>but &s;tay Friend,</HI> and then &s;he repeats her An&s;wer agen, and then &s;he di&s;mi&s;&s;es thee&mdash;and thou art half way down &s;tairs, and then &s;he calls thee agen; and then lifting her Lilly white Hand to her Head,
<PB N="332" REF="182"> &s;he &s;cratches a little where it does not itch, and then &s;he repeats her An|&s;wer agen. In &s;hort, ob&s;erve her Eyes, her Lips, the Tone of her Voice, and every Motion and Ge&s;ture of her Body; for by the true and faithful Account which thou giv'&s;t of the&s;e things, &s;hall I be able to penetrate the Secrets of her Heart, and to under&s;tand whatever it imports me to know, in reference to the happy Succe&s;s of my Amours. For I mu&s;t tell thee, <HI>Sancho,</HI> if thou do&s;t not know it already, that the outward Motions, Ge&s;tures, and Actions of Lovers, are the mo&s;t certain Di&s;coverers i' the World of the inward Pa&s;&s;ions of the Heart. Go then, <HI>Sancho,</HI> and enjoy a better Fortune then thy Ma&s;ter; and may kind Heaven grant thee &s;uch Succe&s;s, as may be welcome to a per&s;on that &s;its between the two Stools of Fear and Hope, in this &s;ame forlorn Solitude wherein thou leav'&s;t me.</P>
<P>I flie, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> and return in a Trice; in the mean time, Sir, &s;et your Thoughts at re&s;t&mdash;S'life, Sir! a <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> with a Heart no bigger then a Filberd! chear up, and &s;tand to your Pan-pudding&mdash; <HI>Faint heart never woo'd fair Maid&mdash; Where there's dry'd Meat, there can be no want of Vittles</HI>&mdash; And then agen;&mdash; <HI>The Hare leaps out of the Bu&s;h, where we lea&s;t look for her</HI>&mdash; I &s;peak this, becau&s;e that if I can't find Madam <HI>Dul|cinea</HI>'s Palace to day, I may find it to morrow&mdash; And when I ha' found her, I'le bring her to Rea&s;on, or <HI>I'le make her fly up with</HI> Jack&s;on's <HI>Hens.</HI> For the Pa&s;&s;ion a' Patience, away then, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and may&s;t thou prove as &s;ucce&s;sful in my bu&s;ine&s;s, as thou art in finding out Proverbs ready pickl'd upon all Occa&s;ions.</P>
<P>This &s;aid, <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;hew'd his Ma&s;ter his back parts, and &s;witching his be|loved <HI>Grizzle,</HI> made all the ha&s;te he could to the Town. In the mean time <HI>Don Quixote</HI> kept his Saddle, re&s;ting him&s;elf upon his Stirrups, and leaning his Head again&s;t his Lance, top full of pen&s;ive and confus'd Ima|ginations. Nor was <HI>Sancho</HI> le&s;s tormented in his Brains then his Ma&s;ter, not knowing what Cour&s;e to take to &s;atisfie his extravagant Fancy. No &s;ooner therefore was he got out of the Wood, but turning his A&s;s about, and perceiving his Ma&s;ter quite out of &s;ight, he alitt; and laying him&s;elf down at the foot of a Tree, thus began to dialogue with him&s;elf.</P>
<P>Brother <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo he, can you now imagine whither your Wor&s;hip is going? Is it in &s;earch of any A&s;s thou ha&s;t lo&s;t? No&mdash; What is't then thou art drawing dry foot after? Only a Prince&s;s&mdash; only a Prince&s;s that &s;urpa&s;&s;es both Sun and Moon for Beauty and Brightne&s;s&mdash; Well&mdash; and where do&s;t think to find this only Prince&s;s, <HI>Sancho?</HI> Where! why in the great City of <HI>Tobo&s;o</HI>&mdash; And who employs thee? why, the famous Knight, <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> the Hot-pre&s;&s;er of Oppre&s;&s;ors, that gives Drink to the hungry, and Meat to tho&s;e that are a dry. So far thou art right, <HI>Sancho;</HI> and do&s;t know where &s;he lives? Not I, before <HI>George</HI>&mdash; but my Ma&s;ter &s;ays &s;he lives &s;omewhere in a great Ca&s;tle, or el&s;e in a Royal Pa|lace&mdash; Did&s;t ever &s;ee her by any Accident i' thy life? Neither I nor my Ma&s;ter neither, &s;o God help me. But &s;uppo&s;e that the People of <HI>Tobo&s;o,</HI> believing or &s;u&s;pecting that thou cam&s;t to inveagle their Prince&s;&s;es, or &s;pirit away their Daughters, &s;hould decently noint thy Shoulders with <HI>Oyl of Faggot-&s;tick,</HI> till they left thee nere a &s;ound Rib to hoop in thy Bowels, do&s;t think they wou'd do well, or no?&mdash; Why, truly were I to be Judge in another man's Cau&s;e, I might perhaps be a' their &s;ide. On the other &s;ide, I am apt to think, that when they came to con&s;ider I was only a Servant, and that what I did, I did by Command, they wou'd not be &s;o liberal of their Cudgel grea&s;e. Never tru&s;t to that, my dear <HI>Sancho;</HI> the People of <HI>Mancha</HI> are a &s;urly Generation of Men, and will endure no
<PB N="333" REF="182"> Tricks to be put upon 'em. By the Lord <HI>Harry,</HI> if they &s;mell thee out once, 'twill behove thee to have Shift of Skin and Bones&mdash; Ware Hawk&mdash;ware Hawk&mdash; Why &s;hould&s;t thou go about to &s;earch for more feet then the Cat has, to gratifie another? And perhaps when all's done, I may as well find <HI>Dulcinea</HI> in <HI>Tobo&s;o,</HI> as <HI>Joan Whackum</HI> in <HI>London.</HI> No&mdash; no&mdash; I renounce thee, <HI>Satan,</HI> I renounce thee&mdash; 'Tis the Devil has put me upon this Employment, and wou'd fain ha' me pounded like Beef-Steaks, to make me tender for his Supper&mdash; but I defie thee, <HI>Satan,</HI> I defie thee.</P>
<P>After the&s;e Expo&s;tulations, <HI>Sancho</HI> ponder'd a while, and then beginning afre&s;h; But yet they &s;ay, quo he, there's a Remedy for all things but Death, under who&s;e Yoke we mu&s;t all &s;ubmit when our time comes. Therefore, <HI>Sancho,</HI> never de&s;pair, nor go about to throw the <HI>Helve after the Hatchet.</HI> This Ma&s;ter of mine, by a thou&s;and Signs that I ha' &s;een, is a Mad-man, fit to be lockt up in <HI>Bedlam;</HI> and to deal ingeniou&s;ly with thee, <HI>Sancho,</HI> I think thou art, within a quarter of a Yard and a Nail, as great a Fool as he, to &s;erve him as thou do&s;t, unle&s;s it be for the Proverb's &s;ake, <HI>Trim-tram, like Ma&s;ter like man;</HI> and another as good, <HI>Shew me thy Company, and I'le tell what thou art.</HI> Now then my Ma&s;ter being mad&mdash;and &s;o mad that he mi&s;takes many times black for white, and white for black&mdash; as when he took the Windmills for Giants, and the Flocks of Sheep for Armies, 'twill be no difficult matter to make him believe the fir&s;t Country Girl I can meet with, to be the <HI>Prince&s;s Dulcinea.</HI> If he will not believe me, I'le &s;wear it; if he &s;wear agen, I'le &s;wear fa&s;ter then he. If he &s;tamp, and &s;tare, and tell me I lye; I'le &s;tamp, and &s;tare, and tell him he lyes; and thus I'le &s;o out-face, and out-&s;tare, and out-&s;wear him, that he &s;hall either have &s;uch an ill Opinion of me, as never to &s;end me any more of his <HI>fir&s;t of April Errants;</HI> or el&s;e believe, and then I'le &s;wear it, that &s;ome of tho&s;e <HI>Necromancers</HI> that envy his Happine&s;s, have tran&s;mogrify'd the glorious and matchle&s;s <HI>Dulcinea</HI> into &s;ome <HI>Doll Common</HI> or other, on purpo&s;e to de&s;pite him.</P>
<P>This Contrivance re&s;tor'd Peace to <HI>Sancho</HI>'s troubl'd Thoughts, believing now he &s;hould have all de&s;ir'd Succe&s;s in his grand Affair. Thus therefore calm'd and quieted, he &s;tay'd till the Evening, thereby the more to amu&s;e his Ma&s;ter; at what time he de&s;cry'd at a di&s;tance three Countrey Wenches upon three young ragged Colts, directing their Cour&s;e to the place where he lay. The Author &s;aies nothing whether they rid &s;ide-ways, or a &s;traddle; nor does he &s;ay, they were dre&s;t i' their Holy-day Habit, like Wenches that were coming from Market, which is not material to the Point. But this he &s;aies, That &s;o &s;oon as <HI>Sancho</HI> di&s;cover'd the Girls, away he rode back to his Ma&s;ter in po&s;t-ha&s;te; whom he found i' the &s;ame Po&s;ture that he left him, breathing out his Amours in Sighs and Lamentations. Ah, my dear friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo he! and is <HI>long lookt for come at la&s;t?</HI> I'the Name of Prophe&s;ie, What News? What News? Are we to mark this day with a black or a white Bean? With neither, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> but let it be a <HI>red Letter Day,</HI> in Characters fairer then <HI>This Indenture,</HI> and more welcome then St. <HI>John's,</HI> or St. <HI>Michael's</HI> to the wanting Landlord. Why then, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> it &s;eems thou bring'&s;t us good News. Good News! quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;uch News never came to an elde&s;t Son of his Father's &s;udden Death. You ha' no more to do, but to trot gently into the open Fields, and by that time you have rid four Bows &s;hots, you will meet Madam <HI>Dulcinea</HI> coming to gi' ye a Vi&s;it, with two of her Dam&s;els&mdash; Holy Father, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> What Angel's Voice is this I hear, friend <HI>Sancho?</HI> Do&s;t
<PB N="334" REF="183"> tell me truth, or do&s;t thou in kindne&s;s abu&s;e me, thinking with fal&s;e Joys to intoxicate my Sorrows? What &s;hall I get by that, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> to tell you a Lye, and be found out the next Minute? There's neither Plea&s;ure nor Profit i' that, Sir; And therefore don't &s;it talking there, but ride on a|way-bit, and you'll &s;ee her coming; I mean the Prince&s;s your Mi&s;tre&s;s, array'd and bedeck'd like her nown &s;elf&mdash;She and her two Dam&s;els are all three but &s;o many glittering Ingots of Gold. And then for Diamonds, Rubies, and Pearls, they hang about their Shoulders in Clu&s;ters, like red and white Grapes upon a clambring Vine&mdash; Gud's-lid, I wonder how they and their Hor&s;es are able to bear 'em&mdash; their di&s;hevell'd Hair hangs down in Curls to their very Wa&s;tes, like &s;o many Sun-beams &s;porting with the Wind: and more then all this, they are mounted upon three <HI>Gambolling Hags,</HI> as &s;leek as the Back of an Eel, and worth their weight in yellow Gold&mdash; <HI>Gambolling Hags!</HI> ye Block-head&mdash; quo <HI>Don Quixote&mdash;Am|bling Nags</HI> thou mean'&s;t&mdash;S'life! &s;hould the Prince&s;s hear thee talk &s;o like a Clown, &s;he'd take me for &s;ome Chee&s;emonger rather then a Man of Honour&mdash; Well! quo <HI>Sancho, Gambling</HI> or <HI>Ambling Hags,</HI> or <HI>Nags</HI>&mdash; there's no &s;uch great difference that I &s;ee&mdash; but let 'em be <HI>Hags</HI> or <HI>Nags,</HI> I am a Pagan if I ever beheld &s;uch beautiful Creatures as tho&s;e that ride upon 'em, e&s;pecially Madam <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> who, by Guds-nigs, would ravi&s;h a <HI>Mahometan.</HI></P>
<P>Come on then, my dear <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> let's away&mdash; and for the&s;e happy Tidings thou ha&s;t brought me, I freely be&s;tow upon thee all the Spoils of the fir&s;t Adventure we &s;hall meet with; or if that content thee not, then take the three Colts of my three Mares that are now ready to foal, upon the <HI>Town Common.</HI> I like the Colts, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> but for the <HI>Spoils,</HI> they may co&s;t your Wor&s;hip dear, and be worth nothing.</P>
<P>And now they were got into the open Plain, at what time they di&s;|cover'd the three Countrey Girls within a Stone's throw. Upon which, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> ca&s;ting his Eyes towards <HI>Tobo&s;o,</HI> and &s;eeing no other then the&s;e three <HI>Tatterdemallions</HI> upon the Road, &s;trangely dejected in Spirit, quo he to <HI>Sancho,</HI> Was the Prince&s;s come forth of the City, when you left her? How d' ye mean <HI>forth of the City,</HI> quo <HI>Sancho?</HI>&mdash; Where be your Eyes? i' the Nape of your Neck? I &s;ee nothing, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> but three tatter'd <HI>Scrubs</HI> upon three ragged Colts.</P>
<P>Now God deliver me from the Devil, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> what a Winter Fog ha' you before your Eyes, that you cannot di&s;cern three <HI>Nags,</HI> as you call 'em, I prote&s;t as white as Snow, from three ragged Dun Colts! Why then, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I'le give thee leave to pill off my Beard, if it be &s;o&mdash; Body a' <HI>Cae&s;ar,</HI> they are either ragged He-colts or She-colts, or el&s;e I lye, as &s;ure as I am <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and thou <HI>Sancho Pancha;</HI> and I dare &s;wear it, &s;hould there be occa&s;ion.</P>
<P>I think the man's betattl'd, quo <HI>Sancho</HI>&mdash; I &s;ay, make ha&s;te&mdash; &s;nuff your Eyes&mdash;ride up to the Prince&s;s quickly, and e're &s;he come too near us, pray go pay your Homage, like a man of breeding, to the Lady of your Affe|ctions. And &s;o &s;aying, <HI>Sancho</HI> him&s;elf, kicking with both Heels, ha&s;tens up to the Wenches before his Ma&s;ter, alights from his A&s;s, and after he had &s;topp'd the foremo&s;t Colt, holding the Collar in his hands, and falling up|on his Knees; Great Prince&s;s, quo he, both Queen and Dutche&s;s of Beau|ty, vouch&s;afe to ca&s;t an Eye of Favour upon yonder Knight your Slave and Captive, whom the very &s;ight of your illu&s;trious Pre&s;ence has petrify'd into a cold and &s;en&s;ele&s;s piece of Marble, without Pul&s;e or Motion, as being daunted, di&s;may'd, and dazl'd with the Lu&s;ter of your Maje&s;ty. I am <HI>Sancho
<PB N="335" REF="183"> Pancha,</HI> his Squire, and he him&s;elf the wand'ring, &s;caperloitring Knight, <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> otherwi&s;e call'd the <HI>Knight of the ill-favour'd Countenance.</HI></P>
<P>By this time the enamour'd Knight being alighted al&s;o from his Hor&s;e, had clapp'd him&s;elf down upon his Knees by his Squire, like devout <HI>Man</HI> and <HI>Wife</HI> in a Tomb i' the <HI>Chancel;</HI> but perceiving his <HI>Godde&s;s</HI> to be no other then a fu&s;ty <HI>Joan Ruggle,</HI> a meer blubber-cheek'd, &s;warthy, flat-nos'd, grea&s;ie <HI>Trugmullion,</HI> he found him&s;elf in &s;uch a &s;trange Aver&s;ion to Female Adoration, that he could not &s;o much as open his Lips. On the other &s;ide, the Wenches no le&s;s a&s;toni&s;h'd to &s;ee two men in &s;uch different Gui&s;es, upon their Knees, and &s;topping the poor Colts, were in a Peck of Troubles. But at length, the bolde&s;t, and the foremo&s;t of the three, unwilling &s;o to be pray'd out of her Maiden-head, and not liking the Frolick; Gentlemen, quo &s;he, pray ri&s;e and go about your Bu&s;ine&s;s, and let us go about ours, for we are in ha&s;te; we have Hogs to &s;erve, and Kine to milk, and our Dames expect us at home&mdash;</P>
<P>To whom <HI>Sancho;</HI> Mo&s;t illu&s;trious Prince&s;s, quo he, and Lady in com|mon of <HI>Tobo&s;o,</HI> how can a Heart &s;o hard and cruel, dwell within &s;o fair a Brea&s;t, and not relent to &s;ee the Prop and Pillar of <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI> kneel|ing at the feet of your mo&s;t glorious Highne&s;s?&mdash;Hoy-day! What ha' we got here tro? quo the &s;econd&mdash;The&s;e Pur&s;e-proud <HI>Cockneys</HI> think they may abu&s;e us Countrey Girls at their plea&s;ure, as if we could not return 'em a <HI>Rowland</HI> for their <HI>Oliver</HI>&mdash; No, no, y' are i' the wrong Box, y' fackins&mdash; Here are none for your turn&mdash; If ye are &s;o hot, the Town's before ye&mdash;</P>
<P>Ri&s;e, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for now I find my cur&s;ed ill Fortune per&s;ecutes me &s;till with her accu&s;tom'd Malice, and has damm'd up all the Pa&s;&s;ages that &s;hould convey Contentment to my mi&s;erable Soul that lingers in this frail Trunk of mortal Fle&s;h. But oh! thou living Sun of human Beauty, Ma&s;ter-piece of Heaven, and only Remedy that can cure this afflicted Heart which adores thee; tho the villainous Enchanter that continually di&s;turbs my Re&s;t, have now ca&s;t Mi&s;ts and Clouds before my Face, and hides tho&s;e peerle&s;s Beauties from my &s;ight alone, under the foul di&s;gui&s;e of rural Deformity; di&s;dain me not however, but look upon me with a glance of Pity and Affection; at lea&s;t, if not by the &s;ame Power transform'd into &s;ome ugly Shape, that may render me frightful to thy All-charming Eyes&mdash; Thou &s;ee&s;t, Cele&s;tial Prince&s;s, both my Sub|mi&s;&s;ion and my Zeal; and be a&s;&s;ur'd my con&s;tant Heart will never fail to pay the Homage due to thy divine Beauty, mauger all the Artifices of my inveterate Foe.</P>
<P>Marry-gap, Mr. Smell-&s;mock, wi' your <HI>Lyricum fancies,</HI> quo the Coun|trey Wench&mdash; What's all this for? In &s;hort, Sir, you do but wa&s;te time&mdash; we are all, I think, be&s;pok'n already; for my part I am&mdash; And there|fore I be&s;eech ye, ride on, Sir, wi' your Gridiron-cheeks&mdash;you &s;eem to be very old, and I'm &s;ure y' are very ugly&mdash;nor indeed do we under&s;tand your high Language. She had no &s;ooner &s;poken the words, but <HI>Sancho</HI> let her pa&s;s, over-joy'd that his Stratagem had &s;o well taken.</P>
<P>On the other &s;ide, Madam <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> no le&s;s glad to be thus rid of her trouble|&s;ome Gallant, and fearing pur&s;uit, with a Pin thru&s;t through the end of her Withie-wan, &s;o berickl'd the Colt's Buttocks, that the re&s;ty young Jade, unaccu&s;tom'd to &s;uch kind of &s;mart In&s;tigations, fell a kicking and flinging &s;o outragiou&s;ly, that the Girts of the Pannel breaking, down came the pretended Prince&s;s. Pre&s;ently <HI>Don Quixote</HI> ran to help her up, and
<PB N="336" REF="184"> <HI>Sancho</HI> to mend her Furniture; which being done, and all things made fa&s;t agen, the amorous Knight went about to have taken his <HI>inchanted Mi&s;tre&s;s</HI> in his Arms, with an Intention to have re-&s;eated her upon her &s;umptuous Side-&s;addle, as <HI>Sancho</HI> had &s;worn it to be: but the fair Lady getting up at the &s;ame time, took a run, and laying her hand upon the Crupper of the Colt, at one Jump leap'd cleaverly into her Pannel, where &s;he &s;ate a|&s;tride, like the Queen of the <HI>Amazons</HI> her &s;elf.</P>
<P>By this Air, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> our Lady Mi&s;tre&s;s is as nimble as a <HI>Titmous.</HI> Let me die, if I don't think her fit to teach the be&s;t Hor&s;emen in <HI>Morocco</HI> to mount their <HI>Barbaries.</HI> See how &s;he &s;mokes it away, and without Spurs makes her young Palfrey run like a Grey-hound; her Dam&s;els of Honour too, are as notable Whip&s;ters as &s;he&mdash; fore-<HI>George,</HI> they fly like the Wind: For indeed they rid for their lives, not daring to &s;lacken their pace, till they were got out of the Reach of two &s;uch Saint-like Wooers, under|&s;tanding neither their Devotion, nor their Court&s;hip.</P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> pur&s;u'd 'em as far as he could with his Eyes, and when they were quite out of &s;ight, <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;aid he, What do&s;t think of the confound|ed Malice of the&s;e damn'd Enchanters, thus to deprive me, Caitiffs as they are, of the greate&s;t Happine&s;s i' the World, to have &s;een the peerle&s;s <HI>Dul|cinea</HI> in her natural Shape and Glory? Certainly I was born to be the very Example and Mark of Misfortune it &s;elf, again&s;t which the&s;e Vermin are employ'd to &s;hoot all the Arrows of her Hatred. Nor were the&s;e Tray|tors content to transform the matchle&s;s <HI>Dulcinea</HI> into a deformed <HI>Puzzle</HI> of a Countrey Wench, but they mu&s;t take from her that lovely Scent too, which is peculiar to Ladies of her Quality, who always &s;mell of Amber and <HI>Arabian</HI> Perfumes: In&s;omuch that when I went to embrace her to lift her up again into her Saddle, as thou call'&s;t it (for I cannot beat it out of my head, but that it was no more then a Pannel) &s;uch a rank Hogo of Garlick and raw Onions invaded my No&s;trils, as had like to ha' taken away my Breath.</P>
<P>Dregs of Mankind, then, cry'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> in a terrible Pa&s;&s;ion, Scoundrels of Inchanters, Oh, that I might have the plea&s;ure once to &s;ee the whole Rabble of &s;uch <HI>Imps</HI> of <HI>Satan</HI> threaded together upon one String, and hung up a &s;moaking like Herrings at <HI>Yarmouth!</HI> Was it not enough for ye to change tho&s;e Eyes of my Mi&s;tre&s;s, brighter then <HI>Aurora</HI>'s, into Acorns? her Golden Tre&s;&s;es into a <HI>red Cow's Tail?</HI> Was it not enough for ye to alter the whole Frame and Form of her Body, but that you mu&s;t be medling with her Breath, and alt'ring the &s;team of her Fle&s;h, which was &s;weeter then the Morning Exhalations of Ro&s;es, by which we &s;hould ha' known her to ha' been the Per&s;on we &s;ought for, tho under Di&s;gui&s;e? And yet for all this, I mu&s;t confe&s;s, the Lady <HI>Dulcinea</HI> never appear'd to me to be deformed, but rather on the other &s;ide, methought I never &s;aw a more lovely Crea|ture i' my life; by the &s;ame token &s;he had a Mole upon her right Lip, which gave root to &s;even or eight hairs of a deep <HI>Norway Red,</HI> about two fingers long, looking like &s;o many &s;trings of Gold Wire.</P>
<P>According to the Doctrine of <HI>Moles,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> the Lady <HI>Dul|cinea</HI> having &s;uch a Mole upon her Lip, &s;hould have &s;uch another upon her Thigh; tho I mu&s;t tell thee, <HI>Sancho,</HI> the hairs thou talk'&s;t of, are too big to grow upon <HI>Moles.</HI> By the life of <HI>Pharaoh,</HI> quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> 'tis true as I tell ye&mdash;there they were, and they look'd too, as if &s;he had brought 'em along with her into the World; but I mu&s;t needs &s;ay, they are very be|coming. That I believe, friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> for Nature could not add to <HI>Dulcinea</HI>'s Features any thing but what was the Perfection
<PB N="337" REF="184"> of her Workman&s;hip: &s;o that tho&s;e Moles were no Deformities in her, but bright and glittering Stars that augmented the Lu&s;tre of her Beauty. But prithee tell me, <HI>Sancho,</HI> that which appeared to me no other then a Pan|nel, was it a <HI>Pillion,</HI> or a Side-&s;addle? It was a Side-&s;addle, an't like your Wor&s;hip, with an ine&s;timable Imbroidery, by this fair Skie, worth half a Kingdom. How the Devil came it to pa&s;s, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that I could &s;ee nothing of all this? Well! I have &s;aid it, and mu&s;t &s;ay it as long as I live, I am the mo&s;t unfortunate among Men. Upon that, the <HI>Crackrope</HI> of a Squire could hardly forbear laughing to &s;ee how artificially he had gull'd his credulous, and All to-be-fa&s;cinated Ma&s;ter, which he glory'd in till his dying Day, as one of his chiefe&s;t Ma&s;ter-pieces.</P>
<P>At length, after &s;everal other Di&s;cour&s;es of the &s;ame nature, they mount|ed again, and took the Road for <HI>Sarrago&s;a,</HI> whither they ha&s;ten'd to be pre|&s;ent at one of the mo&s;t pompous Fe&s;tivals that is &s;olemniz'd in that City. But they met with &s;o many Adventures and Rubs by the way, which by rea&s;on of their Novelty: their Strangene&s;s, and their Curio&s;ity, mu&s;t not be left out.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="11" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XI.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing the prodigious Adventure of the Chariot of the Officers of Death.</HEAD>
<P>BUT tho <HI>Don Quixote</HI> were got a Hor&s;e-back, yet was he &s;o o're|whelm'd and doz'd with Melancholy to &s;ee him&s;elf &s;o de&s;pitefully fool'd and baffl'd by the&s;e villainous and Caitiff <HI>Necromancers;</HI> more e&s;pecially in the late Transfiguration of his high-born Prince&s;s into a <HI>Countrey Wa&s;tcoteer,</HI> without any po&s;&s;ibility, of him&s;elf, to di&s;&s;olve the Inchantment, that his Sen&s;es quite for&s;ook him. In which di&s;con&s;olate Condition he rode in a carele&s;s Po&s;ture, with folded Arms, and the Reins of his Bridle thrown up|on <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI>'s Neck. Who, as he was a Hor&s;e of great Under&s;tanding, finding him&s;elf without any controul, at his full liberty, and tempted by the goodne&s;s of the Gra&s;s, took his opportunity (as any other ingenious Hor&s;e wou'd ha' done) to graze four mouthfulls, and &s;tep two &s;teps for|ward to the next fair Tuft, as one that thought his Ma&s;ter in no great ha&s;te. Which his faithful Squire perceiving, Sir, &s;aid he, 'tis not for Bea&s;ts to be &s;ad, but only for rational Men; yet men that &s;uffer their Rea&s;on to be overcome by their Sorrows, make Bea&s;ts of them&s;elves. Recollect your &s;elf therefore, and ride wi' your Bridle i' your hand, like a Man: Wake, Sir, wake by any means, and &s;hew your &s;elf a <HI>Knight-Errant</HI>&mdash;S'life Sir, you jog along more like a <HI>Hartford-&s;hire Tanner,</HI> then a Lady's Cham|pion. What a Devil's the matter? Are ye dreaming of a dry Summer?&mdash; I ne're beheld a man &s;o mop'd i' my life&mdash; I'd rather <HI>Beelzebub</HI> &s;hould carry all the <HI>Dulcinea's</HI> i' the world a' pick-back to Hell, then lo&s;e one &s;ingle <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> more worth then all the Inchantments and Tran&s;|mogrifications upon Earth&mdash;</P>
<P>Peace, <HI>Sancho,</HI> peace, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> not a trea&s;onable word more again&s;t the inchanted Prince&s;s <HI>Dulcinea.</HI> 'Tis I am the &s;ole occa&s;ion of her Misfortune&mdash; Curs'd be tho&s;e Hell-hounds of Enchanters that envy my Glory, and deprive me of my Felicity. By <HI>Cuds-liggers,</HI> reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI>
<PB N="338" REF="185">
'tis a &s;ad ca&s;e; nor do I think there is that Heart &s;o hard in mortal Brea&s;t, that wou'd not melt to &s;ee how &s;trangely the Lady's alter'd&mdash; Well may&s;t thou &s;ay &s;o, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for thou ha&s;t &s;een her in all her Lu&s;tre, when her Beauties dazl'd all the world, and &s;hone without a Cloud; when no Inchantments dimm'd thy Eyes, as they did mine. But alas! 'tis I alone that prove the fatal Con&s;equences of their dangerous and venomous Effects. By the way, <HI>Sancho,</HI> I mu&s;t tell thee, thou did&s;t not make a right u&s;e of thy Eyes neither, by the De&s;cription of this Lady's Beauty, which thou made&s;t me. For thou told'&s;t me, if I forget not, &s;he had Eyes of Pearl&mdash;for Eyes like Pearl, are more properly to be a|&s;crib'd to the Fi&s;h call'd a <HI>Guilthead,</HI> then to a Lady. Wherefore I rather be|lieve, that <HI>Dulcinea</HI>'s Eyes are like Turquoi&s;es, or green Emeralds, which are arch'd over with two cele&s;tial <HI>Rain-bows</HI> in&s;tead of <HI>Eye-brows</HI>&mdash; and therefore keep the Pearls till thou com'd&s;t to her Teeth. For a&s;&s;uredly, <HI>Sancho,</HI> thou wert mi&s;taken, and took'&s;t her Teeth for her Eyes. That might be, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> for I was then as much dazl'd with the &s;ight of her Beauty, as you were troubl'd ju&s;t now at her Deformity. But it behoves us to leave all things to God, who both fore&s;ees and knows whatever is to happen in this &s;ame Vale of Tears, this wicked world, where there is no|thing without a mixture of Malice, Impo&s;ture and Villainy.</P>
<P>I' the mean time, Sir, there is a thing newly come into my Head, that troubles me more then all the re&s;t, which is this, That when you have van|qui&s;h'd a Giant or a Knight, and then command 'em to pre&s;ent them&s;elves at the feet of the Lady <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> where aduce this poor Knight or Giant &s;hall find her, or how we &s;hall be able to direct 'em?&mdash; Methinks I &s;ee the <HI>Tom-ladles</HI> already at their Duties, <HI>&s;aunter, &s;aunter,</HI> gaping and &s;taring, wi' their hands i' their Pockets, and enquiring through all the Streets of <HI>Tobo&s;o,</HI> for the Lady <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> who, it may be, has met 'em five or &s;ix times full <HI>But,</HI> and yet are they &s;till to &s;eek; for they know her no more then they knew my Father deceas'd.</P>
<P>Perhaps, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> the force of the Inchantment may not extend to <HI>Giants</HI> and <HI>Knights</HI> that are vanqui&s;h'd&mdash; But we'll try the Experiment upon the next that we luckily light upon.</P>
<P>I like your De&s;ign very well, Sir, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> for thereby we &s;hall find out the Truth, whether the Enchanters are in fault, and whether they conceal my Lady's Beauty from you alone, or no&mdash; for then it is Malice fore-thought in them; and 'tis you that &s;uffers, and not &s;he. So then if our Mi&s;tre&s;s be well, let us be glad for that, and bear the re&s;t of our Afflictions as well as we can; and we can take no better cour&s;e then by &s;eeking out new Adventures, which will draw off our Thoughts ano|ther away, till Time, the be&s;t Phy&s;ician i' the world, &s;hall perfect the Cure.</P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> was ju&s;t about to have return'd him an An&s;wer, when he de&s;cry'd upon the Road a kind of a Cart, like a <HI>Hay-cart,</HI> that carry'd a Company of People in &s;trange and different Habits. He that &s;eem'd to be the Carter, was a mo&s;t hideous <HI>Hobthru&s;h,</HI> enough to &s;care a hundred <HI>Knight-Errants.</HI> In the next place, as the Cart drew nearer and nearer, he di&s;cover'd a Re&s;emblance of <HI>Death</HI> with a human Countenance. On the one &s;ide of Death &s;tood an <HI>Angel</HI> with large expanded Wings of divers Colours; on the other &s;tood an <HI>Emperor</HI> with a Crown that &s;eem'd to be of Gold. At the feet of <HI>Death</HI> lay the <HI>God of Love,</HI> with his Bow and his Arrows, only he was not hood-wink'd. Next to the&s;e there appear'd a Knight compleatly arm'd from head to foot, only that in&s;tead of a Helmet
<PB N="339" REF="185"> he wore a Hat with a large Plume of Feathers; nor were the&s;e all, there being &s;everal other per&s;ons, which like the re&s;t, were variou&s;ly di&s;|guis'd.</P>
<P>So &s;trange a Spectacle as this, &s;urprizing our valiant Champion, put him into a cold Sweat, and his hair &s;tood an end with that force as to lift up his Helmet two inches above his Scull; and as for <HI>Sancho,</HI> you might ha' &s;melt him with the Wind i' your Teeth, above a Furlong and a half. But <HI>Don Quixote</HI> in a trice returning to him&s;elf, di&s;cover'd all the marks of Joy imaginable in his Eyes, not doubting but that Fortune offer'd him an Opportunity to perform Miracles in a more then ordinary Adven|ture. With this inward Incouragement he advances, and like one re&s;olv'd to expo&s;e him&s;elf to all the Dangers that could threaten Mortality, po&s;t|ing him&s;elf before the Cart; <HI>Gee-ho-man</HI> or <HI>Devil,</HI> quo he, with a &s;urly menacing Tone, tell me, at thy Peril, who thou art, whither thou art going, and who all the&s;e Inhabitants of &s;ome other World are, that ride in thy Cart, which &s;eems to be rather <HI>Charon</HI>'s Boat, then a terre&s;tial Tum|brel?</P>
<P>Sir, quo the <HI>Devil,</HI> very calmly and civilly, we are a Company of poor <HI>Comedians</HI> that Ye&s;terday, being <HI>Corpus Chri&s;ti</HI> day, acted the Tragedy, call'd <HI>The Parliament of Death,</HI> behind yonder Hill, and now are going to play the &s;ame over again this Evening in the Village you &s;ee before us; and we go in our Habits to &s;ave the labour of new attiring our &s;elves. That young man repre&s;ents <HI>Death;</HI> that other, an <HI>Angel;</HI> that &s;ame Wo|man, who is the Poet's Concubine, plays the <HI>Queen</HI>&mdash;There is one that per&s;onates an <HI>Emperor,</HI> and there is another plays the <HI>Souldier</HI>'s Part, and I, Sir, am the <HI>Devil</HI> at your Service, one of the chief Actors i' the Play, for I &s;peak the Prologue; if you have any other Que&s;tions to ask me, pray proceed; for as I am the <HI>Devil,</HI> I under&s;tand the whole Plot; and I mu&s;t tell ye farther, that our Poet is one that makes all the chief Plays for <HI>Bartlemew</HI> and <HI>Southwark Fairs</HI>&mdash; He has been a little down i' the world hitherto, but he hopes to mend his Fortune at one time or other&mdash;</P>
<P>By the faith of a <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> when I fir&s;t &s;aw this <HI>Tumbrel,</HI> I thought &s;ome &s;trange Adventure had been offer'd me&mdash; but now I find there is no tru&s;t in outward Appearances. Drive on, ho|ne&s;t Friends, drive on in peace, go act your Play; and if I can do ye any Service, believe me ready to a&s;&s;i&s;t ye with all my heart&mdash; for I ha' been a great Admirer and Reader of Plays and Masks, from my very Cradle.</P>
<P>No &s;ooner were the words out of his Mouth, but the Fool in the Tra|gedy, having &s;tay'd a little behind, overtook his Fellows: He was clad in a red and yellow Coat, hung about with little Bells, with a Stick in his hand, at the end of which were ty'd three large blown Bladders full of blew Beans. This Fool, coming near <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> fell a skipping and leaping after his antick fa&s;hion, and all the while kept fencing with his Stick, and thumping the Ground with his rattling Bladders, which made &s;uch a Confu&s;ion of &s;ounds, that what with his Bladders, and what with his Bells, that <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> till then the patiente&s;t Hor&s;e alive, &s;car'd out of his Wits, took his Curb in his Teeth, and notwith&s;tanding all the Rider's Skill, fell a frisking, curvetting, and running, as if the Devil had &s;ent po&s;t for his Ma&s;ter.</P>
<P><HI>Sancho</HI> fearing &s;ome Mi&s;chief would befall the be&s;t of Champions, skips from his <HI>Patient Grizzle,</HI> and runs with all the &s;peed he could to help him; but be|fore he could come near, by many a Bow's &s;hot, <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> had made a fal&s;e &s;tep, (for he was troubl'd with Corns) &s;o that both Hor&s;e and Rider had
<PB N="340" REF="186"> done all their tumbling Tricks, and were both come to the Ground before his Approach. On the other &s;ide, the <HI>Knave</HI> of a <HI>Fool</HI> perceiving <HI>Sancho</HI>'s A&s;s without a Ma&s;ter, leaps into the Pannel, at what time the dull Bea&s;t, awaken'd with the Thumps of his Bladders, and the ringing of his Bells, took &s;uch a female Fright, that away &s;he ran toward the Village, as &s;wift as a Hare in her fir&s;t Cour&s;e.</P>
<P><HI>Sancho,</HI> with incredible Sorrow, beholding his Ma&s;ter's Fall, and the Flight of his A&s;s, was in a great Quandary whither to bend his Succour. But at length, good Nature over ruling, notwith&s;tanding his unexpre&s;&s;ible Affe|ction for his A&s;s, he determind in favour of his Ma&s;ter. To whom, after he had help'd him up again, and fix'd him in his Saddle; Sir, &s;aid he, the Devil is run away with my A&s;s. What Devil, quo <HI>Don Quixote?</HI> The Devil that was hung with Bells, quo <HI>Sancho.</HI> Chear up, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I'le fetch him again, let the Devil lock him up in the darke&s;t and deepe&s;t Stable he has in all his lower Regions. Follow me only to the Cart, I'le unharne&s;s all their <HI>Trumpery-draggers,</HI> I warrant thee&mdash; Thou &s;halt have 'em all, <HI>Sancho,</HI> to recompence thy lo&s;s&mdash;</P>
<P>Joy be wi'me, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> there's no need&mdash; Temper your Choler, I be&s;eech ye, Sir&mdash; the Devil has abandon'd my A&s;s, and the poor Creature is returning back again. I knew the loving Soul would never leave me, if once he could get his Liberty. And true it was what <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;aid; for the <HI>Devil</HI> and <HI>Grizzle</HI> it &s;eems had been &s;hewing their Tumbler's Tricks, in imitation of <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Ro&s;inante:</HI> And then it was, it &s;eems, that <HI>Grizzle</HI> getting up fir&s;t, &s;cudded back to her dear Ma&s;ter, and the Devil was fain to foot it to the Village.</P>
<P>I care not for that, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I'm of opinion, 'tis fit to cha|&s;tize the In&s;olence of this Devil, tho 'twere only to make him an Exam|ple; and if I can't light upon him, I'le be reveng'd upon the fir&s;t I meet, tho 't be the Emperor him&s;elf. I be&s;eech ye, Sir, let it alone&mdash; there's nothing to be got by meddling with the&s;e <HI>&s;trolling Interluders:</HI> For tho they are Fellows condemn'd by the Statute-Law, yet they find more Friends then hone&s;ter People. I knew one of the&s;e <HI>Stage-tredders</HI> &s;ent to Pri&s;on for two Murders, and yet he e&s;cap'd without paying a Farthing. I tell ye, Sir, all the loo&s;e, idle, extravagant, lawle&s;s Part of the world e&s;teem and adore 'em for the Pa&s;time and Sport which they make; and therefore &s;ince we have our A&s;s again, let 'em go and be hang'd for a Company of Vagabonds as they are.</P>
<P>No&mdash; quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> were't for nothing el&s;e, 't &s;hall ne're be &s;aid, I was afraid of the <HI>Devil,</HI> tho all Mankind took his part: and with that, he &s;purr'd after the Cart, which was now got pretty near to the Village, crying out, T' your Prayers, Vagabonds&mdash; T' your Prayers, Varlets&mdash; I'le teach &s;uch Bruits as you are, to be civil to the Bea&s;ts that carry the honourable burden of a <HI>Knight-Errant</HI>'s Squire.</P>
<P>The&s;e loud Threats of <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s a&s;&s;uring the Players of his fell In|tentions, pre&s;ently <HI>Death,</HI> the <HI>Emperor</HI> and the <HI>Angel</HI> leap'd out of the Cart, and joyn'd with the <HI>Devil;</HI> nay, <HI>Cupid</HI> him&s;elf and the <HI>Queen</HI> ad|ventur'd to hazzard their Per&s;ons in the common Calamity. And thus entrenching them&s;elves altogether, on the other &s;ide of the Waggon, well &s;tor'd with the u&s;ual Ammunition that &s;tony High-ways afford in &s;uch ca&s;es, they re&s;olv'd upon Self-pre&s;ervation and Defence. <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> on the other &s;ide, perceiving 'em &s;o well prepar'd, and &s;o couragiou&s;ly de|termin'd, &s;topp'd his Career, and &s;ate con&s;idering with him&s;elf, how he might attack this formidable Battalion, with lea&s;t danger to his per&s;on;
<PB N="341" REF="186"> at what time <HI>Sancho</HI> having overtak'n him, and perceiving how advan|tageou&s;ly the Enemy had po&s;ted them&s;elves; Sir, &s;aid he, I don't like this Adventure by no means&mdash; and in my Judgment, 'tis a meer madne&s;s to undertake it&mdash; for what defen&s;ive Arms have you to keep off a Showre of Stones and Brick-bats, unle&s;s you could walk with the great Bell of <HI>Lincoln</HI> over your head? Have not you had a enough of the&s;e Broils to your co&s;t? and will you agen be &s;ingly encount'ring a whole Army, where an <HI>Emperor</HI> fights in per&s;on, attended by Death him&s;elf, and a&s;&s;i&s;ted by good and bad Angels?&mdash;La&s;tly, con&s;ider that tho they be all Emperors, Princes, and Angels, yet there is not &s;o much as one <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> a|mong 'em.</P>
<P><HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I ne'er found thy Advice worth a Button, till now; 'tis very true what thou &s;ay'&s;t, and I mu&s;t alter my Re&s;olution; for indeed I ought not to draw my Sword again&s;t any one living that has not been dubb'd a <HI>Knight-Errant.</HI> And therefore, <HI>Sancho,</HI> 'tis thy bu&s;ine&s;s to revenge thy &s;elf upon the&s;e Rake&s;hames of Comedians for the Injury done to thy <HI>Grizzle;</HI> however, I'le &s;tay to encourage thee, and give thee whole&s;om Advice. Sir, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> 'tis not for the Profe&s;&s;ors of Chri|&s;tianity to think of Revenge&mdash;a true Chri&s;tian mu&s;t forgive and for|get. And as for my poor <HI>Grizzle,</HI> who is as peaceable as my &s;elf, I &s;hall be able to accommodate the bu&s;ine&s;s well enough with her, and per&s;wade her to rea&s;on; for I know her humour &s;o well, that &s;he'll be better con|tented with one Mea&s;ure of Oats, then with all the Revenges i' the World. Nay then, good <HI>Sancho,</HI> di&s;creet <HI>Sancho,</HI> Chri&s;tian <HI>Sancho,</HI> patient <HI>Sancho,</HI> if that be thy Re&s;olution, let's leave the&s;e idle Apparitions, and proceed in &s;earch of more important Adventures, of which, methinks, we &s;hould meet with great Variety in this Countrey. And &s;o &s;aying, he wheel'd off, ridding the Players of a thou&s;and Fears, and putting an end to the mo&s;t dreadful Adventure of the <HI>Chariot of Death,</HI> at the &s;ame time; thanks to the &s;age and prudent Coun&s;els of <HI>Sancho Pancha,</HI> who&s;e Name be eterniz'd in Hi&s;tory for &s;o pious and glorious an Action.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="12" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing the &s;trange Adventure that befel the valiant <HI>Don Quixote</HI> with the gallant <HI>Knight</HI> of the <HI>Wood.</HI></HEAD>
<P>THE next Night, which was the Night that follow'd the fatal Day wherein <HI>Don Quixote</HI> encounter'd the <HI>Chariot</HI> of <HI>Death,</HI> the Knight and the Squire repos'd their weary Limbs; and then it was that <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> at <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Per&s;wa&s;ion, made a &s;hort Supper upon &s;uch Provi&s;ion as <HI>Sancho</HI>'s new Wallet afforded. Now while they were feeding, Ah, Sir! quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> had not I been a fine Fool to ha' cho&s;en for the Reward of my News, the Spoils of your fir&s;t Victory, in&s;tead of your three Colts? Faith, Sir, I &s;hall &s;ay't as long as I live, <HI>He that waits upon Fortune, is never &s;ure of a Dinner</HI>&mdash; Come, come, <HI>A Sparrow in hand, is worth a Bu&s;tard upon the wing.</HI></P>
<P>All this is very true, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> yet had&s;t thou let me alone, thou had&s;t had by this for thy &s;hare an Emperor's Crown of Gold, and <HI>Cupid</HI>'s painted Wings; for I would ha' torn 'em from the Shoulders of
<PB N="342" REF="187"> his Deity-&s;hip, and thou &s;hould&s;t ha' worn 'em thy &s;elf. And what then, quo <HI>Sancho?</HI> I hope you are not &s;o &s;imple to think me &s;uch a Child to be pleas'd with Gewgaws; or to believe that Emperors in Plays are crown'd with pure <HI>Lombard-&s;treet</HI> Gold. And what &s;hould I ha' got by all their St. <HI>Martin's</HI> Trumpery?</P>
<P><HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I don't believe all to be Gold that gli&s;ters; however, I would not have thee think the wor&s;e of <HI>Comedians</HI> or <HI>Comedies,</HI> which are of great u&s;e in a Commonwealth, as being the Looking-gla&s;&s;es that repre&s;ent to our &s;ight the Beauties and Deformities of Vertue and Vice; in them we behold all the Actions of human Life; nor is there any thing that more truly &s;hews us what we are, or what we ought to be. Prithee, <HI>Sancho,</HI> tell me, Did&s;t ever &s;ee a Play where Emperors, Kings, Popes, Knights, and Ladies of all &s;orts and &s;izes, Clergy and Laity, Gentle and Simple are brought upon the Stage? One acts a Ruffian, ano|ther a Cheat, another a Baud, another a Divine, another a Lawyer, ano|ther a Souldier, another a Fop, and another a fond Lover&mdash; But when the Play's done, and the Actors have chang'd their Habits, they are all as they were agen, hail fellow well met. All this I ha' &s;een, quo <HI>Sancho.</HI> Why thus, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> all men living, i' their turns, act their Parts in the &s;ame manner upon the grand Stage of the World, till at length comes Death, entring at the la&s;t Scene of our Lives, &s;trips us of all our Honours, and Characters of Di&s;tinction, and lays us all equal in the Grave&mdash; Ble&s;s me, quo <HI>Sancho!</HI> what News you tell me! as if I had never &s;een a Game at Che&s;s, where, as long as the Play la&s;ts, every piece of Wood does its Duty under &s;everal Names of <HI>Kings, Pawns, Rooks,</HI> and <HI>Knights,</HI> and when the Game's over, they are all put higglede-pig|gledy into the Bag together agen, without any difference, ju&s;t as you &s;ay we are laid up, like the Lumber of the World, in the Bowels of the Earth. I think, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> thou grow'&s;t wittier and wit|tier every day then other&mdash; Oh, Sir! quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> you may be &s;ure I learn &s;omething every moment by keeping you Company, el&s;e I &s;hould be the very'&s;t Dunce in Nature&mdash; Tho&s;e Lands mu&s;t be very barren indeed, that never yield any Crop, when they are well dung'd and ma|nur'd&mdash; I mean, Sir, that your Di&s;cour&s;es have been the <HI>Dung</HI> which you have &s;pread upon the <HI>barren Soil</HI> of my <HI>&V;nder&s;tanding;</HI> and the <HI>Time</HI> that I ha' &s;pent in your Service, has been the <HI>Tillage,</HI> which I hope has &s;o well <HI>manur'd</HI> me, as to bring forth Fruit worthy the <HI>Husbandman</HI>'s Pains.</P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> was &s;o pleas'd with <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Learning, that he laugh'd to exce&s;s beyond his accu&s;tom'd Gravity&mdash;for he thought him extreamly im|prov'd&mdash;nay, &s;ometimes was &s;o a&s;toni&s;h'd at his Notions, his <HI>Similes,</HI> and his Proverbs, that he thought him half in&s;pir'd, and began to think him fit to govern not only an I&s;land, but all the <HI>Turki&s;h</HI> Empire; tho many times, 'tis true, the <HI>Squire</HI> would make a Trip, when he &s;oar'd too high above his Capacity, and come tumbling down from the Mountain of Sim|plicity to the deep Aby&s;s of Ignorance, as you may have already found, if you have ob&s;erv'd the Story as ye ought to do.</P>
<P>In the&s;e and &s;uch like Di&s;cour&s;es it was that they &s;pent the mo&s;t part of the Night, till <HI>Sancho</HI> was willing to let fall the <HI>Port Cullices</HI> of his Eye-lids, which was the Phra&s;e he us'd, when he had a mind to go to &s;leep. Thereupon he unhalter'd his <HI>Grizzle,</HI> and took off her Pannel, leaving her at her full Liberty to feed and fill her Belly. But as for <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> he only took off his Bridle, for that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> had expre&s;sly forbid him to meddle with his Saddle, where, and whenever it were that they &s;lept in
<PB N="343" REF="187"> the Field; it being an ancient Cu&s;tom prudently e&s;tabli&s;h'd, and inviolably ob&s;erv'd by all <HI>Knight-Errants.</HI> And therefore, <HI>guard a</HI>&mdash; touch not the Saddle for your Ears. I cannot &s;ay, but that the Squire might &s;lacken the Girths a little to give the Hor&s;e more freedom to eat his Vittles; and if it happen'd that <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> laid him&s;elf down and roll'd in a Cow-turd at any time, it was but only <HI>Sancho</HI>'s be&s;towing a &s;mall Cur&s;e upon him, and clean|ing the Knights Furniture agen. And now you may be &s;ure, that neither <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> nor Madam <HI>Grizzle</HI> made any &s;cruple who&s;e Gra&s;s it was they eat, but lovingly fell too, and fed like Hor&s;es upon what Nature had &s;pread before 'em.</P>
<P>And indeed it was a wonderful thing, the Friend&s;hip and Kindne&s;s that was between Madam <HI>Grizzle</HI> and <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> in&s;omuch that Tradition in|forms us, how that the Author of this Hi&s;tory compos'd &s;everal Chapters upon that Subject, tho he would not in&s;ert 'em in his Book, for fear of breaking the Laws of <HI>Decorum.</HI> Yet &s;ome few touches to &s;hew the un|parallel'd Amity between two dumb Creatures, could not e&s;cape him; where he writes, That the&s;e two matchle&s;s Brutes (if they might be call'd Brutes, and not rather rational Animals) took a mo&s;t &s;ingular delight to &s;crub and lick one another; and that when they were weary of that Plea&s;ure, <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> would lay his long Neck over <HI>Grizzle</HI>'s Cre&s;t, and thus they would &s;tand with their Eyes fix'd upon the Ground, in a deep Metaphy&s;ical Contemplation for three whole Days and Nights together, unle&s;s di&s;turb'd, or that Hunger compell'd 'em to a Divorce. Some &s;ay the Author did not &s;cruple to compare their Friend&s;hip to that of <HI>Ny&s;us</HI> and <HI>Euryalus,</HI> or <HI>Pylades</HI> and <HI>Ore&s;tes;</HI> which if it were &s;o, de&s;erves a univer&s;al Admiration, to the &s;hame of men, that &s;o ill ob&s;erve the Rules of Friend&s;hip one among another. Nor mu&s;t we blame the Author for comparing the Friend&s;hip of Bea&s;ts with that of Men; for that the Bea&s;ts them&s;elves have been men's In&s;tructors and Tutors in many other things of great Importance; while the <HI>Stork</HI> taught 'em the u&s;e of <HI>Cly&s;ters; Dogs,</HI> the benefit of <HI>vomit|ing; Cranes</HI> gave 'em an Example of <HI>Vigilancy; Ants,</HI> of <HI>Providence</HI> and good <HI>Husbandry; Elephants,</HI> of <HI>Hone&s;ty;</HI> and <HI>Hor&s;es</HI> of <HI>Loyalty.</HI> But to re|turn to the Story&mdash;</P>
<P>No &s;ooner were the&s;e two peerle&s;s Examples of cordial Affection thus turn'd to Gra&s;s, but <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;tretch'd out at full length under a &s;preading Oak, fell fa&s;t a&s;leep; while <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> leaning his careful Head again&s;t the &s;tump of another &s;maller Tree, fetch'd a &s;hort Slumber, which per|haps might have continu'd &s;omewhat longer, had be not been waken'd by a noi&s;e behind him, which made him &s;tart up of a &s;udden, like a Hare frighted out of her Form; at what time he &s;aw two men a Hor&s;e-back, of which the one, as it were, letting him&s;elf down from his Saddle, like a Bundle of Feathers from an Uphold&s;terer's Garret, cry'd to the other, Alight, Friend, and let us unbridle both our Hor&s;es&mdash; here's excellent feeding for 'em; be&s;ides that, the Silence and Solitude of the place &s;eems mo&s;t agreeable to entertain my amorous Thoughts. And having &s;o &s;aid, he laid him&s;elf down upon the Gra&s;s, yet not &s;o ea&s;ily, but that his Ar|mour made a rattling, which caus'd <HI>Don Quixote</HI> pre&s;ently to think he had met with one of his Brethren.</P>
<P>Upon that, away he goes to his Squire, and having wak'd him with three or four Tuggs by the Elbow, <HI>So-ho, Sancho,</HI> quo he, whi&s;pering him i' the Ear&mdash; I &s;pie an Adventure&mdash;God &s;end us good luck, quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> but where's this wor&s;hipful Adventure, I would fain know?&mdash; Look yonder&mdash; Do&s;t not &s;ee a Knight lying all along upon the Gra&s;s?&mdash; I' my
<PB N="344" REF="188"> Con&s;cience he is a Man of Sorrow, for I &s;aw him throw him&s;elf upon the Ground with &s;uch a Negligence, as if he had been regardle&s;s of his Bones, whether he broke 'em or no&mdash; And what of all this, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> why mu&s;t this be an Adventure? I do not &s;ay 'tis an Adventure, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> but it may prove an Adventure in time&mdash; for mo&s;t Ad|ventures begin thus.</P>
<P>But hark&mdash; <HI>Sancho</HI>&mdash; I think I hear Mu&s;ick too&mdash; 'tis either a <HI>Lute</HI> or a <HI>Jews-Trump</HI>&mdash; hold a little&mdash; 'tis a Lute&mdash; and by his clearing his Throat, we are like to have a Song too&mdash; I told thee 'twas an Adven|ture&mdash; Upon my life, Sir, you &s;ay true, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> this mu&s;t be &s;ome enamour'd captivated Knight&mdash; Did you &s;ee him pull down his Breeches, Sir? Why &s;o, <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote?</HI> Becau&s;e, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> 'tis the <HI>Ep&s;om</HI> Proverb, That <HI>&s;hittten-come-&s;hite's the beginning of Love</HI>&mdash; as Love's the beginning of all Adventures&mdash; 'Tis very true, quo <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> for all <HI>Knights-Errant</HI> are oblig'd to be in Love&mdash; But hold thy prating a while&mdash;by the Song we &s;hall under&s;tand the Secrets of his Heart&mdash; For <HI>out of th' Abundance of the Heart the Mouth &s;peaks</HI>&mdash; there's Proverb for thy Proverb, <HI>Sancho:</HI> Not a word more&mdash; but whil&s;t&mdash; the Song begins&mdash;
<Q><TEXT LANG="eng">
<BODY>
<DIV1 TYPE="song">
<HEAD>The SONG.</HEAD>
<LG>
<L>MO&s;t lovely fair, but cruel <HI>Iris,</HI></L>
<L>My heart, my heart for thee on fire is;</L>
<L>Oh! how I cou'd, and wou'd, and wou'd and cou'd!</L>
<L>But thou, alas!</L>
<L>Hast neither Life nor Mettle in thy Blood.</L>
<L>Now, my dear Lamb, play not the A&s;s&mdash;</L>
<L>Perhaps ten thou&s;and are not of my mind,</L>
<L>Why then &s;hou'd&s;t thou to me be &s;o unkind?</L>
<L>A fairer Chapman then my &s;elf,</L>
<L>More never bid for all thy Beauty's Wealth:</L>
<L>Take thy fir&s;t Chapman, le&s;t the Market fall,</L>
<L>And then thou lie Fly-blown upon the Stall.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>She will not hear&mdash;</L>
<L>Which makes me &s;tamp, and &s;tare,</L>
<L>Lament, and howl, and tear my hair&mdash;</L>
<L>Oh! what are Women's Brea&s;ts made of, I trow?</L>
<L>Some &s;ay of Snow,</L>
<L>But I &s;ay no&mdash;</L>
<L>For Love would enter then, and melt it too.</L>
<L>Some &s;ay of Stone&mdash;</L>
<L>Which I di&s;own;</L>
<L>For Love would force its pa&s;&s;age through.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>No, no&mdash; her heart is harder far then Stone,</L>
<L>Which makes me &s;igh, and &s;ob, and grunt, and groan,</L>
<L>Quite weary of my life&mdash; then quickly Death,</L>
<L>Oh, quickly, quickly &s;top this u&s;ele&s;s Breath,</L>
<L>And rid me of my Pain, my Pain, my Pain&mdash;</L>
<L>Yet &s;tay&mdash;life's &s;weet&mdash; now I think on't again,</L>
<L>Rather then fail,</L>
<L>I'le live&mdash;tho but in hopes I may at length prevail.</L>
</LG>
</DIV1>
</BODY>
</TEXT></Q></P>
<PB N="345" REF="188">
<P>After he had done &s;inging, the poor <HI>Knight</HI> of the <HI>Wood</HI> fetch'd &s;uch a Sigh as wou'd ha' blown up the Roof of a Cathedral; and then with a mournful, doleful Voice; O faire&s;t Fair, &s;aid he, altho the mo&s;t ungrate|ful among Women, how is it po&s;&s;ible, mo&s;t High-born <HI>Ro&s;amond</HI> of <HI>Tun|bol&s;tretia,</HI> thy heart &s;hould be &s;o hard to &s;uffer the Slave of thy Beauty to &s;pend his days, and flower of his Youth, in truanting about the World, wandring like a <HI>Gyp&s;ie,</HI> and raving, like a <HI>Tom a' Bedlam,</HI> over Hill and Dale, expos'd to Rain and Sun&s;hine? In how many Duels upon <HI>Putney-Heath, Barn-Elms Walks,</HI> and <HI>Chel&s;ey-Fields,</HI> has my Courage, and the Strength of my Arm been try'd in thy Defence? How many <HI>Hectors, Bully-Rocks,</HI> and <HI>Huffing-Dicks,</HI> have I made eat their Swords to the very Hilts for bla&s;|pheming thy Cha&s;tity, and villanou&s;ly &s;wearing no more then this, <HI>She paints?</HI> How many times have I thra&s;h'd <HI>Whipping-Tom,</HI> when thou ha&s;t quak'd for fear of his La&s;h? And la&s;tly, how many times have I ba&s;ted that &s;ame <HI>Bravo</HI> of <HI>Mancha</HI> for preferring his <HI>Trugmullion</HI> before thee? and every time I made him eat his words, and &s;wallow 'em down his per|jur'd Throat?</P>
<P>He lyes in his Lungs, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for I am of <HI>Mancha</HI> my &s;elf, and I never did eat my words, nor ever will eat my words, to the Prejudice of my peerle&s;s Mi&s;tre&s;s Madam <HI>Dulcinea</HI>'s Beauty; and therefore this Knight mu&s;t be a Mad man&mdash; but hold a little&mdash; we &s;hall hear more of his raving by and by perhaps&mdash; That you may be &s;ure of, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> for he talks as if he intended to expo&s;tulate a Month together. But con|trary to <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s and <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Opinion, the Knight concluded his Complaints at the &s;ame time; for having heard <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Voice, and perceiving him&s;elf to have been di&s;cover'd, he ro&s;e up, and cry'd out, Who's there? What are ye? Are ye of the number of the Fortunate, or the Afflicted? Of the Afflicted, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote.</HI> If &s;o, reply'd the <HI>Knight</HI> of the <HI>Wood,</HI> ye may approach, and here behold the &s;ame Sadne&s;s, and the &s;ame Affliction.</P>
<P>Upon &s;o kind an Invitation <HI>Don Quixote</HI> advanc'd, at what time the <HI>Knight</HI> of the <HI>Wood</HI> taking him by the hand; Sir Knight, quo he, &s;it down; for I perceive you are &s;o, having found ye in a place where only Sorrow and Solitude keep Company, the only Stations and Repo&s;es of <HI>Knight-Errants.</HI> I am a Knight, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and of the &s;ame Profe&s;&s;ion that you name; and tho my Sorrows, and the Remembrance of my continual Misfortunes u&s;urp the &s;eat of my Mind, and plague my Brains, yet have I a Heart no le&s;s &s;en&s;ible of the Calamities of others; and I pity yours the more, having heard the mournful Complaints which you &s;o lately made of that ungrateful <HI>Fair One,</HI> who&s;e Name you utter'd in the depth of your Grief.</P>
<P>Now you mu&s;t know, that while the two Knights were thus parlying to|gether, they &s;ate clo&s;e one by the other, upon the hard Earth, like intimate and loving Friends, and not like mortal Foes that were to Ribroa&s;t each other by break of Day&mdash; In which po&s;ture of Peace and Tranquili|ty, quo the <HI>Knight</HI> of the <HI>Wood</HI> to <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> Probably, Sir, Knight you are in love? Unfortunately I am, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> tho the Misfor|tunes that ari&s;e from a well plac'd Affection, ought rather to be taken for the Favours of Heaven, then for any Di&s;a&s;ters. This might be true, reply'd the <HI>Knight</HI> of the <HI>Wood,</HI> if the continual Di&s;dains of ungrateful Women did not perplex our Rea&s;on, and deprive us of all our Hopes. For my part, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I never had the lea&s;t frown from my Mi&s;tre&s;s. By Yea, and by Nay, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> interrupting him, never i'
<PB N="346" REF="189"> this World. She's as tame as a Doe with a Bell about her Neck, and as &s;oft as Lamb's Wool. Is that your <HI>Squire,</HI> quo the <HI>Knight</HI> of the <HI>Wood?</HI> The &s;ame, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote.</HI> He's a &s;aucy Fellow, quo the <HI>Knight</HI> of the <HI>Wood:</HI> I never heard before of a Squire that dur&s;t pre&s;ume to inter|rupt his Ma&s;ter when he was &s;peaking him&s;elf; &s;hou'd my Squire but dare to open his Lips i' my pre&s;ence, I'd kick him into the other World. <HI>A Cat may look upon a King;</HI> quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> by my faith, I ha' talk'd more then once or twice, and in the pre&s;ence of&mdash; but I ha' done; <HI>the more ye &s;tir, the more 'twill &s;tink</HI>&mdash; At the &s;ame time the other Squire gave <HI>Sancho</HI> a twitch by the Sleeve, and whi&s;pering him i' the Ear, Come, Brother, &s;aid he, let us two go where we may talk by our &s;elves, and leave our Ma&s;ters to tell one another the Stories of their Amours; they have enow, I'le warrant ye, to hold 'em till Morning. With all my heart, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> and then I'le tell ye who I am, that you may be able to judge whether I am a per&s;on to be &s;hut out of Company for a Wrangler, or no.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="13" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XIII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing a Continuation of the Adventure of the <HI>Knight</HI> of the <HI>Wood,</HI> and the plea&s;ant Di&s;cour&s;e that pa&s;s'd between the two Squires.</HEAD>
<P>THUS the Knights and the Squires were divided into Parties, the one recounting their Lives, the other repeating the Stories of their Ladies and Mi&s;tre&s;&s;es. And tho it had been proper to have &s;et down the Di&s;cour&s;e of the Ma&s;ters before the Squires, yet the Au|thor thought it not worth his while to in&s;i&s;t upon &s;uch a Nicety, but tells ye, That the <HI>Knight</HI> of the <HI>Wood's</HI> Squire fir&s;t brake &s;ilence; quo he to <HI>Sancho,</HI> 'tis a laborious and trouble&s;ome life we lead that are Squires to <HI>Knight-Errants;</HI> and we may truly &s;ay, that we eat our Bread by the Sweat of our Brows. And we may as truly &s;ay, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> that we eat our Bread by the &s;hivering of our Bodies; for there are no poor Creatures that &s;uffer more Cold then we do; tho if we had our Bellies full, 'twou'd be &s;ome Con&s;olation; but &s;ometimes we go whole days to|gether, and never &s;o much as break fa&s;t till ten a' clock at Night, unle&s;s it be upon the Wind that blows. However, quo the <HI>Squire</HI> of the <HI>Wood,</HI> this may be endur'd upon the hopes of a good Reward; for that &s;ame <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> mu&s;t be curs'd in his Mother's Belly, that at one time or other in his life has not an I&s;land, or a Earldom to be&s;tow upon his Squire.</P>
<P>For my part, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I have already told my Ma&s;ter, that I will be contented with the Government of an I&s;land; and he is a per&s;on &s;o noble and &s;o liberal, that he has promis'd me &s;uch a Recompence &s;everal and &s;e|veral times. I cannot pretend to &s;uch great things, reply'd the Squire of the Wood; I &s;hould think my &s;elf well paid for all my Services with a fat <HI>Sine cure,</HI> for which I ha' my Ma&s;ter's Promi&s;e as well as you. Why then belike, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> your Ma&s;ter is a Knight o' the Church <HI>Militant,</HI> &s;ince he is able to procure Benefices for his Squires. As for my Ma&s;ter, he is a Secular Per&s;on, tho &s;ome of his Friends, who, in my Opinion, had no true kindne&s;s for him, would have advis'd him to be an Archbi&s;hop;
<PB N="347" REF="189"> but he thank'd 'em, he never wou'd, becau&s;e he had a De&s;ign to make him&s;elf an Emperor; and let me die, if at that time I were not wickedly afraid he wou'd have enter'd into Orders, not finding my &s;elf capable of Eccle&s;ia&s;tical Preferment. For mark ye me, Sir, tho I re&s;emble a Man, yet I &s;hould make but an ugly Bea&s;t in Eccle&s;ia&s;tical Habit.</P>
<P>Governments of I&s;lands are not &s;o ea&s;ily manag'd as you think for, re|ply'd the <HI>Squire</HI> of the <HI>Wood;</HI> be&s;ides, there are &s;ome I&s;lands that won't afford Water to wa&s;h your hands; &s;ome meer barren Rocks, others only the Habitations of Conies; and the be&s;t are Charges which Governours take upon their Shoulders, and &s;ink under the weight. And therefore to deal freely with thee, I think 'twou'd be much better for us that are under this confounded Hard&s;hip and Slavery, to return home to our Hou|&s;es, where we might live more at our Ea&s;e, and &s;pend our time much better in <HI>Deer-&s;tealing,</HI> and <HI>robbing of Fi&s;h-ponds</HI>&mdash; He's a poor Squire in|deed, that lives i' the Countrey, and has not a Hor&s;e and a Drag-net at his Command&mdash; I ha' ne're a Hor&s;e, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> but I have an A&s;s, which I affirm, without boa&s;ting, to be worth two of my Ma&s;ter's <HI>Ro|&s;inante;</HI> God &s;end me a bad <HI>Chri&s;tmas,</HI> and may it be the next, if I would truck with him, tho he would give me a whole Quarter of Oats to boot&mdash; Then for your Greyhounds, I'le ne're be without a Brace or two; the Forre&s;t, you know, is hard by us; and what &s;ays the Proverb, <HI>Stollen Ven|&s;on is &s;weet</HI>&mdash;</P>
<P>Brother Squire, quo the <HI>Squire</HI> of the <HI>Wood,</HI> 't has been my Re&s;olution long &s;ince to abandon the Service of the&s;e intoxicated, hair-brain'd <HI>Knight-Errants,</HI> and return home to my Wife and Children, of which I have, thanks be to God, three Oriental Pearls of my own, who&s;e Education it behoves me to mind.</P>
<P>I ha' but two, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> but for their Learning, they are fit to be Secretaries to the <HI>Pope</HI> him&s;elf; e&s;pecially my Girl, that I breed up to be a Counte&s;s, &s;o &s;oon as God plea&s;es, tho my &s;illy Wife be utterly again&s;t it. How old is that Dam&s;el you de&s;ign for a Counte&s;s, reply'd the <HI>Squire</HI> of the <HI>Wood?</HI>&mdash; About fifteen and a half, quo <HI>Sancho&mdash;Morblew,</HI> &s;he's as &s;ound as a Roach, as tall as a May-pole, as fre&s;h as an <HI>April</HI>-morning, and as &s;trong as a Wine-Porter. By the Plea&s;ure of Generation, quo the <HI>Squire</HI> of the <HI>Wood,</HI> the&s;e are Perfections to fit her not only for a Coun|te&s;s, but to be fam'd to Po&s;terity for another <HI>Robin-hood's Maid-Marrion;</HI> the young Whore wou'd make a brisk Wood-Nymph, I'le warrant her&mdash; My Daughter's no Whore, reply'd <HI>Sancho</HI> very mu&s;tily, nor her Mother before her, nor &s;hall be, &s;o long as I live i' this World, and can help it: And therefore pray con&s;ider what ye &s;ay&mdash; and don't let your Tongue run before your Wit&mdash; but talk like a young man that had been bred among <HI>Knight-Errants,</HI> who are all Manners, and Civility it &s;elf.&mdash;Puh&mdash; quo the <HI>Squire</HI> of the <HI>Wood,</HI> I find you ne're travell'd far from the Smoke of your own Chimney&mdash;you don't under&s;tand the City way of Commen|dation&mdash;'tis the Fa&s;hion now adays, if you wou'd commend a Blade that has fought bravely, to cry, God take me, <HI>if the Son of a Whore did not fight like a Devil;</HI>&mdash; and of a Woman&mdash; God take me, <HI>if I ever heard a Jade &s;peak better i' my life</HI>&mdash; and where Phra&s;es al|ter, we mu&s;t talk according to Cu&s;tom; and you ought to renounce tho&s;e Children that perform not tho&s;e Actions for which their Parents were &s;o commended. Well, well, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> if tho&s;e be your Commenda|tions, I renounce 'em; for by the &s;ame Argument you may call my Wife and Children Whores and Jades, and &s;ay you did it in their Commen|dation&mdash;
<PB N="348" REF="190"> Pox o' your Commendations, if tho&s;e be your Commendations&mdash; I had like once to ha' had my Pate broken only for &s;aying, &s;uch a Lady who had manfully defended a Ca&s;tle, was a <HI>Brave Virago,</HI> becau&s;e the word <HI>Virago</HI> is &s;ometimes taken in an ill Sence&mdash; and therefore men mu&s;t be cautious in their Expre&s;&s;ions, and pick and chu&s;e their words, when they talk of hone&s;t Women and Virgins&mdash; For my part, I love my Wife and Children&mdash; and to the end I may but &s;ee 'em once more, the Lord deliver me from this mortal Sin of <HI>Squire-Erranting,</HI> into which I am fallen a &s;econd time, deluded and bewitch'd by my covetous hopes to find another Bag of Gold as big as that which I found in the mid&s;t of the <HI>Black Mountain.</HI> For this Temptation of the Devil &s;o haunts me, that methinks I &s;ee another Bag at this very moment lying ju&s;t be|fore my No&s;e, that I have taken it up, look'd in it, handl'd the bright Angels, have 'em all under my Arm&mdash; that I have carry'd 'em home, bought Land, let Lea&s;es, and live like a Prince&mdash; And this Imagi|nation of mine it is that continues me in my Ma&s;ter's laborious Service, who, as I may &s;ay between our &s;elves, is more a Mad-man indeed then a Knight.</P>
<P>Why this, quo the <HI>Squire</HI> of the <HI>Wood,</HI> is ju&s;t according to the Proverb, <HI>Covetou&s;ne&s;s is the root of all Evil;</HI> and &s;ince we are come to talk of our Ma&s;ters, I do not believe there's a greater Fool i' the World then mine. For he is one of tho&s;e of whom the Proverb &s;ays, <HI>He that meddles with another Man's bu&s;ine&s;s, milks his Cow into a Sieve.</HI> For he, to recover a certain Knight that has lo&s;t his Wits, is turn'd Coxcomb and Mad-man him&s;elf, runs rambling from Po&s;t to Pillar; and when all's done, I fear me, 'twill prove but the Lamentation of a bad Market. I'le be whipt if your Ma&s;ter ben't in love, quo <HI>Sancho.</HI> Yes, yes, we know that, re|ply'd the <HI>Squire</HI> of the <HI>Wood,</HI> he's in love with one Madam <HI>Ro&s;amond</HI> of <HI>Turnbol&s;tretia,</HI> a confounded humer&s;ome Carryon; I can't tell what to make of her&mdash; &s;he's neither Fi&s;h, nor Fle&s;h, nor good red-Herring; but that's not the thing that now troubles my Ma&s;ter, he has other Wind-mils in his Pate, as you will &s;ee in a &s;hort time. There is no way &s;o &s;mooth, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> wherein a man may not &s;ometimes meet with &s;ome|thing to give him a fall; but if it <HI>mizzle in &s;ome Hou&s;es, it rains Mil|&s;tones in ours.</HI> However, if it be a Con&s;olation to have Society in Mi|&s;ery, let that be our Comfort, that we are both in the &s;ame Predica|ment, thou &s;erv'&s;t one Fool, and I &s;erve another.</P>
<P>He is a Fool, I mu&s;t confe&s;s, quo the <HI>Squire</HI> of the <HI>Wood</HI>&mdash; but he is va|liant withal, tho more a Knave then either valiant or fooli&s;h.</P>
<P>Mine, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> is &s;o far from being a Knave, that he has no more Gall then a Pigeon; nor will he hurt a Worm, he's &s;uch a Blockhead, that a Child of two years old may make him believe 'tis Night at <HI>Mid&s;ummer</HI>-Noon, tho the Sun &s;hine never &s;o bright; and this down-right Simplicity of his, is that which makes me love him like the Apple of my Eye, and &s;o loath to leave him, notwith&s;tanding all his Extravagancies. How|ever, dear Brother, quo the <HI>Squire</HI> of the <HI>Wood,</HI> when the Blind leads the Blind, they are both in danger of falling into the Ditch: and therefore y' good faith, let us &s;teal home again to our Wives and Children, and let 'em run a rambling after Adventures that have a mind to come home by Weeping-Cro&s;s.</P>
<P>Here the <HI>Squire</HI> of the <HI>Wood</HI> perceiving that <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;pit often, and very dry; Brother, quo he, the moi&s;ture of thy Lungs is very much wa&s;ted, but I have a Remedy for thy Di&s;temper; and &s;o &s;aying, he went and fetch'd
<PB N="349" REF="190"> a large Leather Bottle of Wine, and a huge Piece of a Mutton Pa&s;ty, that it look'd like the Corner of a <HI>Chappel of Ea&s;e,</HI> and &s;trangely over-joy'd <HI>Sancho</HI> when he felt the weight of it&mdash;Well! quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> God love ye, and all them that love their Bellies&mdash;I &s;ee, Brother, you know what's good for your &s;elf&mdash; Oh, Brother! quo the <HI>Squire</HI> of the <HI>Wood,</HI> if ye took me for a fre&s;h-Water Squire, ye are deceiv'd; I never travel, but my Wallet is the greater load of the two, and I carry as good Vittles as the General of a Field. Few words to the wi&s;e, quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> and &s;o &s;aying, he fell on without &s;aying Grace, bite and &s;wallow, bite and &s;wallow, as if he had never eat in a Month before. At length, when his lei&s;ure would permit him; Brother, quo he, thou art the mo&s;t loyal, noble, li|beral, round and &s;ound Squire that ever I met with, thou de&s;erv'&s;t to &s;erve the King&mdash; S'life&mdash; here &s;its mi&s;erable I that ha' nothing i' my Wallet but a piece of Chee&s;e &s;o hard, that you may &s;hoot it in a Mor|ter-piece through the Gates of a City, a few Onions, and three or four dozen of Filberds&mdash; &s;hame befall my Ma&s;ter's <HI>Nigrality,</HI> and his cur|&s;ed Opinion, that dry'd Fruits and Sallads are th' only Dainties fit for <HI>Knight-Errants.</HI> In good faith, reply'd the <HI>Squire</HI> of the <HI>Wood,</HI> I am not for <HI>Nebuchadnezzar</HI>'s Diet; let our Ma&s;ters ob&s;erve the &s;trict Rules of their Chivalry; if I &s;tir a Mile, I mu&s;t ha' my Belly-timber and this Bottle, the faithful Companion of my Travels&mdash; <HI>the Leather Boteel, Oh, the Leather Boteel</HI>&mdash; this is my Joy, my Con&s;olation, the Mi&s;tre&s;s of my Affection, that I ki&s;s above forty times in a quarter of an hour; and &s;o &s;aying, he gave the Bottle to <HI>Sancho,</HI> who rearing it to his Mouth, with his Eyes fix'd upon the Stars, kept him&s;elf in that happy Contemplation, till his Lungs were no longer able to hold out; and having fini&s;h'd his Draught, leering upon the Bottle, with his head a' one &s;ide, and fetching a deep Sigh, by Guds-niggs, quo he, how this Son of a Whore Bottle has cool'd me! Oho&mdash;quo the <HI>Squire</HI> of the <HI>Wood,</HI> have I caught ye wi' your <HI>Son of a whores!</HI> where's your Manners now? Guilty, my Lord, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I &s;ee 'tis no Injury for a man to call his Friend Son of a Whore, when he loves him&mdash; And now by the Remembrance of her you love be&s;t, prithee tell me, Is not this your Wine they call <HI>Porto, Porto?</HI> Thou ha&s;t a Vint|ner's Palate, upon my life, quo the <HI>Squire</HI> of the <HI>Wood</HI>&mdash; thou ha&s;t nam'd the Wine, and 'tis the be&s;t that ever <HI>Colborn</HI> had in his Cellar. I have an excellent No&s;e, you &s;ee, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> let me but &s;mell to a parcel o' Wine, and I'le tell ye, whether it be fine or green, whether 'twill keep, and all the good and bad Qualities of it. Nor is this to be wonder'd at&mdash; for I had of my Ance&s;tors, by the Father's &s;ide, two of the be&s;t Wine-Coopers that ever jumbl'd Wine i' this World. The&s;e two were call'd to give their Judgments of a Pipe of Canary; the one &s;melt to his Ta&s;ter, the other &s;ipp'd no more then a Sparrow drinks at a time, and &s;purted it out again. The one &s;aid, the Wine ta&s;ted of Iron; the other, that it had a &s;mack of old Leather&mdash; The Vintner, however, prote&s;ted the Wine was neat, without mixture&mdash; well the thing pa&s;t on&mdash; but when the Wine was drawn out, What d' ye think they found at the bottom of the Cask? but a Key that hung in a &s;mall Tagg'd-Leather Point. Judge you now whether the&s;e men had not exqui&s;ite Palates, and whether a per|&s;on de&s;cended from &s;uch a Family, may not be fit to be Ta&s;ter General for all the Vintners in <HI>London</HI>&mdash; Well! quo the <HI>Squire</HI> of the <HI>Wood,</HI> but what does this Knowledge avail ye in that Ra&s;cally Imployment you follow? And therefore let's leave off this <HI>&s;trolling Occupation</HI> in time, and betake our &s;elves to &s;ome more profitable Cour&s;e of life; Thee, to
<PB N="350" REF="191"> thy <HI>VVine-ta&s;ting,</HI> and I to what God directs me&mdash; tho I mu&s;t tell thee, the Vintners of <HI>London,</HI> who are the Vintners of the World, are grown &s;o proud and &s;elf-conceited, to the &s;hame of all Wine-bibbers be it &s;poken, they think no men i' the World can ta&s;te Wine like them&s;elves&mdash; nay, ye &s;hall have a Drawer, but newly admitted acce&s;s to the Wine-Vault, that &s;hall out-face a Gentleman's Palate, and tell him he lyes in his Teeth&mdash; Therefore when thou meet'&s;t any of tho&s;e &s;aucy Ra&s;cals, as thou art a <HI>Squire-Itinerant,</HI> be &s;ure to break their Pates, or kick 'em down Stairs&mdash;</P>
<P>In the mid&s;t of the&s;e, and &s;uch like Di&s;cour&s;es, the two Squires ha|ving fill'd their Bellies, and their Bones requiring re&s;t, fell fa&s;t a&s;leep; where we &s;hall leave 'em&mdash; And now let's hear what pa&s;s'd between the Ma&s;ters</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="14" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XIV.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing the Continuation of the Adventure of the <HI>Knight</HI> of the <HI>Wood.</HI></HEAD>
<P>AMong other Di&s;cour&s;es that pa&s;s'd between <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and the <HI>Knight</HI> of the <HI>Wood,</HI> the Story relates how the latter of the two thus proceeded. In &s;hort, Sir, quo he, by De&s;tiny and Choice, I became enamour'd of the peerle&s;s <HI>Ro&s;amond</HI> of <HI>Turnbol&s;tretia.</HI> I call her <HI>Peerle&s;s,</HI> becau&s;e there was never any Female in this World that ever equall'd her in Beauty and Merit; but on the other &s;ide, if I may pre&s;ume to &s;ay it, never any Woman upon the face of the Earth &s;urpa&s;s'd her in Ingrati|tude&mdash; Whatever I could do, all the Offers and Prote&s;tations I could make her, could never bring her to take the lea&s;t notice of my Affecti|on. She &s;aw me willing to do any thing to gain her good Will, and put me upon more de&s;perate De&s;igns then <HI>Hercules</HI> him&s;elf was renowned for, &s;till feeding me with Hopes and Promi&s;es, and &s;till baffling my Ex|pectations.</P>
<P>Once &s;he &s;ent me to challenge that &s;ame <HI>Giante&s;s</HI> of an <HI>Ho&s;te&s;s</HI> at <HI>Lin|coln,</HI> &s;o tall, that <HI>A&s;capart</HI> him&s;elf could not ki&s;s her, unle&s;s he &s;tood upon a Joynt-&s;tool; and &s;o &s;trong, that &s;he wou'd drive twenty Bailiffs before her at a time. I went, I &s;aw, and overcame&mdash; and I made her down of her Knees, and drink the <HI>Pope</HI>'s Health, tho &s;he happen'd to be a Heretick. Another time &s;he commanded me to go and remove <HI>Stonehenge</HI> (which is a prodigious number of va&s;t Stones, every one as big as an ordinary Ca&s;tle) from <HI>Shaftsbury</HI> to <HI>Amesbury</HI> Plain&mdash; I did &s;o, and there they &s;tand to this hour&mdash; Then &s;he order'd me to go and throw my &s;elf headlong into a Hole in <HI>Darby-&s;hire,</HI> call'd the <HI>Devil</HI>'s <HI>Ar&s;e,</HI> and upon my return to tell her how far the bottom reach'd, which &s;ome <HI>Vertuo&s;o's</HI> in <HI>England</HI> wou'd give ten thou&s;and Pound to know&mdash; I did &s;o, and was above a Month a falling; at length I pitch'd within three Furlongs of the <HI>Antartick Pole,</HI> and was ten Months more before I could get into <HI>Ethiopia,</HI> and thence home agen: &s;o that I may &s;afely &s;wear, I fetch'd a Compa&s;s about the world much more remarkable then ever Captain <HI>Drake</HI> did&mdash; Yet after all this, th' ingrateful <HI>Ro&s;amond</HI> of <HI>Turnbol&s;tretia</HI> call'd me <HI>Coxcomb</HI> for my Pains, and bid me go about my bu|&s;ine&s;s,
<PB N="351" REF="191"> for &s;he had nothing more to &s;ay to me. After this &s;he put me upon challenging all the <HI>Hectors, Bully-Rocks,</HI> and <HI>Huffing-Dicks</HI> i' the Kingdom, with a Command not to &s;ee her Face, unle&s;s I brought Con|fe&s;&s;ions under all their Hands, that &s;he alone was the only Lady that de|&s;erv'd the Crown of Beauty, and that I was the mo&s;t valiant Knight living&mdash; and i' my Con&s;cience, were the Notes to be fil'd, they would reach up as high&mdash; let me &s;ee&mdash; I would not willingly be taken trip|ping&mdash; as high&mdash; as one of the Pyramids in <HI>Aegypt.</HI> But the mo&s;t no|ble Victory which I won, was that, when I fought hand to hand with the fam'd <HI>Achilles</HI> of the times, <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha;</HI> 'tis true, I had a pretty tough Bout on't&mdash; but for all that I brought him upon his Knees at length, and made him confe&s;s that the fair <HI>Ro&s;amond</HI> of <HI>Turnbol&s;tretia</HI> was incomparably far more beautiful then <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o.</HI></P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> could hardly forbear from &s;hewing his Pa&s;&s;ion; he had a hunderd <HI>ye lyes</HI> ready upon the Tip of his Tongue, only he refrain'd out of a particular De&s;ign to draw from the Knight's own Mouth a Ju&s;tifi|cation of his words, or an Acknowledgment of his being mi&s;taken. To which purpo&s;e, Sir Knight, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I am willing to believe that you have vanqui&s;h'd all the&s;e Knights and Champions you &s;peak of&mdash;but as for your vanqui&s;hing <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> I very much que&s;tion it; perhaps, Sir, it might be &s;ome body like him, tho I can't think there are many in the World that re&s;emble him.</P>
<P>Body a' <HI>Cae&s;ar,</HI> quo the <HI>Knight</HI> of the <HI>Wood,</HI> d' ye think I don't know <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha?</HI>&mdash; I tell ye, I fought him&mdash; beat him&mdash; had him at my mercy&mdash; and to let ye &s;ee that I know him&mdash; He's a tall, &s;cragged, wither-fac'd, leathern jaw'd Fellow&mdash;grizzle-hair'd, hawk|nos'd, with long thick black <HI>Mu&s;tacho's,</HI> like a <HI>Limehou&s;e-Ma&s;ter</HI> of a Ship&mdash; and he calls him&s;elf by the Name of the <HI>Knight of the &s;ad Figure.</HI> La&s;tly, he be&s;trides the far fam'd <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI>&mdash; his Squire's Name is <HI>Sancho Pancha</HI>&mdash; and he owns for the Mi&s;tre&s;s of his Affections, one <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o,</HI> alias <HI>Joan Ruggle of Hockley i' the Hole, Spin&s;ter</HI>&mdash;And if the&s;e ben't Tokens enow to ju&s;tifie what I &s;ay, I wear a Sword by my &s;ide to puni&s;h arrogant Incredulity&mdash;</P>
<P>Sir Knight, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> Fair and &s;oftly, as Lawyers go to Heaven&mdash; not &s;o hot, I be&s;eech ye&mdash; for you mu&s;t know, that this <HI>Don Quixote</HI> you talk of, is one of the be&s;t Friends I have i' the world, in&s;omuch that I love him as well as I do my &s;elf; and by the De&s;cription you ha' made me of him, &s;o certain and &s;o punctual, he &s;hould be the per&s;on &s;ubdu'd and vanqui&s;h'd by your Prowe&s;s&mdash; On the other &s;ide, I am &s;o clearly convinc'd by my own Knowledge, that he never was &s;ubdu'd or vanqui&s;h'd by any per&s;on living under the Canopy of Heaven, that I for the Blood of me, can't tell what to make of your Story; unle&s;s that &s;ome Enchan|ter (as there are a great many that per&s;ecute his Honour) &s;hould have taken upon him to appear in his Shape, and &s;uffer'd him&s;elf to be thrumm'd and lamba&s;ted, a' purpo&s;e to defraud him of that Renown, which his fa|mous Exploits have acquir'd him over all the habitable World&mdash;Which &s;eems the more probable, in regard it is but two days ago that one of tho&s;e Cai|tiff Infidels transform'd the fair <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o</HI> into a foul and de&s;picable Countrey Dowdy; and if this be not &s;ufficient to convince thee of thy mi&s;take, here is <HI>Don Quixote</HI> him&s;elf in per&s;on to ju&s;tifie, either arm'd or unarm'd, afoot or a hor&s;e back, that y' are a Son of a whore, a poor Man, and ye lye&mdash;And &s;o &s;aying, up he &s;tarted, lay'd his hand upon the Hilt of his Sword, expecting Wonders to be wrought by the
<PB N="352" REF="192"> <HI>Knight</HI> of the <HI>Wood,</HI> who calmly and &s;oberly made him this carele&s;s An&s;wer&mdash; Sir, quo he, a good Pay-ma&s;ter &s;corns to be in debt&mdash; He that could thwack your Jacket, when Devil incarnate, has no rea&s;on to fear the Threats of human Imbecility&mdash; but in regard that only Ruffians and Window-breakers fight by night, let us expect the morning light, that the Sun may be the Witne&s;s of our Valour; on this Condi|tion, that he who is vanqui&s;h'd &s;hall be wholly at the Victor's Mercy, to do whatever he &s;hall be commanded, according to the Rules of Chi|valry.</P>
<P>I accept the Conditions, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and at the &s;ame time both the Champions went to look out their Squires, whom they found &s;noring together like two We&s;tern Barge men: But they pre&s;ently waken'd 'em out of their &s;weet Sleep, and gave 'em order to get their Hor&s;es ready, and to &s;ee that their Tackling was tight and &s;ound, fairly intimating the bloody Combat that was to be between 'em &s;o &s;oon as the Sun &s;hould be up to lend 'em his light. <HI>Sancho</HI> was Thunder-&s;trook at the News, for he dreaded the event of &s;uch a fatal Encounter, e&s;pecially after the Stories which the new Squire had told him of the <HI>Knight</HI> of the <HI>Wood</HI>'s Valour.</P>
<P><HI>Sancho,</HI> however, would not di&s;cover his Perplexity, but up he rouz'd and went with his Companion to &s;eek for the Hor&s;es. By the way, quo the <HI>Squire</HI> of the <HI>Wood,</HI> I find our Ma&s;ters are to fight to morrow&mdash; by which I perceive we mu&s;t not be long Friends; for 'tis the Practice of our Or|der, according to the <HI>French</HI> Cu&s;tom, that when the Principals are engag'd, the <HI>Seconds,</HI> who are the Squires, mu&s;t not be idle, but ought to try their Skill and their Mettle at the &s;ame time. This may be a Cu&s;tom, quo <HI>Sancho</HI> among <HI>De&s;perado's</HI> and <HI>Duellers,</HI> but among <HI>Squires-Itinerant</HI> I know no &s;uch Practice&mdash; neither did I ever hear my Ma&s;ter &s;peak of any &s;uch thing, who has all the Statutes of <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI> by heart. Be|&s;ides, if there be any &s;uch Statute, then there mu&s;t be a Penalty; and I had rather pay the Penalty, which cannot be above two Groats, then forfeit my whole E&s;tate in Lint and Plai&s;ters&mdash; for methinks I &s;ee my &s;elf cleft into two equal halves, like a &s;lit Deal, already; and what the clo&s;ing me together again will co&s;t, Heaven and the Surgeon only knows. And then, my dear Brother, there's one thing more&mdash; I ha' ne're a Sword, nor never wore one i' my life that I remember&mdash;</P>
<P>Why then we'll take another method, quo the <HI>Squire</HI> of the <HI>Wood;</HI>&mdash; I ha' got two Oaken Plants ju&s;t of the &s;ame length and bigne&s;s to a hair's breadth, you &s;hall mea&s;ure 'em your &s;elf and take your own choice; for we mu&s;t not &s;tand &s;till with our hands in our Pockets&mdash; What will that &s;ignifie, quo <HI>Sancho?</HI>&mdash; nothing but the du&s;ting of our Dublets&mdash; and for my part, I had mine &s;cour'd at the Cloath-workers but ju&s;t be|fore I came forth&mdash; How d' ye mean, quo the <HI>Squire</HI> of the <HI>Wood;</HI> I intend to &s;crew on at the end of each Cudgel, a couple a' Clock-weights of Lead, made purpo&s;ely for the Sport&mdash; for there are more In&s;truments of Death then one&mdash; Body o' my Father, Brother Squire, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> if you have a Head of Bra&s;s, what's that to me? mine is only a hollow round Bone cover'd over with a thin Skin, and a little Fle&s;h, God knows&mdash; In a word, Brother Squire, tho your Cudgels were as limber as Taylors Li&s;ts, I am not in a Humour to fight; let our Ma&s;ters fight if they plea&s;e, and hear on't i' the other World&mdash;let us drink, till one of us falls fir&s;t: there I'm for ye&mdash;and 'tis the &s;horter and the &s;afer way&mdash; Time will take care, ne're fear it, to di&s;patch us out of the World, we need not be &s;o
<PB N="353" REF="192"> ha&s;ty of our &s;elves. We need not be &s;o furious to gather the Plums that will drop o' them&s;elves when they're Ripe. However, quo the <HI>Squire of the Wood,</HI> there's a nece&s;&s;ity for it; we mu&s;t fight half an Hour&mdash;not a Minute, quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> it &s;hall ne're be &s;aid I quarrel'd with a Man that gave me good Wine, and good Vittles&mdash; be&s;ides, I am angry with no Man living&mdash; how the Devil can a Man fight when he is not angry? Oh! but there's a way to wake your Choler, <HI>quo the Squire o' the Wood;</HI> with three or four good du&s;ts o' the Chops, and half a dozen kicks o' the Guts before we go to't&mdash; Ay, Ay, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> and there's a way too to lay your fury &s;o fa&s;t a&s;leep, by &s;patting out tho&s;e mi&s;chievous Brains of yours, with a good Leaver, before we go to't that it &s;hall never wake more unle&s;s i'th other World&mdash;where you &s;hall hear of me I am no &s;uch Milk-&s;op, that will let every body play with my No&s;e&mdash;Come, Come, take heed of wa|king a &s;leeping Lyon&mdash; They that look after Wool, many times return without Hair&mdash;God has ble&s;s'd Peace, and layd his Cur&s;e upon War&mdash; let us do &s;o too&mdash;if a Cat too much baited in a narrow Room becomes a Dragon, what may I turn to, too much chaf'd, that am a Man&mdash; Well quo the Squire, 'twill be day pre&s;ently, and then we &s;hall &s;ee what's to be done&mdash;</P>
<P>And now the little Birds began to chirp their Early Salutations to the Dauning Light; and fair <HI>Aurora</HI> di&s;covering her Ea&s;tern Beauties, &s;hook from her Dewy Locks tho&s;e Showrs of Pearls, that enliven'd and enrich'd the Flowry Meadows. The Fields were fre&s;h and Gay, the Woods were merry; Serenity and Sun&s;hine laugh'd upon the Earth.</P>
<P>Only <HI>Sancho</HI> was &s;trangely &s;urpriz'd with fear and Affliction; for no &s;ooner Day-light began to di&s;tingui&s;h Objects, but the fir&s;t thing that offe|red it &s;elf to <HI>Sancho</HI>'s view, was the <HI>Squire of the Woods</HI> No&s;e, which was of that unrea&s;onable length and bigne&s;s, that it over&s;hadow'd his whole Body. To tell ye truth, the Author of the Hi&s;tory in <HI>Arabick,</HI> who, good hone&s;t plain dealing Soul, was no friend to <HI>Hyperboles,</HI> mode&s;tly aver'd it, to have been about the bigne&s;s of one of the Arches of <HI>London</HI> Bridge, and to &s;tand bending as they do; and be&s;ides, that it was <HI>Camel-back'd</HI> i' the middle; there &s;hooted forth al&s;o from the &s;ides of it, as it were &s;even other le&s;&s;er No&s;es, &s;o be&s;tudded with Warts, and Carbuncles of all &s;orts and Colours, blew, green, and rubicund, for number like the Sands of the Sea, that it render'd the Countenance of the Squire mo&s;t hideous, and in human. And this Mon&s;trous Apparition it was, that put poor <HI>San|cho</HI> into &s;uch a Pannick dread, that he made vows in his Heart to all the Saints in the uppermo&s;t Region for his deliverance: and &s;o di&s;turb'd the natural Operations of his Body, that he fell a vomiting and &s;cummering as if he had &s;wallow'd a whole Pothecary's Shop; &s;o that he re&s;olv'd to en|dure five hundred Kicks o' the Paunch, rather then his Choler &s;hould wa|ken to combat &s;uch a dreadful Hobgoblin.</P>
<P>In the mean time <HI>Don Quixote</HI> fix'd his Eyes upon his Adver&s;ary, but could not &s;ee his Face; in regard he had already put on his Helmet and pull'd down his Bever: however he ob&s;erv'd him to be &s;trong Limm'd and well Set. Over his Armour he wore a Coat that &s;eem'd to be of <HI>Ti&s;|&s;ue,</HI> glittering with little pieces of Looking-gla&s;&s;es cut into half Moons, very dazling and mighty Emblematical. About his Helmet wav'd a Plume of yellow, green, and white Feathers, and his Launce, which he had &s;et up again&s;t a Tree, was very thick and long, with a Steel Head at the end, about a Foot in length, and &s;cowr'd as bright as an <HI>Andiron. Don Quixote</HI> ob&s;erving all this, judg'd him to be a Man of great &s;trength; but was &s;o
<PB N="354" REF="193"> far from being di&s;may'd, like his <HI>Squire Sancho,</HI> that advancing towards the <HI>Knight</HI> with a lively and undaunted Countenance, Sir <HI>Knight</HI> of the <HI>Looking-gla&s;&s;es,</HI> quo he, if your eager de&s;ire of Combat have not extin|qui&s;h'd all your good Nature, lift up your Bever I be&s;eech ye, that I may &s;ee whether the Air of your Face be an&s;werable to the Vigour and Propor|tion of your Body.&mdash; You may have time enough to examin that hereaf|ter Sir Knight, quo the <HI>Knight of the Looking-gla&s;&s;es;</HI> at pre&s;ent I have not lei&s;ure to &s;atisfie &s;uch a vain piece of Curio&s;ity; for every minute of de|lay from Combat, is &s;till &s;o much time robb'd from <HI>Ro&s;amonds</HI> Beauty and my own Honour. At lea&s;t you may tell me, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> while we get a Hor&s;eback, whether I be the &s;ame <HI>Don Quixote</HI> or no, whom you pretend to ha' vanqui&s;h'd. Why truly Sir, quo <HI>the Knight of the Looking-gla&s;&s;es,</HI> you are as like him as if y' had been &s;pit out of his Mouth: But in regard you &s;ay you are per&s;ecuted by Enchanters, I will not &s;wear you are the &s;ame. 'Tis very well reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> but by the <HI>Ho&s;t of Aegypt,</HI> if Heaven, my Mi&s;tri&s;s, and my own Courage fail me not, before a Cat can lick her Ear, I'le &s;ee that di&s;dainful Face of yours, and make ye know I am not that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> whom you vapour &s;o briskly to have Ham|&s;tring'd. At the &s;ame time they both mounted, and parted from each other to take ground for their Career&mdash;But before <HI>Don Quixote</HI> had rid twenty Paces, the Knight of the <HI>Looking-gla&s;&s;es</HI> calling after him, Sir Knight quo he, you remember the Conditions, that the Captive &s;hall be at the mercy of the Victor&mdash;I do, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> provided the Victor impo&s;e nothing contrary to the Laws of Chivalry&mdash;That's but ju&s;t, reply'd the Knight of the <HI>Looking-gla&s;&s;es.</HI></P>
<P>Thus they parted a &s;econd time; when <HI>Don Quixote</HI> ca&s;t his Eye by chance upon the Squires huge Toting No&s;e; upon which while he was &s;ta|ring and gaping with more a&s;toni&s;hment then the Country Folks gape upon the Picture of the <HI>Rhinoceros, Sancho,</HI> who would not &s;tir from <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI>'s Crupper, as being in Mortal fear of his Companion with the <HI>Elephants Snout,</HI> took an occa&s;ion to whi&s;per his Ma&s;ter i' th' Ear, and de&s;ire him to help him up into a Tree, where he might in &s;afety behold the Combat, which he believ'd would be one of the &s;harpe&s;t that ever were Fought. <HI>Sirrah,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> is this a time to di&s;turb me wi' your fooleries?&mdash; To tell you truth, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> that ugly No&s;e does &s;o terrifie me, that I dare not tru&s;t my &s;elf alone upon the Ground with that hideous Mon&s;ter: I wonder how the Devil the Knight can endure &s;uch an Apparition in his Company&mdash; I wi&s;h it may not be the <HI>Necromancer</HI> him&s;elf that protects him&mdash; I confe&s;s reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I never &s;aw &s;uch a Stygian &s;pecta|cle i' my Life, I cannot blame thee for being afraid&mdash; and &s;o &s;aying he rode among the Boughs, till <HI>Sancho</HI> got up behind him and &s;o &s;crambl'd in|to a Tree, where he &s;ate like a Judge in a Balcony.</P>
<P>Now while <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was helping his <HI>Squire,</HI> the Knight of the <HI>Look|ing-gla&s;&s;es</HI> &s;etting Spurs to his Hor&s;e, began his Career as fa&s;t as his Hor&s;es heels could carry him, which truly was no more then a gentle Trot; for indeed his <HI>Cour&s;er</HI> was neither more mettle&s;om, nor much better in heart then <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI>&mdash;ju&s;t &s;uch another <HI>Spittle</HI> as your Prentices ride out a Town, upon a Sunday Morning. But &s;eeing <HI>Don Quixote</HI> bu&s;ie, as I &s;aid be|fore, he &s;top'd i' the middle of his Career, to the great comfort of his <HI>Hack|ney.</HI> Which when <HI>Don Quixote</HI> beheld, he couch'd his Lance, and &s;etting his Spurs to <HI>Ro&s;inantes</HI> &s;ides, gave him &s;uch &s;harp <HI>Memento Mori</HI>'s, that the Story &s;ays, he forc'd him into a Gallop. On the other &s;ide the Knight of the <HI>Looking-gla&s;&s;es</HI> lay, <HI>dig, dig,</HI> like a Seaman between his Hor&s;es Ribs, as if
<PB N="355" REF="193"> he would ha' &s;purr'd out his Bowels, but the more pains he took, the more &s;tock &s;till the Jade &s;tood. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> took no notice of this di&s;or|der of his Adver&s;ary, but pre&s;&s;es on furiou&s;ly, unhor&s;es him, and &s;ends him <HI>flounce</HI> to the hard Earth with &s;uch a damnable &s;quelch, as beat all the Breath out of his Body&mdash;in&s;omuch that poor frail Mortality lay without Life or Motion, helple&s;s.</P>
<P><HI>Sancho</HI> no &s;ooner &s;aw the Knight fallen, but down he comes &s;pinning from his Tree, like a Spider from the Top of a Window, and falls a run|ning to the Spoil, like a Spaniel after a new Shot Wild-duck. But when <HI>Don Quixote</HI> had unlac'd the Knights Helmet to give him Air; Heaven's! in what an amazement was he, when he &s;aw the Face of the Knight of the <HI>Looking-gla&s;&s;es?</HI> for at the &s;ame time he beheld the very A&s;pect, Phy|&s;iognomy, Shape and Lineaments of his Acquaintance, young <HI>Sam&s;on Carra&s;|co</HI>'s Countenance.&mdash; <HI>Sancho&mdash;Sancho</HI>&mdash;quo He, come hither quickly, quick|ly&mdash;look, &s;ee, view, &s;urvey, ob&s;erve, and con&s;ider that Face&mdash;and then tell me what thou think&s;t of the Malice of <HI>Necromancers,</HI> and the force of <HI>Inchantments?</HI>&mdash; Upon tho&s;e words, <HI>Sancho</HI> drew neer, and be|holding &s;uch an exact re&s;emblance of his Friend <HI>Sam&s;on; Ave Maria</HI> quo He, Cro&s;&s;ing and Ble&s;&s;ing him&s;elf, as if he had met his Grandfathers Gho&s;t&mdash;for Heaven's &s;ake, Sir, make &s;ure work&mdash;run your Sword in at his Throat, and out at his Fundament&mdash;'tis a thou&s;and Pound to a Nut|&s;hell but you may chance to Murder one of tho&s;e <HI>Necromancers</HI> that &s;o ma|liciou&s;ly haunt your <HI>Good fortune.</HI> By the Ma&s;s, and &s;o I will, quo <HI>Don Quixote</HI>&mdash;and &s;o &s;aying, he was ju&s;t going to open poor <HI>Sam&s;on</HI>'s Teeth; when the <HI>Knight of the Looking-gla&s;&s;es</HI> Squire came running, and crying out with a loud Voice, <HI>Mercy, Mercy,</HI> Sir Knight, for Heaven's &s;ake, <HI>Mercy</HI>&mdash; 'Tis your Friend and Acquaintance, young <HI>Carra&s;co,</HI> the Student of <HI>Braze|no&s;e</HI>&mdash;and I am his Squire&mdash;&s;ave his Life and take his Goods&mdash;A|va&s;t quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> where's your No&s;e?&mdash; here, quo the Squire, and &s;o &s;aying, he pull'd his Mon&s;trous Vizard from under his Coat. <HI>Sancho</HI> al&s;o at the &s;ame time, now rid of all his fears, which had &s;o di&s;turb'd his Eye-&s;ight before, that he could not &s;ee Wood from Trees; Ble&s;&s;ed Virgin, quo he, who&s;e this? <HI>Tom Grigge</HI> the Thatcher, my old Friend and Neighbour? The very &s;ame, quo the Squire&mdash;and I'le tell ye at more lei&s;ure, the oc|ca&s;ion that brought us hither. In the mean time, de&s;ire your Ma&s;ter not to embrue his hands in Chri&s;tian Blood, but to be merciful to the Knight that ly's at his Mercy; for that a&s;uredly, and without any Mental Re&s;er|vation, he is no other then the poor and unfortunate <HI>Student, Samp&s;on Car|ra&s;co.</HI></P>
<P>At the &s;ame time the luckle&s;s <HI>Knight of the Looking-gla&s;&s;es,</HI> began to breath and come to him&s;elf; which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> ob&s;erving, &s;et the point of his Sword to his Throat, and with an Imperious tone, Sir Knight, quo he, y' are a dead Man, if you deny to acknowledge, that <HI>Dulcinea del To|bo&s;o</HI> bears away the Bell of Beauty from your Strumpet Madam <HI>Ro&s;amond of Turnbol&s;tretia:</HI> and unle&s;s you promi&s;e me, &s;o &s;oon as you &s;hall be cur'd of your Wounds, to go to <HI>Tobo&s;o;</HI> where you &s;hall pro&s;trate your &s;elf at the Feet of the Lady <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> and &s;urrender your Per&s;on to her Di&s;po&s;al, as the Trophy of my Conque&s;t; and if &s;he grant ye your Liberty, as per|haps &s;he may upon your good behaviour, then to find me out by the &s;ound of my famous Acheivements, and give me an exact accompt of your Re|ception, and Di&s;mi&s;&s;ion, which are Conditions Natural and E&s;&s;ential to the Order of <HI>Knight-Errantry.</HI></P>
<PB N="356" REF="194">
<P>I do confe&s;s and acknowledge cry'd the unfortunate Knight of the <HI>Look|ing-gla&s;&s;es,</HI> that the Heelpiece of Madam <HI>Dulcinea</HI>'s Cobbl'd Shoe is worth all the Ki&s;&s;es of Mrs. <HI>Ro&s;amonds</HI> Lips. I do al&s;o promi&s;e to fulfil all your Commands in going to <HI>Tobo&s;o,</HI> and returning from thence. You &s;hall al&s;o confe&s;s, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that the Knight whom you pretend to have van|qui&s;h'd, was not, neither could be the famous <HI>D. Quixote de la Mancha;</HI> but only &s;ome Body in his likene&s;s, as I on the other &s;ide do confe&s;s and acknow|ledge, that you are not the Student <HI>Sam&s;on Carra&s;co,</HI> but &s;ome other whom my Enemies the <HI>Necromancers</HI> have moulded into that &s;hape, to moderate the impetuous violence of my wrath, and to oblige me to Clemency, for&s;eeing the certainty of my Conque&s;t. All this I acknowledge and confe&s;s, grant and allow, reply'd the Knight, as you would have it confe&s;s'd, acknowledg'd, granted, and allow'd; and whatever el&s;e you wou'd have allow'd, gran|ted, acknowledg'd, and confe&s;s'd&mdash; And now I be&s;eech ye, Sir, help me up, for I feel my &s;elf very much bruis'd by my fall. Thereupon <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and <HI>Tom Grigge</HI> the new Squire, rai&s;ed the <HI>Knight of the Looking-gla&s;|&s;es</HI> upon his Legs; <HI>Sancho</HI> all the while fixing his Eyes upon the new Squire, and asking him a thou&s;and Que&s;tions, the an&s;wers to which convinc'd him fully that <HI>Tom Grigge</HI> was the real <HI>Tom Grigge,</HI> and no Delu&s;ion: tho the notions of <HI>Sorcery</HI> and <HI>Necromancy,</HI> which his Ma&s;ter had fix'd in his noddle, were &s;o &s;trongly imprinted in his fancy, that he could not believe what he &s;aw with his Eyes, and felt with his hands.</P>
<P>To conclude, the Man and the Ma&s;ter &s;till per&s;ever'd under the &s;ame mi&s;take&mdash; the <HI>Knight of the Looking-gla&s;&s;es</HI> having taken his leave withal re&s;pect and &s;ubmi&s;&s;ion, repair'd to the next Town for Spruce Bear, and <HI>Lucatello</HI>'s Bal&s;om; and <HI>Don Quixote</HI> continu'd his Journey to the <HI>City of Turnaments.</HI> And now you &s;hall hear who the Knight of the <HI>Looking-gla&s;&s;es</HI> was, and who was his Squire with the <HI>King&s;ton</HI> Bridge No&s;e.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="15" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XV.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Giving an account who the Knight of the Looking-gla&s;&s;es, and his Squire with the Toting No&s;e, were</HEAD>
<P><HI>DOn Quixote</HI> jogg'd merrily along, Triumphing and Glorying in the great Victory he had got over the Knight of the <HI>Looking-gla&s;&s;es,</HI> whom he would not allow by any means, to be any other then one of the mo&s;t Va|liant Knights under the blew Skie. And be&s;ides that, relying as he did up|on the &s;olemn Promi&s;e the forlorn Knight had made him, and which he could not violate without tran&s;gre&s;&s;ing the Laws of Chivalry Errant, and rendring him&s;elf unworthy the noble Profe&s;&s;ion; he now expected &s;udden news of his Prince&s;s <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> and whither &s;he &s;till continued under the Bonds of Inchantment or no. But <HI>Don Quixote</HI> dream'd one thing, and the <HI>Knight of the Looking-gla&s;&s;es</HI> thought another: For the Latter was only for curing his broken Ribs; tho' not without mi&s;chief in his Head, as one that was re&s;olv'd to make his Adver&s;ary pay for the Cure at the long Run.</P>
<P>In the mean time the Author of the Story unwilling to leave the lea&s;t doubt unremov'd that might puzzle the Reader, tells us, how that when the Student <HI>Carra&s;co</HI> advis'd <HI>Don Quixote</HI> to take his third Ramble, it was done after a long Debate with the Curate and the Barber, who unanimou&s;ly
<PB N="357" REF="194"> concluded, that the be&s;t way to recover the poor Gentleman out of his Freaki&s;h Di&s;temper, was to let him go, and that <HI>Samp&s;on</HI> meeting him up|on the Road, like a <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> &s;hould take an opportunity to Duel him, and thra&s;h his Doublet, which was thought no difficult thing to do: and that after he had vanqui&s;h'd him in fair Combat, the Student &s;hould impo&s;e Conditions upon the Captive, according to the Laws of Chival|ry; of which the chief &s;hould be, that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;hould return home, and not &s;tir out of his Hou&s;e in two years without permi&s;&s;ion; which they knew <HI>Don Quixote</HI> would inviolably ob&s;erve, for fear of infringing the <HI>Statutes</HI> of <HI>Chivalry-Errant;</HI> in which time they thought he might be wean'd from his extravagant Imaginations, or be otherwi&s;e cur'd of his Frenzy.</P>
<P>This Task the Student <HI>Carra&s;co</HI> willingly undertook, and <HI>Tom Grigge</HI> his Friend, and <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Neighbour, at the &s;ame time proffer'd to be his Squire. To this purpo&s;e <HI>Carra&s;co</HI> having equipp'd him&s;elf, as you have heard under the Title of <HI>Knight of the Looking-gla&s;&s;es,</HI> and his Squire having got him|&s;elf a Vizard with a huge No&s;e, that he might not be known to <HI>Sancho,</HI> they follow'd <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;o clo&s;e, that they overtook him flu&s;h'd with Victory, ju&s;t after he had accompli&s;h'd the Adventure of the <HI>Chariot of Death,</HI> and found him in the Wood, where this fatal Encounter happen'd. Where it luckily fell out, upon <HI>Carra&s;co</HI>'s Mi&s;carriage, that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was &s;o extravagantly ob&s;tinate in not believing <HI>Carra&s;co</HI> to be <HI>Carra&s;co:</HI> for otherwi&s;e the poor Student had been degraded for ever, from appearing more in his Changeable Silk 'i the Readers Desk.</P>
<P>And now <HI>Tom Grigge</HI> &s;eeing the ill Succe&s;s of their Journey, and the unfotunate <HI>Carra&s;co</HI> &s;o rudely rewarded for his good Will&mdash;In good Faith <HI>Mr.</HI> Student, quo he, the Laborour is worthy of his Hire, and we have had our Wages ju&s;tly pay'd us: 'Tis an ea&s;ie thing to undertake, but diffi|cult to accompli&s;h. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> is a Fool&punc; and we think our &s;elves Wi&s;e; yet the Fool's gone away &s;ound and laughing in his Sleeve, and we return di&s;grac'd and &s;ham'd, and well bang'd to boot. The difference is, reply'd the Student, that an ob&s;tinate Fool will always be &s;o; but a Fool for his plea&s;ure can retreive him&s;elf when he plea&s;es: Nay then reply'd <HI>Tom Grigge,</HI> I who was &s;uch a Fool for my plea&s;ure to &s;erve you as your Squire, that I may retreive my &s;elf from my folly, will een return home to my Thatch|ing Trade again&mdash; You have your Chri&s;tian Liberty reply'd the Student, but if ever I return home till I ha' made the <HI>Fools</HI> Bones rattle in his Skin, I'le gi' ye my Mother for a Maid; and this I re&s;olve, not out of a de&s;ign to recover his Wits, but out of pure revenge; for the pain of my Bones has made me forget all manner of Charity; were I now whole, and could meet him, I &s;hould drub him without Compa&s;&s;ion. This was the di&s;cour&s;e of the Knight and his Squire, till they came to the next Village, where they met with a Hor&s;e Doctor, to who&s;e care <HI>Carra&s;co</HI> committed his Ec|cle&s;ia&s;tical Carca&s;s, at what time his Squire <HI>Tom Grigge,</HI> quitted his Service, and made ha&s;te home again, with his bundle of bad tydings, and the lo&s;s of a Weeks work.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="16" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="358" REF="195">
<HEAD>CHAP. XVI.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">What befell <HI>Don Quixote</HI> with a &s;ober Gentleman of <HI>Mancha.</HI></HEAD>
<P>AS we &s;aid before <HI>Don Quixote</HI> Rode merrily along with all the Com|fort imaginable in his Soul, as one that had all the World in a String; and thought him&s;elf the mo&s;t accompli&s;h'd and fortunate Knight Errant that ever the Sun beheld, pre&s;aging nothing now but a Continuati|on of future Succe&s;s, from a Victory &s;o Glorious, and &s;o ea&s;ily purchas'd. He breathed nothing but Adventures, and tho&s;e the mo&s;t dreadful that Hu|mane Force could undertake. He defy'd all Enchantments, and all the <HI>Necro|mancers</HI> the Devil could mu&s;ter together to his prejudice. He had forgot, and pardon'd the Stones that had da&s;h'd out three of his Teeth at a time&mdash; the Ingratitude of the Gally-&s;laves, and the Showrs of Ba&s;tinado's, which the Carriers had rain'd upon his Ribs.</P>
<P>There was but one thing that remain'd to con&s;ummate his Felicity; and that was to di&s;&s;olve the Enchantment of his adored <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> which done, he thought him&s;elf the happie&s;t Man upon God's Earth.</P>
<P>In the mid&s;t of the&s;e vain Imaginations, <HI>Sancho</HI> acco&s;ting him, Sir, &s;aid he, I cannot but laugh at my Neighbour <HI>Tom Grigge</HI>'s Policy, in think|ing to fright us with his hugeous No&s;e; I wi&s;h I had been but as Wi&s;e as St. <HI>Dun&s;tan,</HI> to ha' caught him by't with a Pair a Tongues: but who can think of pre&s;ent Expedients, when a Man's &s;car'd almo&s;t out of his Wits?&mdash; Why, and art thou &s;till &s;o &s;illy to believe that the <HI>Knight of the Looking-gla&s;|&s;es</HI> was the Student <HI>Carra&s;co,</HI> and his Squire <HI>Tom Grigge.</HI> I know not what to think on't, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> but this I'm &s;ure of, that no other <HI>Tom Grigge</HI> could ha' told me tho&s;e Token's of my Wife and Children, nor ha' gi|ven me that de&s;cription of my own Pig&s;tie, as he did: be&s;ides, that when his great No&s;e was off he had <HI>Tom Grigge</HI>'s Face to a Wrinkle, and the very tone of his Voice; and how the Devil could I be deceiv'd that know him &s;o well, and &s;ee him every day, when I'm at home? Come on then, <HI>Sancho,</HI> let's argue the Point a little, quo <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> prithee what rea&s;on can&s;t thou give me that the Student <HI>Carra&s;co</HI> &s;hould come equipp'd like a Knight-Errant, with Arms offen&s;ive, and defen&s;ive to fight again&s;t me? Am I his Enemy, or did I ever give him any occa&s;ion to be mine? does he look upon me as his Rival, or does he make Profe&s;&s;ion of Chivalry, that might en|cline him to envy the Fame which I have purchas'd by my Sword? But Sir, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> what can you or any Man in the World &s;ay to the Re|&s;emblance between <HI>Carra&s;co</HI> and the Knight of the <HI>Looking-gla&s;&s;es,</HI> and the Likene&s;s between <HI>Tom Grigge</HI> my Neighbour, and the Squire? If it were Inchantment, as you &s;ay it is, had they no other Shapes to a&s;&s;ume? Puh&mdash; there's the Cream o' the Juggle, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and the cunning Malice of my per&s;ecutors, the <HI>Necromancers,</HI> who fore&s;eeing that I &s;hould get the Victory, di&s;guis'd their &s;ubornd Hero under the Likene&s;s of my friend <HI>Car|ra&s;co,</HI> to &s;erve as a Mill-damm, to &s;top the Current of my ju&s;t Fury, and pre|vent my ripping up the Guts of him that had &s;o treacherou&s;ly a&s;&s;ail'd my Life. But friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> can there be greater proofs of the malice and power of the&s;e <HI>Necromancers,</HI> then what we ha' &s;o lately tri'd in the <HI>Tran&s;|mogrification</HI> of my Godde&s;s <HI>Dulcinea?</HI> Ha&s;t not thou told me thy &s;elf that thou ha&s;t &s;een her in her natural Shape, dazling thy Eyes with all the Charms of Humane and Cele&s;tial perfection, when I the Object of their
<PB N="359" REF="195"> hatred, was &s;hew'd her under the di&s;gui&s;e of a deformed Country Puzzle; Blear-ey'd, Blubber-lipt, Hopper-ars'd, and breathing only <HI>burnt Feathers</HI> and <HI>A&s;&s;a-fetida.</HI> What greater proof of their malice and their power? and what other Artifice could they have more cunningly invented, to le&s;&s;en and eclip&s;e the Glory of &s;uch an Important Victory, as if the famous Knight that fell by the &s;trength of my Arm, had been no more when he came to be conquer'd, then a pitiful Servitor of a Colledge&mdash;whereas had he van|qui&s;h'd me, thou &s;hould&s;t have &s;een him appearing in another form: But it is my Comfort, that in &s;pight of all their Charms my Courage render'd me Victorious. Well quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> the Truth of this My&s;tery will one day come to light: for he was no way &s;atisfi'd with his Ma&s;ter's Arguments; however he dur&s;t not contradict him for fear of di&s;covering the Cheat which him&s;elf had put upon him.</P>
<P>While they were thus di&s;cour&s;ing together, they were overtak'n by a Gentleman upon a curious Dapple Grey Mare: He was Habited after the Country Fa&s;hion, in a Gray Coat, with Gold Buttons, with a &s;hort Han|ger by his Side, and a Velvet Monteero upon his Head; he had a Pair of Summer Boots upon his Legs, with Spurs richly inlay'd. As he rode by, the Gentleman gave 'em very civilly the Time of the Day, and &s;etting Spurs to his Mare, began to put on a good round Gallop; at what time <HI>Don Quixote</HI> calling after him, with your good leave, Sir, quo he, if y' are not in ha&s;te we &s;hould be glad of the favour of your Company, &s;o far as you Travel this Road. Sir, quo the Gentleman, I had not rid &s;o fa&s;t a|way, but that I fear'd my Mare would provoke your Stone-hor&s;e to be unru|ly. Oh Sir, an&s;wer'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> there's no fear of that i' the World, our <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI>'s th' only Hor&s;e in Nature for Cha&s;tity and Sobriety. He's not a Hor&s;e addicted to Licentious Inclinations, and if he happen'd to fly out once in his life, I am &s;ure he had a &s;evere correction for it, be&s;ides what it dearly co&s;t my Ma&s;ter and I. And therefore, Sir, never be afraid, your Mare's as &s;afe as if &s;he were in a <HI>Nunnery:</HI> They might live ten years together, your Mare and our Hor&s;e, before he would &s;o much as ask her the Que&s;tion, if &s;he did not Court him fir&s;t. With that, upon <HI>Sancho</HI>'s word, the Gentle|man &s;topp'd his Mare and rode &s;oftly, ever and anon ca&s;ting his Eye with admiration and wonder, upon <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s exorbitant Figure, who then rode without his Helmet, which his Squire carry'd fa&s;ten'd to the Pummel of his Pack-&s;addle.</P>
<P>But if the Gentleman &s;urvey'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> the Knight had his Eyes no le&s;s wi&s;hly fix'd upon the Gentleman, who &s;eem'd to be a Per&s;on of Quali|ty, by his A&s;pect and Deportment. He was about fifty years of Age, his Hair &s;omewhat turn'd, with a look no le&s;s Mode&s;t then Chearful; evident &s;igns of a vertuous di&s;po&s;ition: nor was he a Man apt to make the wor&s;t con&s;truction of what he &s;aw; however he could not choo&s;e but think <HI>Don Quixote</HI> to be a Man of a &s;trange Kidney; nor could he call to mind that he had ever &s;een a Man &s;o &s;hap'd and garbated before. He gaz'd to &s;ee &s;uch a &s;lim, wire-drawn, long-backt Gangrel; he admir'd his meager thin Jaws, his A&s;pect, and with what &s;tate he be&s;trid a poor Jade as lank as a Po&s;t|hor&s;e; which were all Novelties that his Eyes had not been accu&s;tom'd to.</P>
<P>Nor was <HI>Don Quixote</HI> un&s;en&s;ible of the Gentlemans admiration; and therefore reading in his Eyes the de&s;ire he had to be farther &s;atisfi'd; out of his wonted Curte&s;ie willing to prevent the Gentleman's Interrogations, Sir, &s;aid he, I do not wonder to find you &s;urpriz'd at the &s;ight of a Per&s;on &s;o different in his Garb and Air from all other Men; but when you &s;hall
<PB N="358" REF="196">
<GAP DESC="duplicate" EXTENT="1 page">
<PB N="359" REF="196">
<GAP DESC="duplicate" EXTENT="1 page">
<PB N="360" REF="197"> under&s;tand me to be a <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> of the Order of tho&s;e that &s;eek their Fortunes, and hunt after Adventures, your Admiration then will cea&s;e. I left my native Soil, Mortgag'd and Sold my Land, and renounc'd the plea|&s;ures of this Life, to throw my &s;elf into the Arms of Fortune. I have en|deavour'd to re&s;tore again the neglected and forgotten Profe&s;&s;ion of <HI>Knight-Errantry;</HI> which having begun to do, &s;ome while &s;ince I have ac|compli&s;h'd &s;ome part of my de&s;ign, in &s;uccouring Widows, protecting young Dam&s;els, defending the Rights of Marry'd Women and Orphans, the proper Office and Duty of <HI>Knight-Errants;</HI> and I have at length by my Religious and Valiant Atchievements, after infinite Toyls and Hard&s;hips, brought it to that pa&s;s, that my Renown is &s;pread almo&s;t over all the four Quarters of the World. The Story of my Life is already in Print, of which there has been fifteen Editions, and about three&s;core thou&s;and Books &s;old. The Stationers that bought the Copy were all happy Men; for 'tis thought there will be thirty Millions more &s;old, if they don't fall out among them|&s;elves. In &s;hort Sir, not to keep ye longer in &s;u&s;pence, my name is <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> otherwi&s;e the Knight of the Ill-favour'd Counte|nance: and tho it be not a thing &s;o commendable for a Man to prai&s;e him|&s;elf, yet living far from Neighbours, I am forc'd to do it &s;ometimes; when I want a good friend to &s;pare me the trouble. Wonder not then mo&s;t wor|thy Sir, to &s;ee this Shield, this Lance, this Squire, and this Hor&s;e; nor at the palene&s;s of my Face, nor my exhau&s;ted Body, knowing from this time forward who I am, and the Profe&s;&s;ion which I maintain.</P>
<P>Here <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;topp'd, to whom the Gentleman after he had pon|der'd a while, you had a piercing in&s;ight into my Thoughts, Sir Knight, &s;aid he, and rightly gue&s;t the eager appetite of my Curio&s;ity; but you are &s;o far from having abated my wonder, that I am rather more &s;urpriz'd then ever I was. For is it po&s;&s;ible that there &s;hould be at this time any <HI>Knights-Errant</HI> i' the World, and that there &s;hould be a true Hi&s;tory of a Living <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> in Print? In good truth Sir, I &s;hould have hardly been in|duc'd to believe there could be any of the&s;e Protectors of Widows, and Defenders of Virgins and Orphans, did not my Eyes afford me an a&s;&s;ured Te&s;timony of it in your &s;elf. High Heaven be prais'd a thou&s;and times for this &s;ame Real Hi&s;tory of your Far-fam'd Exployts, which bury in Oblivi|on all tho&s;e idle Romances of pretended <HI>Knights-Errant,</HI> that have fill'd all Europe with their Fables, and di&s;tract the Brains of all that read 'em. <HI>Mr.</HI> Gentleman, <HI>Mr.</HI> Gentleman, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> we mu&s;t not &s;o over-cre|dulou&s;ly believe the Stories of <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> to be Fables. Why, quo the Gentleman, is there any Man living that believes the contrary? Yes Sir, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> my &s;elf for one. But let that pa&s;s; I hope as we ride along to convince ye of that common Error into which you are plung'd, as being carri'd away with that &s;ame Torrent of Incredulity that overflows the World. The&s;e la&s;t words of <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and his manner of expre&s;&s;ion, created in the Gentleman a &s;trong &s;u&s;picion that he had met with a &s;ort of Madman, &s;o that he ob&s;erv'd him &s;till more wi&s;tly, to &s;ee whether he could find any other &s;ymptoms of Frenzy, that might con|firm him in his Sentiments. At what time <HI>Don Quixote</HI> altering the Sub|ject of his Di&s;cour&s;e, de&s;ir'd the Gentleman to tell him who he was, &s;ince he had been &s;o free to let him under&s;tand his Profe&s;&s;ion and manner of Li|ving. Sir Knight of the <HI>Ill-favour'd Countenance,</HI> an&s;wer'd t' other, I am a Gentleman born in a Village hard by, whither we intend, God wil|ling, to go and Sup together this Night. I have a rea&s;onable Competen|cy. I &s;pend my time contentedly with my Wife and Children, making
<PB N="361" REF="197"> little or no noi&s;e i' the World: My u&s;ual Recreations are Hunting and Fi&s;h|ing; not that I keep either Hawks or Hounds, but only a Setting-Dog to catch a Partridge or two now and then, and a <HI>Spaniel</HI> to pearch a Phea&s;ant for Variety. I have al&s;o a Competent Library, both of Hi&s;tory and Divi|nity: and I can endure to read a Play &s;ometimes, if the Stile and Contri|vance be neat and void of Ribaldry; but as for Books of <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI> I never &s;uffer 'em to enter within my Study Doors. My Neighbours and I keep a friendly Corre&s;pondence, and we often Eat and Drink at one ano|thers Hou&s;es. My own Table is &s;erv'd with cleanly Dyet, not &s;uperfluous, as being one that hates Exce&s;s and Debauchery. I have made it a Law to my &s;elf to live &s;oberly; to relieve the Poor, to Backbite no bo|dy, nor prie into the Actions of other Men; as I am in Commi&s;&s;ion of the Peace, I reconcile tho&s;e that are at variance, and &s;erve my God according to the Government E&s;tabli&s;h'd in the Church.</P>
<P><HI>Sancho</HI> li&s;ten'd to this Relation of the Gentlemans with an attentive Ear, and believing that a Per&s;on that led &s;uch a Life could not choo&s;e but be a Saint, and work Miracles, he threw him&s;elf from his <HI>Grizzle,</HI> and catch|ing hold of the Gentlemans Stirrup, with Tears in his Eyes, fell a Ki&s;&s;ing the Gentlemans Foot, as if it had been &s;ome Relick of St. <HI>Benedict,</HI> the Virgin <HI>Mary</HI>'s &s;econd <HI>Husband.</HI></P>
<P>Friend, quo the Gentleman, all in wonder, what's thy meaning thus to be &s;o Complemental? Oh, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> let me alone I be&s;eech ye, let me Ki&s;s this Foot of yours; for I have always honour'd the Saints from my Childhood, but in all my Life I never &s;aw a Saint a Hor&s;e-back before I &s;aw your Wor&s;hip. Truly hone&s;t Brother, quo the Gentleman, I am no Saint: but if either of us two may be &s;aid to be Saints, it &s;hould be thy &s;elf, by thy humility.</P>
<P><HI>Sancho</HI> &s;aid no more, but having thus pleas'd his humour, return'd to co|ver his Pack-&s;addle, not without tickling his Ma&s;ters's Spleen; who not|with&s;tanding all his Flegm, could not forbear laughing out-right at the Simplicity of his Squire. But his mirth being &s;oon over, he went on with his di&s;cour&s;e, and ask'd the Gentleman how many Children he had? ad|ding withal, how he had ever ob&s;erv'd that the Ancient Philo&s;ophers plac'd their chief happine&s;s as well in the Advantages of Nature, as tho&s;e of For|tune; in number of Children and Friends. I have but one only Son, re|ply'd the Gentleman, and perhaps if I had not him, I &s;hould not think my &s;elf the le&s;s unhappy. Not that he is leudly inclin'd, but only becau&s;e he is not &s;o good as I could wi&s;h him. He is a Lad of about Eighteen years of Age, and has been &s;ix years at the Univer&s;ity to perfect him&s;elf in his <HI>Greek</HI> and <HI>Latin;</HI> of both which he is a competent Ma&s;ter. But when I pre&s;s'd him to improve him&s;elf in the profound My&s;teries of true Learning, I found him &s;o addicted to Poetry, that he de&s;pi&s;es all the other Sciences; &s;o that I cannot get him &s;o much as to look upon a Law Book, and but ve|ry little to mind Divinity; to either of which I would have had him apply'd his Studies, to fit him for the Service of his Prince: e&s;pecially living in an Age wherein Wi&s;e and Learned Men are &s;o highly e&s;teem'd by His Maje|&s;ty. He &s;pends whole days in his <HI>Critici&s;ms,</HI> whether <HI>Homer</HI> &s;aid well or ill, in repeating Ton'd Apomeibomenos &s;o often?&mdash;whether &s;uch an Eprigram in <HI>Martial</HI> ought not to be expung'd for its Ob&s;coenity&mdash;whether <HI>Virgil</HI> had he liv'd, could ha' better'd his <HI>Eneads</HI>&mdash;He is a great admirer of <HI>Horace, Ju|venal</HI> and <HI>Per&s;ius</HI>&mdash; but as for the Modern Poets, he allows very few to be worth a Straw; among the re&s;t, he has a particular Peek again&s;t <HI>Du Bartas,</HI> and <HI>Paradi&s;e lo&s;t,</HI> which he &s;ays has neither Rhime nor Rea&s;on. Neverthe|le&s;s
<PB N="362" REF="198"> he cannot forbear playing the fooll with Love Ver&s;es and Acro&s;ticks, which are the idle&s;t Tra&s;h in Nature.</P>
<P>Sir, reply'd <HI>D. Quixote,</HI> Children are the Fle&s;h and Blood of their Parents; and whether good or bad, they ought to love 'em. Particularly they ought to have a care of laying &s;ound Foundations of Vertue in their Infan|cy; not to let 'em run about the Streets, and lie &s;wearing and gaming in every paud Alley i' the City; but to in&s;pire 'em with Chri&s;tian Princi|ples, as &s;oon as they are able to &s;peak, as being the growing Props from which they expect the Support and Comfort of their old Age. Never|thele&s;s, I would not have Parents put a force upon the Inclinations of their Children, by con&s;training their Studies more to one Science then an|other, but to let 'em follow their own Genius's, e&s;pecially when they have no occa&s;ion to &s;tudy for Bread. For tho Poetry be a &s;tudy not &s;o pro|fitable as delightful, yet is not to be de&s;pis'd, nor is it a &s;hame for a Gen|tleman to be a Poet. Tho I mu&s;t confe&s;s, the name of Poet be now a-days contemptible among the Illiterate; I &s;ay Illiterate, tho ne're &s;o wealthy: for Riches render no Man wi&s;e nor learned of them&s;elves. But I mu&s;t tell ye Sir, Poetry is like the younge&s;t Daughter in a Family, whom all the elder Si&s;ters tend upon. She is the Ornament care&s;s'd by all her other Si&s;ter-Sciences; and adds to their Grace and Beauty when ever &s;he appears among 'em. However Men mu&s;t have a care how they pro&s;titute her Excellency in Libels and Ob&s;coenity. She's <HI>Curti&s;an'd</HI> upon the Stage by Licentious Pens, and prophan'd by Popular Adulation, to plea&s;e the Vul|gar, that are utterly ignorant of her real worth and Beauty. But &s;he's a Virgin not to be roughly handl'd, and expos'd in every Market-place and corner of the Street, nor to be &s;et to view, unle&s;s in lofty Tragedies, He|roic Poems, and Comedies truely u&s;eful and Facetious. She's not to be meddl'd withal by Je&s;ters, and Pitiful Rhimers, to plea&s;e the ignorant Rab|ble. Nor do I here mean by the Vulgar, the Common Rabble only; for who ever is ignorant, be he Prince or Potentate, he is to be li&s;ted in the number of the Vulgar. But who ever &s;hall e&s;teem of Poetry according to tho&s;e Characters that I have given her, his Name &s;hall be famous in all well-govern'd Common-wealths.</P>
<P>And whereas you &s;ay your Son neglects all Modern Poe&s;ie, in my Opi|nion he does not do &s;o well. For neither did <HI>Homer</HI> write in <HI>Latin,</HI> be|cau&s;e he was a <HI>Grecian;</HI> neither did <HI>Virgil</HI> write in <HI>Greek,</HI> becau&s;e he was a <HI>Latin:</HI> and indeed all your Ancient Poets wrote in their Mother Lan|guage, without &s;eeking to conceal their lofty Notions in unknown Ton|gues. And I could wi&s;h that Cu&s;tom were &s;till ob&s;erv'd in all Languages; there being no rea&s;on that a <HI>German</HI> Poet &s;hould be undervalu'd, becau&s;e he writes in his own Dialect, or a <HI>French,</HI> or an <HI>Engli&s;h</HI> Poet, becau&s;e they write in Theirs. But your Son, as I &s;uppo&s;e, mi&s;likes not Modern Poe&s;ie, but your Modern Poets, that under&s;tand no other Language or Sci|ences, that may adorn, awaken, and a&s;&s;i&s;t their natural Impul&s;e. Altho' in this there may be an Errror. For it is the common &s;aying, <HI>That a Poet is &s;o born.</HI> That is, that a Poet is born a Poet from his Mothers Womb, and with tho&s;e natural Inclinations that Heaven has infus'd into him, with|out the helps of Study or Art, compo&s;es tho&s;e Lines, which verifie that &s;aying, <HI>E&s;t Deus in Nobis,</HI> &amp;c.</P>
<P>However a natural Poet that helps him&s;elf by Art, &s;hall be much bet|ter'd by Study; for that tho Art do not &s;urpa&s;s Nature, yet it adds to its perfection. And therefore I &s;ay, Sir, let your Son follow his own In|clinations; for that being endu'd with a good <HI>Genius,</HI> as he is, and under|&s;tanding
<PB N="363" REF="198"> as he does both the <HI>Greek</HI> and <HI>Latin,</HI> that enclo&s;e within them|&s;elves all Arts and Sciences, he will ea&s;ily a&s;cend to the Pinacle of Learn|ing, which is no le&s;s an Ornament to a Per&s;on of his Quality, then it is to tho&s;e that are oblig'd to profe&s;s it. Only Sir, take a care that he make choice of good Subjects, that he write nothing &s;currillous; for 'tis the Debauchery of our Poets, that renders their Lines as Debauch'd as their Lives and Conver&s;ations; a Poet that lives vertuou&s;ly will be &s;o in his Ver&s;es. Let him not while he decrys Vice, be&s;patter the Reputation of any Per&s;on. Let him in his prai&s;es of Vertue give &s;uch de&s;criptions of her, that he may be thought to be conver&s;ant with her; and then Poetry will be &s;o far from being a di&s;honour to him, that he will become at the &s;ame time the Glory of his Family, e&s;teem'd by his Prince, and in reputa|tion among all Men.</P>
<P>Here <HI>Don Quixote</HI> concluding his Di&s;cour&s;e, the Gentleman was &s;trook with &s;o much Admiration, that he began to think the wor&s;e of him&s;elf, for the bad Opinion he had conceiv'd of the Knight; &s;o that he was go|ing about to renew his Di&s;cour&s;e, when <HI>Don Quixote</HI> lifting up his Eyes, beheld a Waggon upon the Road full of Flags and Streamers, bearing the Kings Arms, and believing it to be &s;ome new Adventure, call'd out to <HI>Sancho,</HI> who was then at a di&s;tance, to bring him his Helmet.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="17" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XVII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Wherein is &s;et forth the greate&s;t Mark of Courage that ever <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;hew'd in his Life, and the happy Conclu&s;ion of the Adventure of the Lyons.</HEAD>
<P><HI>SAncho</HI> was neither for Sermoms nor Homelies, and therefore while his Ma&s;ter was preaching, he ob&s;erving that certain Shepherds were keeping their Flocks hard by, went to &s;ee what Provi&s;ion they had got, and he had ju&s;t made a purcha&s;e of &s;ome Chee&s;curds, when his Ma&s;ter call'd out &s;o loud for his Helmet; at what time not knowing what to do with his Merchandi&s;e, yet loath to lo&s;e it &s;ince he had payd for it, he clapt it into his Ma&s;ters Helmet, which he carry'd at the Bow of his Pack-&s;addle, and &s;o came trotting up to his Ma&s;ter to know his Plea|&s;ure. <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo he, give me my Helmet, for if I under&s;tand Adven|tures, I de&s;crie one yonder, that is not to be undertaken unle&s;s a Man be well Arm'd. The Gentleman hearing what <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;aid, lookt round about him, and &s;eeing nothing but a Waggon &s;tuck about with Flags and Streamers, conjectur'd it to be a Waggon of Money going to the Kings Trea&s;ury, and told <HI>Don Quixote</HI> his Opinion of the matter. To whom the Knight, who would not &s;o ea&s;ily be convinc'd, but look'd upon all things to be Adventures, <HI>Mr.</HI> Gentleman quo he, <HI>fore-arm'd fore-warn'd,</HI> a Man lo&s;es nothing by &s;tanding upon his Guard; and I am a&s;&s;ur'd by wo|ful experience, that I have Enemies both vi&s;ible and inv&s;ible, that contin|ually lie in wait to &s;urprize me; and at the &s;ame time &s;natching the Hel|met out of <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Hands, before he could have lei&s;ure to empty it, he clapt it upon his bare Crown; at what time the Curds being &s;queez'd be|tween his Head and the Iron, the Whey came &s;treaming down his Face, and overflow'd his Beard and Chin at &s;uch a rate, that the poor affrighted
<PB N="364" REF="199"> Champion in great di&s;order cry'd out, What's the matter with me? <HI>San|cho,</HI> either there's a Well in my Scull, or el&s;e my Brains are melted, for I'me all in a Sweat from top to toe. Well, if I do &s;weat, I'm &s;ure 'tis not for fear, tho 'tis an ill omen of a &s;howr of Blood do en&s;ue&mdash;Give me a Cloath to wipe me for this &s;ame Sweat almo&s;t blinds me. Thereup|on <HI>Sancho</HI> gave him the be&s;t Clout he had, not daring to &s;peak a word, but giving a thou&s;and thanks to Heaven that his Ma&s;ter examin'd the Bu|&s;ine&s;s no farther. However <HI>Don Quixote</HI> having wip'd his Face and his Beard, and taking off his Helmet to drie his Hair, and &s;ee what it was that felt &s;o cold upon his Head, when he &s;py'd the white Marmalade, and found by the &s;mell what it was; by the Life of <HI>Madam Dulcinea,</HI> quo he, ye damn'd Traytor of a Guttle-gut, had ye no where to put your Curds and Cream but i' my Helmet? To whom <HI>Sancho</HI> very cunningly, and without the lea&s;t alteration in his Countenance. If they be Curds, Sir give 'em me&mdash;I'le eat 'em rather then they &s;hall offend ye, or el&s;e let the Devil eat 'em him&s;elf that put 'em there; for you cannot believe that I &s;hould be &s;uch a Bea&s;t to foul your <HI>Capp-a-maintenance.</HI> As &s;ure as you live Sir, I have my Inchanter's too that bear me a Spleen, and fain would a' provok'd ye at this time to ha' fallen fowl upon my Bones. But I &s;erve a good Ma&s;ter, that under&s;tands their malice full well; and knows that if the Curds and Cream had fallen to my lot, I &s;hould rather ha' put 'em i' my Belly then in his Helmet&mdash;</P>
<P>All this the Gentleman heard with no le&s;s attention then Admiration; more e&s;pecially &s;eeing how &s;olemnly <HI>Don Quixote</HI> prepar'd him&s;elf; for af|ter he had wip'd his Face and his Beard, he clean'd his Helmet, try'd whe|ther his Sword were loo&s;e enough in his Scabbord, fix'd him&s;elf in his Stir|rups, and then &s;haking his Lance, now quo he, come what will come, I fear not <HI>Satan</HI> him&s;elf, tho guarded with a whole Regiment of Devils.</P>
<P>By this time the Waggon drew neer, with one &s;ingle Per&s;on in it, who &s;ate at the farther end, and the Waggoner riding by, upon a &s;orry Scrub. Immediately <HI>Don Quixote</HI> po&s;ted him&s;elf before the Waggon, and with a &s;urly &s;ummons, Whither a way my Ma&s;ters, quo he, what Waggon is this, what's your Loading, and what's the meaning of the&s;e Streamers? Sir reply'd the Waggoner, the Waggon is mine, and there are in it two Lyons in two Cages, which the Governour of <HI>Oran</HI> has &s;ent to the King our Ma&s;ter, and the&s;e Streamers are to let you under&s;tand to whom they belong. Are they great Lyons? quo <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> very large Lyons, re|ply'd the Waggoners companion; &s;o large that I believe, larger have not been &s;een i' this Country. I am their Keeper added the fellow. I have &s;een &s;everal Lyons, but never any like to the&s;e in all my Life. In this fir&s;t Cage is a Lyon, and in the other a Lyone&s;s; and they are both cruel Hun|gry, for they have not been fed to day; and therefore pray Sir be pleas'd to ride out of the way and let us go on. Thereupon the Waggoner gave his Hor&s;es the word, and began to drive on; at what time <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;miling, Lyons again&s;t me, again&s;t me Lyons, quo he! I'le make the Go|vernor that &s;ent the&s;e Lyons to know I am not afraid of a Lyon&mdash; Come down friend, you i' the Waggon; and if you be the Keeper of the Ly|on's, open their Cages, and let 'em come forth;&mdash; The World &s;hall be convinc'd in this &s;ame very Field, that I am &s;till <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> mauger the malice of tho&s;e Inchanters that have &s;ent the&s;e Lyons to skare me. Well quo the Gentleman to him&s;elf, there needs now no more to &s;atisfie any Rational Man, what this Knight is&mdash;the Curds I find have &s;often'd his Scull, and mellow'd his Brains&mdash; At the &s;ame time <HI>Sancho</HI>
<PB N="365" REF="199"> approaching the Gentleman, and ready to be&s;mear him&s;elf for fear&mdash;For Heaven's &s;ake, Sir, &s;aid he, don't let my Ma&s;ter fight with the&s;e Lyons&mdash; Upon my life Sir, we &s;hall be all torn a' pieces&mdash; Why, quo the Gentle|man, do'&s;t think thy Ma&s;ter's &s;uch a Mad-man to encounter the&s;e Lyons? He's no Mad man, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> but he's a Per&s;on will fight with the Devil. Go, go, quo the Gentleman, I'le undertake for him, and &s;o riding up to <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who was raging to have the Cages open'd; Sir Knight, quo he, <HI>Knights-Errant</HI> ought to undertake Adventures that are po&s;&s;ible, and where there is a probability of Conque&s;t, and not engage again&s;t all likely hood of &s;ucce&s;s; for Ra&s;hne&s;s is but incon&s;iderate and &s;avage fierce|ne&s;s, rather Madne&s;s then real Fortitude. Be&s;ides, the&s;e Lyons are not &s;ent again&s;t you, but as a Pre&s;ent to the King him&s;elf, and therefore you do ill to &s;top the&s;e People upon the Road, who are to an&s;wer for their forth-coming. <HI>Mr.</HI> Gentleman, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> very briskly, meddle wi' your Partridges and your Setting-Dogs at home, and leave every Man to his own Profe&s;&s;ion; I am now about my own Calling, and I am to judg whether the&s;e Lyons are &s;ent again&s;t me, or no; and &s;o turning him&s;elf to the Keeper of the Lyons, perpetual Ragamuffin, quo he, By the Body of St. <HI>George,</HI> either open the Cages, or i'le nail thee with this Lance to the Wheel of thy Waggon. For the love of God, Sir, cry'd the Wag|goner, &s;eeing <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;o re&s;olute, let me take out my Hor&s;es, and get far enough out of the way before ye open the Cages; for if they &s;hould once &s;et upon the poor Bea&s;ts, I mu&s;t live upon the Alm's of the Pa|ri&s;h all the re&s;t of my Life; for as I hope to be &s;av'd Sir, I ha' no other &s;ub&s;i&s;tance but my Waggon and my Hor&s;es. Scoundrel of little Faith, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> alight and take out thy Hor&s;es, and run where thou wilt, but thou &s;hall find by and by, how little need thou had&s;t of being &s;o wary. In &s;hort the Waggoner took out his Hor&s;es, and began to make ha&s;te out of Harms way: and then it was that the Keeper of the Ly|ons cry'd out to the Company, and de&s;ir'd 'em to bear witne&s;s, that it was again&s;t his will, and by con&s;traint that he open'd the Lyons Cages, and prote&s;ted again&s;t the Knight, that he &s;hould be an&s;werable as well for all the mi&s;chief the Lyons did, as for the Lo&s;s, which he &s;u&s;tain'd by the mi&s;carriage of the Kings Pre&s;ent. He al&s;o advis'd 'em all to get out of the way before the Cages were open'd; for that as for him&s;elf, he knew the Lyons would do him no harm.</P>
<P>Neverthele&s;s the Gentleman made a &s;econd attempt to divert <HI>Don Quixote</HI> from his extravagant de&s;ign, putting him in mind how he temp|ted God in expo&s;ing him&s;elf to &s;uch an apparent danger. To all which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> an&s;wer'd him carele&s;ly, that he knew what he did. Con&s;ider however what you do, reply'd the Gentleman, for a&s;&s;uredly you are under a very great mi&s;take. I be&s;eech ye Sir, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> if you think there is &s;o much danger, put Spurs to your Dapple, and make ha&s;te out of the way.</P>
<P><HI>Sancho</HI> &s;eeing the Gentleman could not prevail, would needs try a &s;econd time what he could do, and &s;o coming up to his Ma&s;ter with Tears in his Eyes, be&s;ought him to de&s;i&s;t from &s;uch a perillous Enterprize, to which the Adventures of the <HI>Wind-mills</HI> and the <HI>Fulling-mills,</HI> were but <HI>Holy Thur&s;day</HI> skirmi&s;hes among the Boys; have a care Sir, quo he, there be no Inchantment in this ca&s;e&mdash; Alack and well-a-day, Dear Ma&s;ter, I lookt into the Cages, and through the Cages, and by the Claws that I &s;aw, the Lyon mu&s;t be bigger then an Elephant, with the Ca&s;tle and all upon his Back&mdash; What a thing is Fear! reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> 'twill make the&s;e
<PB N="366" REF="200"> Lyons by and by as big as Mountains&mdash; go, go, poor <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;ave one, &s;ave one&mdash;thou loo&s;e&s;t time&mdash;if I fall in the Attempt, thou know&s;t our agreement&mdash;repair to <HI>Dulcinea</HI>&mdash;I &s;ay no more.</P>
<P>To the&s;e he added &s;ome other Expre&s;&s;ion's, which cut off all hopes of any accommodation between the Lyons and him. So that the Gentleman perceiving he did but wa&s;h a Blackamore white, and finding him&s;elf not in a Capacity to with-hold a Man by force, that he &s;aw &s;o well Arm'd and more furiou&s;ly re&s;olv'd, he &s;et Spurs to his Mare, <HI>Sancho</HI> kickt his <HI>Griz|zle</HI> with both Legs, and the Waggoner la&s;ht on his Hor&s;es, every one &s;tri|ving to get out of the way as fa&s;t as they could, while <HI>Don Quixote</HI> lay cur|&s;ing and &s;wearing at the Keeper to open the Cages. Poor <HI>Sancho</HI> at the &s;ame time bewayl'd his Ma&s;ters Death, as one that already fancy'd he &s;aw him fa&s;t in the Lyons Paws, and the greedy Bea&s;t Banquetting upon his Witle&s;s Brains: he curs'd his ill fortune, and the Hour that engag'd him in the Service of &s;uch a Mad-man: and bemoaning the lo&s;s of his Time and his I&s;lands, bad adieu to all the Pomp and Vanity of the World: but for all that he punch'd on his <HI>Grizzle,</HI> as one that had no mind as yet to be en|tomb'd in the Paunch of a Lyon, tho he were the King of Bea&s;ts.</P>
<P>Now when the Keeper &s;aw that the Company were got far enough out of danger, once more he be&s;ought <HI>D. Quixote,</HI> that he might not be con&s;train'd to let forth the&s;e Terrible Animals upon him, u&s;ing all the eloquence he had to per&s;wade him not to expo&s;e him&s;elf to unnece&s;&s;ary Ruin. But all the an|&s;wer he had was only a disdainful &s;mile and a command to di&s;patch.</P>
<P>Now while the Keeper took time to open the fir&s;t Cage, as one that wou'd fain ha' been better employ'd, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> began to debate with him&s;elf whether to fight a foot or a Hor&s;e-back; and upon mature delibe|ration, con&s;idering that <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> might be frighted and mi&s;carry, at the unwonted &s;ight of &s;uch dreadful Creatures, he leapt from his Saddle, &s;houlder'd his Target, and with his Sword in his hand, and an undaunted Courage he fix'd him&s;elf ju&s;t before the Door of the Cage, yet at &s;uch a di&s;tance that the Lyon might have room enough to take his Career, re|commending him&s;elf to God at the &s;ame time, but invoking more hearti|ly the a&s;&s;i&s;tance of his Mi&s;tre&s;s <HI>Dulcinea.</HI></P>
<P>And here it was, that the Author of this Hi&s;tory could not forbear bur|&s;ting forth into a Pa&s;&s;ion, and in an Exta&s;ie of wonder, make the follow|ing Exclamation. Oh! mo&s;t intrepid Champion, Brave and Couragious <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> the bright Honour of <HI>Mancha,</HI> the Grand Exemplar of <HI>Knight-Errantry!</HI> what words and Epithites &s;hall I now coyn to expre&s;s thy Death-defying Courage! What Language &s;hall I borrow from the High-flown <HI>Melpomene,</HI> to convince &s;ucceeding Ages of the Truth of &s;uch a more then Human Enterprize! Where &s;hall I find out Prai&s;es and Elo|gies, that will not be too mean for thy in&s;uperable Valour? Thou all a|lone, a foot, with nothing but a Sword, and that none of your try'd <HI>Bil|bo</HI>'s, nor trenchant <HI>Fox-blades</HI> neither, but a poor &s;orry Ammunition Wea|pon, God wot, and a Shield not able to with&s;tand the Shot of an Elder Gun, defy'&s;t and dar'&s;t the Savage force of two va&s;t Lyons, more mon&s;trous and more furious then ever roar'd within the <HI>Lybian</HI> De&s;erts. Then let thy own renown'd Exploits build up the Monument of thy Fame, for Po|&s;terity to gaze at: Let thy own Valour tell the wondering World what I want words to utter; which makes me break off thus abruptly.&mdash;</P>
<P>And now it was, that the Keeper of the Lyons perceiving <HI>Don Quixote</HI> ready in his Gladiator's Po&s;ture, and fearing the Champions farther Indig|nation, &s;et the Door of the fir&s;t Cage wide open, where (I tremble to tell
<PB N="367" REF="200"> ye) lay a huge, mon&s;trous, grum, &s;pani&s;hruff'd Lyon, to which the <HI>Nemean</HI> Bea&s;t that <HI>Hercules</HI> kill'd, was a meer Kitten. The fowl Mon&s;ter &s;eeing the Door of his Pri&s;on open, the fir&s;t thing he did was to rowl and tumble up and down, and wallow in his Straw; i' the next place he &s;tretch'd out his ma&s;&s;ie Legs, and put forth his Claws of a prodigious length; after that he gap'd and yawn'd and &s;hew'd his hideous Fangs, and when he had purg'd his Head with a dreadful Sneeze or two, with a foot and a half of broad Tongue, he lick'd and wa&s;h'd his Face and Eyes. Af|ter this plea&s;ant Preludium, he thru&s;t his Head quite out of the Cage, and with his Eyes re&s;embling two live Coles of Fire, look'd round about him from his Chamber Window, to &s;ee what Weather it was, enough to have di&s;mai'd all the &s;even Champion's leagu'd to his De&s;truction. All which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> heedfully ob&s;erv'd, and &s;tood firm in expectation of his Adver&s;ary, impatient to be doing, and a&s;&s;ur'd of Victory. But the gene|rous Lyon, far more prudent then the vain-glorious Hero, and perhaps con|temning his Bravado's, after he had taken a little fre&s;h Air, retir'd into his Cage, turn'd his Tayl to the vapouring Knight, and layd him&s;elf fair and &s;oftly down again. Which, when <HI>Don Quixote</HI> beheld, he com|manded the Keeper to provoke him with his Poking-&s;tick, and to force him out whether he would or no. Not I upon my Life quo the Keeper, for all the Shoes i' your Shop, for if I rai&s;e his Pa&s;&s;ion, I'me &s;ure to be his fir&s;t Cour&s;e. Be&s;ides, Sir, you have all the rea&s;on i' the world to be &s;atisfi'd: you have put your Valour upon the Tenter-hooks: I defie all the Men i' the World to do &s;o much as you ha' done; you gave your Enemy a fair Challenge; you waited for him; he fail'd: what could you do more, unle&s;s you intend to po&s;t him for a Coward? Body a' truth, Sir, what wou'd ye have? he's vanqui&s;h'd, and you are the Victor.</P>
<P>Shut the Cage hone&s;t friend, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and give me a Certifi|cate in due form: That is, How thou did&s;t open the Cage for the Lyon to come forth, that I waited for his coming, that I gave him his own time, and that in&s;tead of meeting me, he only ro&s;e to &s;tretch his Legs, and layd him&s;elf down again. I ha' done all that could be requir'd from me, and I am oblig'd to do no more. I &s;ay once more I ha' done my du|ty, and a fart for all the <HI>Necromancers</HI> i' the World&mdash;I ha' done my duty, and God ble&s;s <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI>&mdash;and therefore lock up thy Lyons again, while I go and hollow to the&s;e da&s;tardly <HI>Sneak-goo&s;es,</HI> and fetch 'em back again, to the end they may hear the Truth from thy own Mouth.</P>
<P>Thereupon the Keeper lockt up his Lyons without being twice bid, and <HI>Don Quixote</HI> fa&s;tning his Handkercher at the end of his Lance, hung out his white Flag, which he kept waving in the Air, as a &s;ignal for the Fugi|tives to return. At what time <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;pying the flouri&s;h'd Muckinder&mdash; I'le be hang'd quo he, if my Ma&s;ter have not kill'd the Kings Lyons, and now no ground will hold him&mdash;Stop Gentlemen, &s;top&mdash; my Ma&s;ter has done his bu&s;ine&s;s, he hollow's &s;o chearfully&mdash; With that the Wag|goner &s;topp'd, and the Gentleman, who led the Van i' the flight took up his Mare, and all perceiving <HI>Don Quixote</HI> flouri&s;hing his En&s;ign in the Po|&s;ture of a Victor, they turn'd their Hor&s;es, and free from all their fears rode back to congratulate the Conquerour.</P>
<P>So &s;oon as they were within ea&s;ie hearing&mdash; Come on hone&s;t friend, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> put thy Hor&s;es into the Waggon again, and pur&s;ue thy Journey; and <HI>Sancho,</HI> do thou give him two Pieces for his trouble in &s;taying for my &s;ake. Mo&s;t willingly, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> drawing his Pur&s;e&mdash; But I pray Sir, quo he, what are become of the Lyons? are they alive or
<PB N="368" REF="201"> dead? Then the Keeper of the Lyons ob&s;erving his Cue, gave a true and perfect relation of the whole Action, with all the Advantage that might be on the Champion's &s;ide, extolling his Valour, and attributing the Cowardize of the Lyon, to the inward fear which he had of the Champion's Prowe&s;s, as knowing him&s;elf to ha' been a lo&s;t Lyon, had he ventur'd the Encounter.</P>
<P>Now <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> what do&s;t think on't? is not my Va|lour Inchantment-proof? Your <HI>Necromancers</HI> perhaps may rob me of &s;ome part of the Victory? but they can never le&s;&s;en my Courage.</P>
<P>In &s;hort the Waggoner being well &s;atisfi'd for his &s;tay, put in his Hor|&s;es and drove on with his Lyons, a&s;&s;uring <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that he would &s;pread abroad the fame of his Atchievments where er'e he came; and that he would give the King him&s;elf an account of what he had &s;o nobly per|form'd, &s;o &s;oon as he came to Court. If His Maje&s;ty &s;hould chance to ask ye, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who the Per&s;on was, and what was his Name, you &s;hall tell him 'twas the <HI>Knight of the Lyons;</HI> for hence forward I in|tend to be call'd the <HI>Knight of the Lyons,</HI> whereas before I call'd my &s;elf the <HI>Knight of the Ill-favour'd Countenance,</HI> according to the Ancient Cu&s;tom of <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> in former times, who alter'd their Titles as they pleas'd them&s;elves.</P>
<P>Thus the Waggoner drove on, and the Victorious Knight, the Gentle|man and <HI>Sancho</HI> pur&s;u'd their Journey with great &s;ilence. For the Gentle|man was &s;o employ'd in making his Ob&s;ervations upon <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that he had not time to &s;peak a word, not knowing what Opinion to have of a Per&s;on in whom he found at the &s;ame time &s;o much Sence and &s;o much Extravagance. For his Words were proper and well deliver'd, his Actions fooli&s;h, hair-brain'd and unadvis'd. But <HI>Don Quixote</HI> perceiving him in &s;uch a Brown-&s;tudy, and conjecturing readily the rea&s;on of his Meditati|ons; Sir, &s;aid he, I make no que&s;tion, but you take me for a Hair-brain'd Fellow, or rather for a Madman that has lo&s;t his Wits, for by my Acti|ons, 'tis impo&s;&s;ible to think otherwi&s;e: but give me leave to tell ye, I am no &s;uch Fool as you take me for&mdash; You think it a fine &s;ight to &s;ee a good|ly Knight with his pamper'd Steed richly capari&s;on'd, in the view of his Prince attacking a Wild Bull i' the Market-place, and happy that rati|onal Creature of a Knight, that fir&s;t has the good luck to dig out with his Lance the Bowels of that &s;ame poor irrational Bea&s;t, that never did him injury. You think it a goodly &s;hew to &s;ee a Courtly Champion prancing about a Tilt-yard in &s;ight of his Mi&s;tre&s;s, and all to run at a &s;encele&s;s Ring, or break a Lance with an Adver&s;ary that will do him no wrong. You think &s;uch Knights as tho&s;e that can &s;hew their Activity at a Turnament, or caper highe&s;t before the Ladie's at a Ball, to be the Ornaments of a Princes Court, while all they do, is nothing but for Sport and Recreati|on; but gi' me leave to tell ye, a <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> is much &s;uperior to any of the&s;e, perpetually in motion through De&s;erts, Solitudes, over Hills and Dales, o're Mountains and Vallies, and continually expo&s;&s;ing him&s;elf to danger and hard&s;hip. I &s;ay, Sir, that <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> who &s;uccours a Widow oppre&s;s'd in a Country Village, by far &s;urmounts in Vertue, a Smell-&s;mock Knight that do's nothing but Banquet and Coach about the Ladies i' the City. All Knights have their particular Employments. Let the Courtier wait upon his Mi&s;tre&s;&s;es, fill his Prince's Court with his Co&s;tly Liveries; let him allow poor Gentlemen a free acce&s;s to his Table; let him be Liberal and Magnificent, give Sumptuous Entertainments; in all the&s;e things he complyes with his Profe&s;&s;ion. But the Duty of a
<PB N="369" REF="201"> <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> is to traver&s;e the World, to look danger i' the Face where e're he meet's it, to undertake all &s;orts of Adventures, and to attempt Impo&s;&s;ibility it &s;elf. He de&s;pi&s;es Hunger and Thir&s;t, the Rigor of the Weather, the Inconveniences of Climates and Sea&s;ons, he laughs at Ly|ons and Hobgoblins, it being the duty of his Profe&s;&s;ion upon all occa&s;ions to be ready to meet, to dare, to encounter, and overcome to the utmo&s;t of his Power; and not to &s;uffer the lea&s;t di&s;turbance of the Peace, and Tranquillity of human Kind. And therefore &s;ince it has pleas'd my De&s;tiny to rank me in the number of the&s;e <HI>Knight-Errants,</HI> it behoves me to perform my Duty, and to behave my &s;elf becoming my Profe&s;&s;ion. Which was the Rea&s;on, Sir, I dur&s;t not but attacque the&s;e Lyons, tho I knew it to be a piece of Ra&s;hne&s;s ju&s;tly to be condemn'd; for I had rather the World &s;hould accu&s;e me of Ra&s;hne&s;s then of Cowardize: and this is my Comfort, let 'em &s;ay what they will of me, there's nere a He that wears a Head can &s;ay I'me a flincher from Death it &s;elf, tho perhaps they may call me a Mad-man. In good truth, Sir, quo the Gentleman, all that you do, and all that you &s;peak fill's me full of Admiration, as being mea&s;ur'd out by the Line of Rea&s;on; and I am per&s;waded, that if all the Laws of Chivalry-Errant were ab&s;olutely lo&s;t, they might be found again in your Brea&s;t, which &s;eems to be the &s;ole Chappel, wherein the Records, Charters and Evidences of that Order &s;eem to be layd up. And &s;o, Sir, let us put on, for the day begin's to wa&s;te, that we may get home in good time to my Hou&s;e; where I &s;hall be glad to reap the benefit of that time, which you &s;hall be pleas'd to afford me, in taking my poor Habitation for your own. You honour me with your obliging offers reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and &s;o put|ting on, they arriv'd within two hours at the Gentlemans Hou&s;e.</P>
</DIV3>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="2" TYPE="book">
<PB REF="202">
<P><FIGURE>
<FIGDESC>Enchanted Head</FIGDESC>
<P>The Adventure of the Enchanted Head. page. 570.</P>
</FIGURE></P>
<P><FIGURE>
<FIGDESC>Don Quixote conquered</FIGDESC>
<P>Don Quixot conquer'd by the Knight of the White Moon page. 581.</P>
</FIGURE></P>
<DIV3 N="18" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="371" REF="202">
<HEAD>THE SECOND BOOK OF THE HISTORY of the mo&s;t Ingenious Don Quixote DE LA MANCHA. BOOK II.</HEAD>
<HEAD>CHAP. XVIII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">What befell <HI>Don Quixote</HI> at the Knight of the Green Ca&s;&s;ocks Hou&s;e, with other extravagant Pa&s;&s;ages.</HEAD>
<P><HI>DON Quixote</HI> being come to the Gentleman's Hou&s;e, which he found to be very large and well Built, with the Ancient Arms of the Family over the Portal, and &s;everal Jars i' the Court, like tho&s;e that were made at <HI>Tobo&s;o,</HI> the &s;ight of which awa|ken'd in his mind the Remembrance of his Inchanted <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> he began to fetch a deep Sigh; and never minding where he was, nor what Com|pany &s;tood next him, bur&s;t forth into a &s;udden Pa&s;&s;ion, crying out,
<Q><L>When &s;hall the&s;e Eyes of mine behold the Hour,</L>
<L>When &s;he releas'd from Vile Inchanter's Power,&mdash;</L></Q> But he was interrupted in his Ec&s;ta&s;ie, by the arrival of the Gentleman's Son leading his Mother in his Hand, who came to welcom her Husband Home; tho not a little &s;urpriz'd, to &s;ee what an extravagant Mortal her Husband had brought along with him. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> no &s;ooner beheld her, but he threw him&s;elf from <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI>'s Back, and with his accu&s;tom'd Gravity &s;aluted the Lady. Wife, &s;aid the Gentleman, this is <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> the mo&s;t Prudent and Valiant <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> i' the World, and therefore give him a Welcome according to his Merit. Thereupon
<PB N="372" REF="203"> Madam <HI>Chri&s;tina</HI> (for &s;o was the Lady call'd) receiv'd him with a more then ordinary Civility; to which when the Knight had made his due Re|turns, he &s;aluted the Son, between whom and the Knight there pa&s;s'd &s;everal mo&s;t learned and unu&s;ual Complements; which put the young Stu|dent into a high conceit of his Parts. Afterwards <HI>Don Quixote</HI> being con|ducted into a fair Hall, <HI>Sancho</HI> help'd him off with his Armour; which being done, the Knight appear'd in a pair of clo&s;e Breeches, and a Wa&s;t|coat of Shamoy Leather, all be&s;mear'd with the filth of his ru&s;ty Ar|mour; a plain Quaker-like Band, un&s;tarch'd, about his Neck: upon his Legs he wore a pair of Leather Spatterla&s;hes over his Stockins, which Heaven knows whether they were Yarn or Wor&s;ted; and upon his Feet a pair of Wax'd Shoes that had been often at the Coblers: His Sword hung by his &s;ide in a Belt made of a Sea-wolfs Skin; for 'tis th' Opinion of ma|ny that he had been troubl'd with a <HI>Gonorrhea</HI> for &s;everal years. But the main of all his Bravery con&s;i&s;ted in a long leaguer Drap de berry Cloak, that cover'd all the Re&s;t.</P>
<P>The fir&s;t thing he did was to wa&s;h his Face and his Head, in five or &s;ix Pailfulls of Water, for as to the number of the Pailfulls there is &s;ome di&s;pute; nor can you imagine what a Tincture the Whey &s;till gave to the Water; thanks to that guttling Ra&s;cal his Squire, for buying the Curds that &s;o be&s;mear'd the in&s;ide of his Ma&s;ters Helmet, and be&s;ides that, had &s;o bematted his Hair, that they were forc'd to make u&s;e of a Main-comb before they could part it.</P>
<P>Now while <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was thus putting him&s;elf into Kelter, the Gentleman's Son having lei&s;ure enough, Sir, &s;aid he, to his Father, Who is this Per&s;on that you have pickt up upon the Road? My Mother and my &s;elf have been commenting this hour upon his A&s;pect, his Dre&s;s, his Name, but mo&s;t of all upon the Title of <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> which you give him, and were we both to be pre&s;ently martyr'd, we cannot tell what to think of him. Son, quo <HI>Don Diego,</HI> (for that was the Gentleman's Name) thou ha&s;t puzzl'd me with a Que&s;tion, I know not what an&s;wer to give thee. For he is a Man that &s;peaks good Sence, and yet commits the greate&s;t follies i' the World; tho by what I ha' both &s;een and heard, I believe his Whim&s;ies exceed his Di&s;cretion. But do thou di&s;cour&s;e him thy &s;elf, and then tell me thy own Opinion.</P>
<P>With that, Mr. <HI>Laurence</HI> (for that was al&s;o the Son's Name) went out to look for <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> whom he met returning out of the Yard into the Hall, &s;mug'd up as &s;pruce as an Onion, and as lively as a <HI>Norfolk</HI> Tumbler; where after the u&s;ual formalities were at an end, Sir, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I am glad to hear that you are the worthy Son of &s;o worthy a Father; he has told me of the Excellency of your parts, but more e&s;pecially that you are a great Poet. A Poet perhaps I may be, reply'd <HI>Lorenzo;</HI> but to be a good Poet, I never yet pretended. The truth is, I am a great Admirer of Poetry, and love to read good Authors; but that's all&mdash; my Father may &s;ay what he plea&s;es. I like ye (Sir) the bet|ter, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for your Mode&s;ty, for a Poet &s;hould not be arro|gant, nor have a high Opinion of him&s;elf. But pray, Sir, tell me, what Ver&s;es are tho&s;e which your Father tells me you are at this very time &s;o puzzl'd about? For I under&s;tand &s;omething, and if it be any thing of an expo&s;ition that you want, perhaps I may a&s;&s;i&s;t ye. But if it be a Lam|poon, I have nothing to &s;ay to 't, for I hate that &s;ort of Poetry mortally. Hitherto all's well, quo <HI>Lorenzo</HI> to him&s;elf, lets go on&mdash; You &s;eem to me, Sir, reply'd <HI>Lorenzo,</HI> to have Study'd at the Univer&s;ity; pray (Sir) to
<PB N="373" REF="203"> which of the Sciences did you apply your &s;elf mo&s;t &s;eriou&s;ly? To that of <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> reply d <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> which is ten thou&s;and times better then all your Poetry. To tell ye truth, Sir, quo <HI>Lorenzo,</HI> I do not under|&s;tand that Science at all, nor indeed did I ever hear talk of it before. 'Tis a Science, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that inclo&s;es in it &s;elf all the other Sciences i' the World. He that would profe&s;s it mu&s;t be a Lawyer, and under&s;tand the Laws of Di&s;tributive and Commutative Ju&s;tice: He ought to be a Di|vine to give a Rea&s;on of his Faith: It behoves him to be a Phy&s;ician to under&s;tand the nature of Simples; for Surgeons do not hang out their Anatomy-&s;igns in De&s;arts and Mountains: He ought to be a Ma&s;ter in A|&s;trology, to under&s;tand the Motions and Influences of the Stars; how el&s;e &s;hall he know what a Clock 'tis in a dark night upon <HI>We&s;tbury Plain,</HI> or in what part of the World he is, and the difference of Climates? If he un|der&s;tands not the Mathematics, how &s;hall he know what belongs to For|tifications, and many other things which are ab&s;olutely requi&s;ite for his Profe&s;&s;ion? In a word he mu&s;t be adorn'd with all the Divine and Moral Vertues. To de&s;cend to trifles, he ought to know how to mend a Saddle; &s;hoe a Hor&s;e; patch his Breeches; he ought to &s;erve God and his Mi&s;tre&s;s inviolably; to be cha&s;te in his thoughts, faithful in his promi&s;es; he ought to be Liberal, Valiant, indefatigably Laborious, patient in Adver&s;ity, charitable to the Poor, and a maintainer of Truth, tho it co&s;t him his Life to defend it. The&s;e, Sir, are the Perfections that compo&s;e a <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> and now be you a Judge, whether there be a|ny Science that is to be compar'd with <HI>Knight-Errantry.</HI> If it be &s;o, re|ply'd <HI>Lorenzo,</HI> I &s;ay this Science goes beyond 'em all. How d' ye mean, Sir, if it be &s;o? quo <HI>Don Quixote.</HI> I mean, Sir, quo Mr. <HI>Laurence,</HI> that I do not believe there ever were, at lea&s;t that now a days, there are i' the World any Knights &s;o divinely accompli&s;h'd as you &s;peak of. Why, look ye now, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> this is ju&s;t as the generality of People talk; and 'tis an Opinion to which they are &s;o wedded, that unle&s;s Heaven do work &s;ome particular Miracle a' purpo&s;e to convince 'em, that both for|merly there were, and now there are <HI>Knight-Errants,</HI> a Man may as well ba&s;te Flints with Butter, as per&s;wade 'em out of their ungodly misbe|lief. I &s;hall not trouble my &s;elf at pre&s;ent, Sir, to convince ye of an Errour that is grown &s;o Common. All that I can do, is only to beg that favour of Heaven to enlighten our under&s;tandings, by letting us &s;ee the nece&s;&s;ity of <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> in former Ages; and how advantageous they would be, if it were for nothing el&s;e but to &s;cowre the Reads of Great <HI>Britain,</HI> where a Man cannot ride five mile out of Town, without being robb'd: how many men i' that Country might a good bu&s;ie <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> &s;ave from the Gallows? But now it is, that for the Puni&s;hment of our &s;ins, the Taverns and Coffee Hou&s;es increa&s;e, where Men guzzle and idle away their time, and that Effeminacy and Wantonne&s;s triumph over Indu|&s;try and Sobriety. Indifferent well hitherto, quo <HI>Lorenzo</HI> to him&s;elf, there's no great hurt done yet; and yet &s;o much, quo he to him&s;elf agen, that I &s;hould be a very dunce indeed to take thee for other then a Witty Fool.</P>
<P>Here they were interrupted by being call'd to Supper; at what time, <HI>D. Diego</HI> taking his Son a&s;ide, ask'd him what he thought of the Knight? I find, Sir, reply'd <HI>Lorenzo,</HI> that 'tis not in the power of ten Colledges of Phy&s;icians to cure his Di&s;temper. He is a Mad-man pa&s;t recovery, but yet a plea&s;ant Mad-man, and one that has excellent Lucid Intervals.</P>
<P>Soon after, to Supper they went, fed heartily, and <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was highly pleas'd with his Entertainment; but he admir'd nothing &s;o much
<PB N="374" REF="204"> as the extraordinary &s;ilence which he ob&s;erv'd throughout the whole Hou&s;e, which made him compare it in his own Thoughts to a Mona&s;tery of <HI>Carthu&s;ians.</HI></P>
<P>After Chee&s;e and Fruit comes nothing. So that at length the Cloth being taken away, Grace &s;aid, and Hands wa&s;h'd, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> began very earne&s;tly to de&s;ire <HI>Lorenzo</HI> to &s;hew him the Ver&s;es, that had occa|&s;ion'd their Di&s;cour&s;e before Dinner. To which <HI>Lorenzo</HI> reply'd, that he was none of <HI>Horace's</HI> Mu&s;itioners, that being de&s;ir'd to Sing, were as coy of their Voices, as a Whore of her fir&s;t favours to a Cully; but un|de&s;ir'd, were as free of their Tunes as a Thru&s;h in a Summer Morning. Fir&s;t therefore, quo he to the Knight, I &s;hew ye my <HI>Theme,</HI> 'tis a kind of a Riddle 'tis true; but as we whet our Knives upon hard Ground&s;els, in like manner we Univer&s;ity young&s;ters, make u&s;e of Problems and Knot|ty Enigma's to &s;harpen our Wits. Hunph&mdash; quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> will the&s;e Laborious vanitys be never left off, upon which when a young Man has &s;pent a world of Fancy and fine Words, they are &s;till but the wa&s;te of Time and &s;ignifie not a Ru&s;h&mdash; A friend of mine I remember, and a great Schollar once told me, he would rather put his Son to beat Hemp in Bridewell, wherein there was &s;ome Benefit to the Publick, then to this &s;ort of unprofitable Brain-thra&s;hing. Whims and Gimcracks are but the &s;trainings and rackings of the Fancy to no purpo&s;e, while one crucifies his Brains to write an Elegy upon a Butter-flie drown'd in a Ladies Eye; where if there be not &s;ome &s;trains above <HI>Ela,</HI> 'tis not worth a &s;traw; as for example, the &s;illy Butter-flie mu&s;t be commended for its prudence in choo&s;ing it's Coffin&mdash; and then the In&s;ect mu&s;t be made to &s;peak too, and acknowledge the Honour done it by <HI>Phillis,</HI> to weep at its death; &s;he for who&s;e &s;ake twenty Lovers, Men of rea&s;on, dye in a morning not &s;o much as &s;igh'd for. <HI>Fair Inhumane,</HI> cries another, <HI>I cannot Live without &s;eeing thee, nor &s;ee thee without Dying.</HI> And was not he well employ'd, that up|on a Pre&s;ent of Gloves to his Mi&s;tre&s;s, after long toyling of his Inventi|on, having taken away the <HI>G.</HI> found Love remaining? Or that other A|cute Wit who unfolded this profound My&s;tery;
<Q><L>He that Loves Gla&s;s without a G,</L>
<L>Take away L. and that is He.</L></Q> But much more cunning was he that &s;nipt off <HI>Hop</HI> from <HI>Archbi&s;h</HI>&mdash; becau&s;e the <HI>Archbi&s;hop</HI> &s;ent him no <HI>Drink</HI> to his Fi&s;h. Of the &s;ame &s;ort are your &s;illy Emblems and Devices, that co&s;t Men a great deal of Brain-labour to nothing of valuable Benefit. For example, you would give a Lady to un|der&s;tand that Fire &s;poils her Complexion, and therefore you would have her hold a Screen in her hand to pre&s;erve her Beauty. To this purpo&s;e, you introduce <HI>Mars</HI> who comes to vi&s;it <HI>Venus</HI> in the Winter-time. Well&mdash; but <HI>Venus,</HI> willing to have a Te&s;timony of her Conver&s;ation in the Room, &s;he mu&s;t have one of the Graces &s;tanding by her. Then comes <HI>Vulcan</HI> in an Angry po&s;ture threatning to &s;trike the Lady, which &s;ignifies the Fire that endammages her Complexion: at what time <HI>Cupid</HI> interpo&s;ing with his Wings di&s;play'd between <HI>Vulcan</HI> and <HI>Venus,</HI> does the Office of a Screen. What a world of Poetry would this Invention take up in ex|planation, and yet when all's done, fit for nothing but to be thrown its &s;elf into <HI>Vulcans</HI> Fire. I could &s;hew ye &s;everal new <HI>French Enigma</HI>'s, &s;tudy'd a' purpo&s;e to puzzle and dizzie the Brains of young Gentlemen, as ridi|culous as &s;ome of their Fa&s;hions, but&mdash;Ay, but Sir, we poor Coun|try
<PB N="375" REF="204"> Schollars are not &s;o Critical, as you that conver&s;e with all the Court Wits, and Language-refiners of the Age&mdash; Pardon me, Sir, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I do not &s;ay but that a Per&s;on of your extraordinary parts and breeding, may be right in the choice both of your <HI>Theme</HI> and the <HI>Com|ment</HI> upon it; and therefore I am ready to lend ye all the Attention im|aginable, not doubting but that your pains will an&s;wer my Expectation. With that <HI>Lorenzo</HI> produc'd his <HI>Theme</HI> and his <HI>Comment,</HI> telling <HI>Don Quixote</HI> withall, that the Gentleman that &s;ent him the <HI>Theme</HI> was as proud of his conceit, as if he had found the Philo&s;ophers Stone.</P>
<Q><LG>
<HEAD>The THEME.</HEAD>
<L>WAS is, WAS was, WAS will be, WAS was not;</L>
<L>IS is; IS is not WAS; IS goes to Pot,</L>
<L>One flyes, One &s;tays; Both flye, Both &s;tay; The toyle</L>
<L>Will be, this Paradox to Reconcile.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<HEAD>The GLOSS.</HEAD>
<L>Nere talk of Reconciliation, Friend,</L>
<L>You may as well, with equal labour lo&s;t,</L>
<L>&V;nite the Turk and Independ-</L>
<L>Ent; For Incon&s;tancy rules all the World;</L>
<L>While Men, in Fortunes Blanket to&s;t,</L>
<L>From one Extream are to another Hurl'd.</L>
<L>A Man to day, a Mou&s;e to morrow;</L>
<L>To day a Lender, next day forc'd to borrow.</L>
<L>Some purcha&s;e, others &s;ell;</L>
<L>Where &s;uch before, now other Races dwell.</L>
<L>Fortune a' top of all the Hill,</L>
<L>Seems a' one &s;ide to crane up Men in Ha&s;te;</L>
<L>But tumble's 'em, a' t'other, down as fa&s;t.</L>
<L>Thus WAS and IS,</L>
<L>Through Times Aby&s;s,</L>
<L>In dayly motion range, without Controwle,</L>
<L>As through the Deep the Re&s;tle&s;s Billows rowle.</L>
</LG>
<LG N="2">
<HEAD>II.</HEAD>
<L>He WAS a Man, who&s;e word or &s;ingle Bond,</L>
<L>&V;pon th' Exchange wou'd fetch Ten thou&s;and Pound:</L>
<L>He WAS a Man, that had his Prince's Ear,</L>
<L>Whom all Men therefore did re&s;pect or fear:</L>
<L>He WAS a Captain, Coll'nel, one that rowl'd,</L>
<L>In heaps of All-or'ecoming Gold.</L>
<L>He WAS a Lovely, Modi&s;h, Proper Squire,</L>
<L>That &s;et all Lady's Bre&s;ts on fire;</L>
<L>And with a <HI>Veni, vidi, vici,</HI></L>
<L>He &s;torm'd and won all Hearts, tho nere &s;o Icie.</L>
<L>He WAS &s;o eager at the Sport,</L>
<L>That He put in, at every Port;</L>
<L>Nor Lewd, nor Hone&s;t &s;cap'd his heat, if Any</L>
<L>Cou'd in the Town be got for Love or Money:</L>
<PB N="376" REF="205">
<L>He WAS a Spark made all the Tavern's roare,</L>
<L>Whom Scriveners Capt, and Vintners did adore:</L>
<L>He WAS a Lively Batchelour, free to range,</L>
<L>Where e're he minded to look out for change:</L>
<L>All This WAS once, and now if WAS were &s;till;</L>
<L>WAS was, WAS is, and WAS could nere be ill.</L>
<L>But what &s;ays IS?</L>
</LG>
<LG N="3">
<HEAD>III.</HEAD>
<L>The Merchant IS undone, not worth a Groat;</L>
<L>Retir'd within White-Fryer's or the Mint:</L>
<L>At Court the Favorite's out of Date,</L>
<L>Degraded and di&s;mi&s;s'd in Print.</L>
<L>The Scarlet Officer now &s;ee's his Folly,</L>
<L>And poor in Pocket, rich in Face,</L>
<L>Makes private Ale-debauches in Ram Alley</L>
<L>For fear of City-Serjeants Mace.</L>
<L><HI>Mon&s;ieur Adonis,</HI> now grown Old and feeble,</L>
<L>Emul&s;ions of another &s;ort de&s;ires</L>
<L>To cool his burning Bones, and gouty Fires.</L>
<L>And He that flew at every Wench</L>
<L>His Amo'rous Heat to quench,</L>
<L>IS now inchanted with a vir'ulent Clap,</L>
<L>And Money-le&s;s, wants cure for his Mi&s;hap:</L>
<L>The Spark that made the Tavern's roar,</L>
<L>The Tavern's cry, IS now grown poor;</L>
<L>And well they may; for having &s;pent</L>
<L>The Purcha&s;e of his Father's Toyl,</L>
<L>Vintner and Scrivener now divide the Spoyl.</L>
<L>Nay, the nooz'd Batch'lour's at length come to 't;</L>
<L>Marry'd, Henpeck't, and Cuckol'd too, to boot.</L>
<L>Thus WAS was once, now 't IS, and IS</L>
<L>Will be; for from &s;uch Hell's as The&s;e</L>
<L><HI>Ve&s;tigia nulla retror&s;um.</HI></L>
</LG>
<LG N="4">
<HEAD>IV.</HEAD>
<L>Now bring it to the Female Sex,</L>
<L>More ugly mo&s;t, then made in Wax.</L>
<L>If rude deformity fit on her Brow,</L>
<L>Whether &s;mall Pox or Nature made her &s;o;</L>
<L>Or if before fifteen &s;he lo&s;t</L>
<L>The Jewell Women &s;o much boa&s;t;</L>
<L>When none before could have reproach'd her</L>
<L>Till &s;uch a One debauch'd her.</L>
<L>Here WAS will &s;till be IS: for once a Whore</L>
<L>And always &s;o&punc; You find it by <HI>Jane Shore.</HI></L>
<L>Then for the Foule, they'l never mend,</L>
<L>Tho for a need they &s;ometimes may befriend.</L>
<L>When &s;be's a Mi&s;s,</L>
<L>To dally with and Ki&s;s,</L>
<PB N="377" REF="205">
<L>And her Adorer thinks it much</L>
<L>Her Gli&s;tering Shoos the ground &s;hou'd touch:</L>
<L>Then IS is IS. When layd a&s;ide,</L>
<L>And forc'd to pawn her pride,</L>
<L>She falls to Chamber-practice for her Bread,</L>
<L>Then WAS prevailes in IS's &s;tead.</L>
<L>But Oh! when Twenty comes to be Three&s;core;</L>
<L>In IS &s;he ends, and WAS will be no more.</L>
<L>Thus WAS and IS</L>
<L>Through Times Aby&s;s</L>
<L>In dayly Motion range without Controwle;</L>
<L>As through the Deep the Re&s;tle&s;s Billows Rowle.</L>
</LG></Q>
<P><HI>Lorenzo</HI> having thus made an end of reading his <HI>Theame</HI> and his <HI>Com|ment, Don Quixote</HI> &s;tarted briskly up upon his Legs, and &s;queezing <HI>Lo|renzo</HI> by the Hand; Mo&s;t generous youth, quo He, tran&s;ported with ad|miration, Before <HI>George</HI> you are the be&s;t Poet that ever I met with, and de&s;erve to be Crown'd, not with Lavender Cotton in <HI>Cyprus,</HI> nor with <HI>Nea|politan</HI> Ro&s;es at <HI>Gaietta,</HI> as a &s;curvy Poet &s;aid, whom Heav'n forgive; but with Leaves of gilt Laurel, and that by all the Free Grammar Schools in Europe. And may tho&s;e Judges that deny this honour to your Merit, nere find a Book&s;eller to Print their Poems; may Phoebus tear out their Gut's to &s;tring his Harp, and may neither <HI>Melpomene</HI> nor <HI>Polyhymnie,</HI> nor any of the Nine ever give ear to 'em, let 'em bawl nere &s;o loud i' their Prologues. At the &s;ame time <HI>Don Quixote</HI> be&s;ought <HI>Lorenzo,</HI> to give him a ta&s;te of his more lofty Contemplations, not doubting but that a Genius &s;o accom|pli&s;h'd, &s;oard above the ordinary flight of <HI>Riddle me, Riddle me.</HI> And now to &s;ee the force of Adulation! that &s;ubdues both High and Low, Rich and Poor, Young and Old, Learned and Unlearned; for <HI>Lorenzo</HI> was &s;o tickl'd, and &s;o puft up with <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Flattery, that the Knight might have had his Heart out of his Body, had it been a Copy of Ver&s;es: So charming a thing is applau&s;e, tho from the Lips of Mad-men and Fools more foppi&s;h then them&s;elves. So have we &s;een an A&s;piring Poet, repeat|ing whole Scenes of his high-flown Tragedies in an Ale-hou&s;e, to <HI>next Oares and Scullers,</HI> meerly to have him&s;elf admir'd by tho&s;e that under|&s;tood him not. <HI>Lorenzo</HI> therefore not able to refu&s;e <HI>Don Quixote</HI> any thing, to &s;weeten his Mouth, pre&s;ented him with this following <HI>Macaroon,</HI> upon <HI>Pyramus</HI> and <HI>Thisbe.</HI></P>
<Q><LG N="1">
<HEAD>I.</HEAD>
<L>THE fair <HI>Virago</HI> thunder's down the Wall,</L>
<L>That made a Breach to <HI>Pyramus's</HI> Brea&s;t;</L>
<L>Wide as the far-fam'd Breadth of <HI>Priam's</HI> Hall,</L>
<L>Where He <HI>Dardanian</HI> Youth was wont to Fea&s;t.</L>
<L>Streight through the Breach the Son of <HI>Venus</HI> po&s;ted,</L>
<L>To tell how Heroe&s;s for Love of Hero ro&s;ted.</L>
</LG>
<LG N="2">
<HEAD>II.</HEAD>
<L>Broad was the Breach, and yet the Breach was narrow,</L>
<L>Broad as <HI>Ve&s;pa&s;ian's</HI> Wall, and yet &s;o &s;treight</L>
<L>As hardly to give entrance to a Sparrow;</L>
<L>Or had I &s;aid a Fly, it had been right.</L>
<PB N="378" REF="206">
<L>For I Love's wonders &s;ing, then wonder not,</L>
<L>To hear &s;uch wonders by the Wondrous <HI>Cupid</HI> wrought.</L>
</LG>
<LG N="3">
<HEAD>III.</HEAD>
<L>At this &s;ame broad, &s;treight, &s;pacious, Leetle hole,</L>
<L>Through &s;peaking Tube, the God of Love be&s;pake</L>
<L>With a Loud Whi&s;per, the Brave Hero's Soul;</L>
<L>And drow&s;ie Love, did &s;leeping Rage awake:</L>
<L>The Hero rowz'd, twixt Love and Wrath provok'd,</L>
<L>And in his Anger wi&s;h'd the Challenge-bearer choak'd.</L>
</LG>
<LG N="4">
<HEAD>IV.</HEAD>
<L>Mean while the Valiant Dam&s;el, doubly hot;</L>
<L>With Love and Fury to her Ruin &s;peeds:</L>
<L>Her Rage remembers what Her Love forgot,</L>
<L>And down drops Hero where the Dam&s;el bleeds.</L>
<L>Ye Gods! the Story's done&mdash;and now what more?</L>
<L>What more? no more, but only that the Story's o're.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<HEAD>The ELEGY.</HEAD>
<L>Here lyes a Loving Pair,</L>
<L>Kill'd in de&s;paire,</L>
<L>Yet unaware;</L>
<L>How ere they fought with Chevie-Chace good Will,</L>
<L>And fore-thought Malice for to Kill.</L>
<L>One Sword, one Grave, one Garagantuan &s;train,</L>
<L>Kills, <GAP DESC="blank" EXTENT="1 word"> Covers, <GAP DESC="blank" EXTENT="1 word"> and Re&s;tores</L>
<L>'em <GAP DESC="blank" EXTENT="1 word"> Both <GAP DESC="blank" EXTENT="1 word"> to Life again.</L>
</LG></Q>
<P>No &s;ooner had <HI>Lorenzo</HI> made an end, but with his Hands uplifted to the Skies; Ble&s;t be the whole Catalogue of <HI>He&s;iods</HI> Gods, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that among the whole Croud of Men of <HI>Rhap&s;ody,</HI> have now brought me to the <HI>Quinte&s;&s;ence</HI> of <HI>Rhapture</HI> it &s;elf.</P>
<P>And now had our noble both Champion and Poet, been highly care&s;s'd and entertain'd at <HI>Don Diego</HI>'s Hou&s;e, for four days together. At the end of which, calling to mind the old Proverb, <HI>Gue&s;ts and Fi&s;h of three days old grow &s;tale,</HI> he thought it high time to take his leave and &s;hift his Pa|&s;ture. To which end he &s;ummon'd up all his Court&s;hip, return'd a Thou|&s;and Thanks to <HI>Don Diego,</HI> ten thou&s;and to his Lady, and five thou&s;and to his Son; vowing withal, that nothing &s;hould have &s;eparated him from &s;uch good Entertainment and &s;uch good Company, but the Regret which he had to lie &s;o long idle. He be&s;ought 'em therefore to pardon him, if he harken'd to the Duty of his Profe&s;&s;ion that call'd him to Action; be|&s;ide that he had dreamt the night before of &s;trange Adventures, that im|plor'd his Pre&s;ence and A&s;&s;i&s;tance. <HI>Don Diego</HI> and his Son <HI>Lorenzo</HI> applau|ded his Re&s;olution; and &s;o embracing each other they took their Leaves.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="19" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="379" REF="206">
<HEAD>CHAP. XIX.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Of the Adventure of the Amorous Shepherd, and &s;everal other things.</HEAD>
<P>TRue it is that <HI>Sancho</HI> had no mind to change his Quarters; he lik'd good Vittles, good Drink, and a good Bed in a Ho&s;pitable Gentlemans Hou&s;e, much better then to lye without Sheets, and to feed with the Bea&s;ts of the Field upon Gra&s;s and Herbs, in De&s;erts and Forre&s;ts; which made him very loth to remove. However to make the change of his Condition as comfortable as he could, he made &s;uch fair weather with the Gentlemans Butler, that he cramb'd his Wallet as long as he could thru&s;t in a bit, re&s;olving not to want as long as that would hold; for he had learnt of the Water-mans Mother, to lay up again&s;t a rainy day, where|ever opportunity offer'd it &s;elf.</P>
<P>And now <HI>Don Quixote</HI> full of &s;oaring thoughts, and <HI>Sancho</HI> well Vittled, were jogging on fair and &s;oftly, and were got about four or five Miles from the Gentlemans Hou&s;e, when they overtook four Travailers upon the Road, neither well nor badly Mounted. Two of the Men look'd like Schollers, the other two like Husband-men. One of the foremo&s;t carry'd a Port-mantle behind him; the other had nothing of luggage but only a Couple of Foils and a pair of Pumps. As for the Husbandmen they had their Wallets full of Provi&s;ions, and &s;eem'd to have been at Market. But both Schollers and Farmers fell into the &s;ame Admiration as all others did, that ever beheld him, and were impatient to know who this &s;ame Iron Gentleman &s;hould be, that appear'd in &s;uch a Figure and Po&s;ture &s;o different from all other Mortal Men. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;aluted 'em, and perceiv|ing that their Road lay the &s;ame way, he offer'd 'em his Company; however he de&s;ir'd 'em not to ride too hard for him, in regard his Hor&s;e was not much addicted to fly; and to oblige 'em the more, he di&s;cover'd to 'em who he was, his Employment and Profe&s;&s;ion; that he was a <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> one that travers'd the World in &s;earch of Adventures, that he was call'd in his own Country <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> but that lately he had giv'n him&s;elf the Title of the <HI>Knight of the Lyons.</HI> All this was Heathen Greek to the Countrimen, but not to the Schollers, who pre&s;ently per|ceiv'd that the Knight had a plaguie hole in the fore part of his Scull. Neverthele&s;s they look'd upon him with no le&s;s re&s;pect then Wonder|ment, and perhaps there might be &s;omething of fear i' the Ca&s;e; for as he was Elderly, &s;o was there, I mu&s;t tell ye, both awe and Terrour in his Countenance. However it were, one of the Schollers, ob&s;erving his di|&s;tance; Sir Knight, &s;aid he, if your bu&s;ine&s;s be only to &s;eek Adventures, I &s;uppo&s;e you are never out of your way; and therefore if you will be pleas'd to go along with us, we will carry ye to a Wedding, one of the mo&s;t Sumptuous and Magnificent that have been in the&s;e parts for many Years. Is there any Prince&s;s to be Marry'd here about, quo <HI>Don Quixote?</HI> No Prince&s;s, reply'd the Scholler, but a Farmers Daughter, a mo&s;t deli|cate Buxome Girl as ever you &s;aw, to a young Farmer, the Riche&s;t in all the Countrey. The Preparations are extraordinary and altogether unu&s;ual, the Wedding being to be kept in a Meadow nere the Village where the Bride Lives, who by rea&s;on of her Beauty is call'd all over the Countrey <HI>Maudlin</HI> the Fair, and he <HI>Martin</HI> the <HI>Brave.</HI> He is about two and twenty
<PB N="380" REF="207"> years of Age, and &s;he draws toward eighteen. In a word they are well met, only &s;ome Fools that have all the Pedigrees i' the World i' their Heads, and will be prating, &s;ay, that <HI>Maudlin</HI> comes of a better Family then <HI>Martin:</HI> But that's nothing, wealth will hide &s;mall faults. This &s;ame <HI>Martin</HI>'s as free as a Prince, and is re&s;olv'd to &s;pare for no co&s;t. He will cover all the Meadow with one Arbour of Boughs to keep out the tell tale Sun: there &s;hall be all the Fidlers and Min&s;trels i' the Countrey: and all manner of Pa&s;times and Recreations, as Dauncing, Jumping, Hot|cockles, moulding of Cockle bread, Stool ball and Cudgel Playing; there &s;hall be all the Milk-maids, far and nere jogging their Breeches, with their Pails dre&s;t up with Garlands and Silver Tankards. There &s;hall be <HI>Hall</HI> and his Fellows to daunce upon the Ropes, <HI>Lanca&s;ter</HI> and his Gang for juggling Tricks; and the <HI>German</HI> with his Cards. There will be all the <HI>Jack-puddings</HI> and <HI>Merry-Andrews</HI> to be got for Love or Money; and la&s;tly there will be your Bear-Garden Exerci&s;es of all &s;orts, wherein you may come in for a &s;hare. But that which will &s;urprize ye mo&s;t, will be the appearance of the poor Di&s;con&s;olate <HI>Nicka-Demus,</HI> whom they call <HI>Ba&s;il.</HI> Who the Devil's that <HI>Ba&s;il?</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote.</HI> Why Sir, this <HI>Ba&s;il,</HI> quo the Student, is a rich Farmer too, that lives next Door to <HI>Maudlin</HI> the Fair. They two lov'd one another from Chicken's: But <HI>Maudlin</HI>'s Father not believing him to be rich enough for his Daughter, when he was grown up, and that his Daughter began to be ripe, deny'd the young Lad his wonted acce&s;s to his Hou&s;e, and to deprive <HI>Ba&s;il</HI> of all his hopes, huddl'd up a Match between <HI>Maudlin</HI> and <HI>Martin,</HI> who indeed is the more wealthy of the two; but in all other things no more to compare with Ho|ne&s;t <HI>Ba&s;il,</HI> then a Sowgelder with a Lord of a Mannour. For he is by much the hand&s;omer of the Two, and as active as a <HI>Norfolk</HI> Tumbler: For he will pitch a Bar the length of <HI>Cheap&s;ide;</HI> will kick ye a Camping-ball o|ver <HI>Salsbury</HI> Spire; he &s;hall out play <HI>Lomax</HI> at Nine-Pins; he will run like a Greyhound in a Paddock Cour&s;e, leap like a Cat, &s;ing like a Lark, fiddle like a Barber, and for a Prize-Player there's no Body dares take him up.</P>
<P>Had he no other Excellency then only that, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> he's a Husband not only for <HI>Maudlin the Fair,</HI> but for <HI>Queen Guenever</HI> her &s;elf, were &s;he now alive, in de&s;pight of Sir <HI>Lancelot</HI> or any other that dur&s;t oppo&s;e him. My Wife for that, cry'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> who till then had not open'd his Lips, &s;he's for every Body to Marry according to their degree, according to the Proverb, <HI>Like Blood, like Good, like Age make the Happie&s;t Marriage;</HI> and another of the &s;ame Nature, <HI>Every Sow to her own Trough;</HI> I &s;ay my friend <HI>Ba&s;il</HI> (for methinks I begin already to love him) &s;hall marry Madam <HI>Maudlin,</HI> and &s;o God give 'em joy: but the Devil take them that &s;poyle a good Match between tho&s;e that love one another.</P>
<P>If all that fell in love one with another &s;hould marry, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> what would become of the Authority of Parents? If young Girls might have their own wills in the choice of Husbands, we &s;hould have rare Breeds y'faith; while one marry'd her Fathers Footman, another his Buttler, a third would run away with the Thra&s;her i' the Barn, for the &s;ake of &s;ome|thing &s;he di&s;cover'd through the Tatters of his Breeches: and a fourth that had &s;tudy'd <HI>Phy&s;iognomy,</HI> would bequeath her &s;elf to the next &s;he met i' the Street for the love of his Roman No&s;e. For when the more terre|&s;trial Part of Love overrules our Rea&s;on, we choo&s;e like blind Folks or Peo|ple in the dark. Yet I mu&s;t tell thee <HI>Sancho,</HI> there is not any concern of our own that requires us to mu&s;ter up all our Wits together, &s;o much as
<PB N="381" REF="207"> that of Marriage. For a Woman is no &s;uch &s;ort of ware that a Man may be rid of when he plea&s;es; &s;ick or well &s;he &s;ticks to a Man; be &s;he better be &s;he wor&s;e, 'tis all one: Wedlock's a <HI>Gordian</HI> Knot, which only the Fa|tal Si&s;ters can clip a&s;under with their Sci&s;&s;ars. I could preach a longer Ser|mon upon Marriage, <HI>Sancho,</HI> added <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> but that I am &s;o eager to know what the Gentleman has more to inform us in reference to the Story of this unfortunate <HI>Ba&s;il.</HI></P>
<P>All that I have to &s;ay, reply'd the Student, is this, that when <HI>Ba&s;il</HI> un|der&s;tood that <HI>Maudlin</HI> was to be marry'd to <HI>Martin,</HI> he fell into a deep Melancholy, which might indeed be rather call'd a dozing frenzy; you might as well ha' pull'd out one of his Teeth, as a word out of his Mouth; ask him a Que&s;tion and he &s;tares i' your face like a Man har'd out of his &s;leep; he has never been &s;een &s;o much as to &s;mile &s;ince; he hardly eats enough to keep the Orifice of his Stomach open, drinks le&s;s; never goes to bed, but fetches &s;hort naps now and then i' the Fields upon the Gra&s;s: he &s;ighs like the Hinge of a Door for want of oyling; &s;ometimes he lifts his Eyes to the Heavens, then fixes 'em upon the Ground; and in either Po&s;ture &s;tands as if he were in an Ec&s;ta&s;ie, like a meer Statue. In &s;hort he is reduc'd to that Condition, that we that are his Neighbours, believe, he will immediately expire &s;o &s;oon as he hears that <HI>Maudlin</HI>'s marry'd. High Heav'n forbid, quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> come, come, God that gives the Wound, will &s;end the Cure: who knows what will happen, I'me &s;ure no body here. There are &s;everal hours between this and to morrow&mdash;The Hou&s;e that has been many years a Building may fall in a Moment. How many times have I &s;een it Rain and Shine at the &s;ame In&s;tant? Many a Man goes &s;ound to Bed, and is found dead the next Morning. Who is he, I pray, that can boa&s;t, he ever drove one nail into Fortune's Wheel? Let me &s;ee the Man and I'le give him a <HI>White Black-bird</HI> for his pains. As for a Wo|man's <HI>I</HI> and <HI>No,</HI> I would not undertake to put the point of a Needle be|tween 'em. But let me &s;ee the Man that will undertake to bauke <HI>Martin,</HI> and procure the fair <HI>Maualin's</HI> Affection for <HI>Ba&s;il,</HI> and I'le give him a Sack full of Benedictions: For Love as I have heard &s;ay, &s;ee's through Specta|cles that make Copper look like Gold, and Cherry-&s;tones like Pearls.</P>
<P>In the Name of ill luck, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> whither art thou a running on with a pox to thee?&mdash; That cursed Clack of thine, when 'tis once got a Threading a Proverbs and Old Wives Sayings, not the Pope him&s;elf could hold it, tho' he had it under the Penalty of pre&s;ent Excom|munication: I would fain know, Bea&s;t as thou art, what thou know&s;t of Fortune or any thing el&s;e, that thou &s;hould'&s;t thus go about to put a Spoke in her Wheel? Nay, Sir, if ye don't under&s;tand me, reply'd <HI>San|cho,</HI> no wonder my Sentences are de&s;pis'd. But what's that to the Pur|po&s;e! I under&s;tand 'em my &s;elf, and I'me &s;ure, I ha' &s;poken nothing but what might become the Recorder of a City: But you love always to <HI>Trowle</HI> my Words and my Actions&mdash; <HI>Trowle</HI> ye Ra&s;cal! quo <HI>Don Quixote, Controwle</HI> thou woud'&s;t &s;ay, confounded Corrupter of human Speech, the Pe&s;tilence rot thy Tongue out for it.</P>
<P>Death o' the Devil, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> what makes ye &s;o angry, Sir? You know that I was never bred up at Court, nor at the Univer&s;ity, to under|&s;tand when I murder a hard Word. Heaven's ble&s;s us would, ye have a <HI>Farmer</HI> of <HI>We&s;tmerland</HI> &s;peak like an Inn's a Court Gentleman? and yet you &s;hall hear &s;ome of them too, that cannot forget the <HI>Twang</HI> of the Country where they were born. 'Tis very true, quo the Batchelour (for it &s;eems of the two Schollars, the one was a Batchelour, the other a Stu|dent)
<PB N="382" REF="208"> and more then that, your meaner &s;ort of People in Cities where they &s;peak the mo&s;t refinedly i' the whole Nation, never talk &s;o politely, as the Gentry and Men of Breeding, that are always improving the Lan|guage. For my part, quo the Student, I ha' been bred a Scholler, and know how to expre&s;s my &s;elf in proper Terms. Indeed, quo the Batche|lour, you might ha' been a Scholler and a Ma&s;ter of Art by this; but you minded the Fencing-School more then your Book. Hark ye, Hark ye, <HI>Mr.</HI> Batchelour, quo the Student, y'are the mo&s;t mi&s;taken Man i' the world, to think it a frivolous thing for a Man to learn to Fence. 'Tis no fancy of mine, quo the Batchelour, but a real truth, and ea&s;ily prov'd; and tho' it were not &s;o, yet I will undertake to make you confe&s;s it pre|&s;ently. You ha' got two Foils there; come but off your Hor&s;e, and try all your Fencing-School Tricks and Le&s;&s;ons, ob&s;erve your Circles and An|gles, yet for all that, if I don't with one device that Nature has taught me, &s;hew ye the Stars at noon day, I'le be bound to eat the Hilts. I de|fie that Man alive, that can force me to turn my back; on the other &s;ide I know not that Man living, but I'le undertake to make him give ground.</P>
<P>As for turning your back, reply'd the Student, I ha' nothing to &s;ay to't: but it may be your bad fortune nere to &s;tir your Foot from the place where you fir&s;t &s;et it, if you meet with a Man of skill. I'le trye that, quo the Batchelour; and with that leaping from his Hor&s;e, he &s;natch'd away one of the Student's Foils, and put him&s;elf into a Po&s;ture.</P>
<P>Hold there, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I am Ma&s;ter of this School; there &s;hall be nothing but fair play here&mdash;and with that pre&s;ently alighting from <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI>'s Back, with his Launce in his Hand, he po&s;ted him&s;elf in the mid&s;t between the two Antagoni&s;ts, till both were ready. And then it was that the Student advanc'd briskly up to the Batchelour, and the Bat|chelor with fire in his Eyes ran furiou&s;ly to meet the Student; while the two Farmers and <HI>Sancho</HI> kept their Saddles at a di&s;tance to behold the Combat.</P>
<P>Infinite were the &s;toccado's, foines, thru&s;ts, down right cleavers, and Back-blows which the Batchelour offer'd at the Student; he laid on like a Lyon, and follow'd his &s;troaks, as he had been a Bear-Garden Butcher. But the Student never quitting his ground, &s;o well put by his Thru&s;ts, and warded off his Back&s;word play, that he made him ever and anon ki&s;s the Button of his Foil, as it had been a Relick, but not with half the Devotion. In &s;hort the Student &s;o exactly counted the Buttons of his Ca&s;&s;ock, that he made the Skirts of his Doublet fly about like Fi&s;h Tails, the Batchelor all the while not being able &s;o much as to touch him. The Student &s;truck off the Batchelours Hat twice, made him puff and blow, and tyr'd him out at length in &s;uch a manner, that out of meer rage and vexation, he took the Foil as he held it by the Hilt, and flung it, as one of the Farmers afterwards made Affidavit, above three quarters of a League; which Affidavit was thereupon fil'd, that Po|&s;terity might know how much &s;trength goes beyond Art.</P>
<P>And now the Batchelour &s;tood &s;till a while to re&s;t him&s;elf, when <HI>San|cho</HI> approaching him, <HI>Mr.</HI> Par&s;on, quo he, henceforward take a fool's ad|vice and never challenge a Man to Fence, but to pitch the Bar, or to a Match at Foot-ball; for you are well made for tho&s;e &s;ports: But for the&s;e Fencers, let 'em alone; I have heard &s;ay, they can hit the Eye of a Needle with the very point of their Weapons. I &s;ubmit, quo the Batchelour, nor do I repent to find that experience has convinc'd me of my Errour. And &s;o
<PB N="383" REF="208"> &s;aying the Student and he mo&s;t lovingly embrac'd each other, and became as great Friends as ever.</P>
<P>After that they all mounted again and ha&s;ten'd toward <HI>Madam Maud|lins</HI> Village. But tho it were dark before they could reach it, there was &s;uch an infinite number of Lights hung abroad in every part, that the whole Compa&s;s of the Village &s;eem'd to be one Skie, all full of Stars: Nor were their Ears le&s;s pleas'd with the delightful but confus'd &s;ounds of &s;everal &s;orts of Mu&s;ick. The Bells rang forward and backward; the Weights toated; the Flutes and Recorders Hoop't; the Fifes and Flage|lets were merrily &s;hrill; the Fiddles &s;truck up; Tabors and Pipes put in for a &s;hare; nor would the &s;mall Morrice-bells be drown'd, but gave notice that the Dancers were no le&s;s active with their Heels, then the Mu&s;icians with their Fingers. All which were but preparations for the Solemnities of the next day, de&s;tin'd for the Nuptials of <HI>Martin the Brave,</HI> and the Funerals of the unfortunate <HI>Ba&s;il.</HI></P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> would by no means enter the Village, tho earne&s;tly invi|ted by the Student and the Farmers, and notwith&s;tanding all that <HI>Sancho</HI> could do to per&s;wade him. For he &s;till alleadg'd, that it was contrary to the Ancient Cu&s;tom o&s; <HI>Knight-Errants,</HI> who rather cho&s;e to &s;leep under Heaven's Canopie, in the wild Forre&s;ts, then in &s;oft Beds, tho under Roofs of Gold. Thereupon he betook him&s;elf to a private Covert for that Night, full &s;ore again&s;t <HI>Sancho</HI>'s will, who had not yet forgot the plea|&s;ing Convenience of <HI>Don Diego</HI>'s Hou&s;e and Entertainment.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="20" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XX.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing very &s;trange Accidents, as well in reference to <HI>Martin</HI> the <HI>Brave,</HI> as <HI>Ba&s;ilius</HI> the <HI>Poor.</HI></HEAD>
<P>NO &s;ooner had the Bright <HI>Aurora</HI> di&s;mi&s;s'd bright <HI>Phoebus</HI> from her dewie Arms, with the heat of his burning rayes to dry up the Pearls that hung upon his di&s;hevell'd Locks, when the Incompara|ble <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> the Irreconcileable Enemy of &s;loath, got up upon his Legs, and went to call his Squire. But finding him buried in a profound &s;leep, and &s;noaring as if he had &s;noar'd for a Wager, reflecting upon his Condition; O happy Thou, quo he, above all that live upon the Face of the Earth: Thou that neither envying nor being envy'd, &s;o quietly repo&s;e&s;t in the &s;weet Arms of &s;leep, free from the Per&s;ecutions of In|chanters and Inchantments. Snoar happy Man, I &s;ay a hunder'd times &s;noar on: No jealou&s;ies of mi&s;tru&s;ted Lady di&s;tract thy Brains; no hun|der'd Pounds to pay, nor fore&s;ight of inevitable want harra&s;s thy plea|&s;ing Re&s;t; Ambition nere torments thy wakeful thoughts; the Pomp and Vanity of this frail World nere crucifie thy thinking Soul; nor are thy Boundle&s;s De&s;ires turmoyl'd and to&s;s'd with the continual Hurricanes of Fu|ry and Impatience: Thy cares are narrowly confin'd only to &s;ee thy <HI>Grizzle</HI> fed, while the Charge of thy Per&s;on lies wholly upon my &s;houlders, that am thy Ma&s;ter, whom Nature and Cu&s;tom obliges to make Provi&s;i|on for thy &s;ub&s;i&s;tance. The Servant &s;leeps &s;ecurely while the Ma&s;ter has no lei&s;ure to clo&s;e his Eyes, but mu&s;t labour day and night to recom|pence his Services. Tho the Heav'ns refu&s;e the Earth their generating
<PB N="384" REF="209"> Dew, and more impregnating Showrs, what minds the Servant the Affli|ctions of his Ma&s;ter to fill his craving Stomach, as well in time of Famine as Abundance?</P>
<P>To all this <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;leeping as &s;ound as a tyr'd Beagle in a Chimney Cor|ner, and &s;noaring like an O&s;tler, an&s;wer'd not a word; nor wou'd he have wak'd &s;o &s;oon, had not his Ma&s;ter rows'd him with two or three good &s;laps with the end of his Lance; at what time <HI>Sancho</HI> opening his Eye-lids half way, after he had gap'd and yaun'd and &s;tretch'd forth his Legs as he lay upon his Back; Methinks, quo he, I &s;mell a plea&s;ing perfume of broil'd Bacon, that &s;trangely comforts my No&s;trils this Morning&mdash; now would I give all the precious Odours of a Poet's Sweet-&s;cented Mi&s;tre&s;s for one Ra&s;her&mdash; Steaks, Steaks, by this round Belly o' mine&mdash; a Steak upon the Coals there's nothing like it&mdash;And by my Holine&s;s, I'le &s;peak one word for all, this mu&s;t be a Generous Wedding it begins &s;o &s;a|vourily.</P>
<P>Get up then Lazy Glutton, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> get up&mdash;<HI>The Fox that &s;leeps till noon nere Feathers his Tongue</HI>&mdash; Time calls us to the Nuptials, and I long to &s;ee the Di&s;dain'd <HI>Ba&s;ilius.</HI> Let him be hang'd, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> if he be poor; what &s;hould a poor fellow dream of Lac'd Petticoats for? 'Tis very true, let the Moon lo&s;e one Quarter and &s;hee'l fall from the Clouds&mdash; But y' good faith Sir, my Opinion is this, that he who is poor &s;hould &s;tay at home in his Cot, and not gad abroad to &s;eek for Muskmelons i' the Sea. I'le hold ye one of my Arms, and that's a fools wager, that Mr. <HI>Martin the Brave</HI> is able to &s;pend all <HI>Ba&s;il</HI>'s E&s;tate at a Breakfa&s;t, and be nere the wor&s;e; and d' ye think that Madam <HI>Maudlin</HI> will quit her Gold Fring'd Petticoats, her Necklaces of Pearl, her Rich Points, her Coach and Hor&s;es, to marry a Fellow with whom &s;he mu&s;t Knit, or make Chil|dern's Coats for a Living. What &s;ignifies his Pitching the Bar, or his Art of Foyning? His capering the Compleat Dancing Ma&s;ter quite through, will it pay for one Pint of Wine at the Tavern? If your Acti|vities and your Accompli&s;hments will not pa&s;s for current Coyn; if they won't go to Market and pay the Butcher and Poulterer, may they be the Lord of <HI>Nolands</HI> Portion for me: tho I confe&s;s that where they light upon a Man that has Money, they do very well together. He that builds upon a &s;trong Foundation builds a good Hou&s;e; and Money is the be&s;t Foun|dation i' the World. For Heav'ns &s;ake, <HI>Sancho,</HI> cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> pri|thee come to a Conclu&s;ion; I' my Con&s;cience, wer't thou let alone when thy Tongue's upon the Gallop, thou would&s;t hardly allow thy &s;elf Time to eat or &s;leep. But that your Memory fails ye, Sir, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> you would not ha' &s;o &s;oon forgot our la&s;t Agreement, that I &s;hould always talk till I thought fit to leave off, provided I &s;aid nothing in prejudice of my Neighbour, nor of Madam <HI>Dulcinea;</HI> how is it then that you who pre|tend to &s;o much hone&s;ty, thus break your Contract? I remmeber no &s;uch Agreement, quo <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> and tho it were &s;o, I never yielded thou &s;hould&s;t hinder bu&s;ine&s;s with thy Twatling&mdash; and therefore &s;addle <HI>Ro&s;i|nante</HI> and follow me: For the loud Mu&s;ick that fills my Ears, tells me there mu&s;t be &s;omething more then ordinary.</P>
<P>Thereupon <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;aid no more, but &s;addl'd <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> and having laid on his own Pack-&s;addle upon <HI>Grizzle,</HI> away they both rode &s;oftly toward the Arbour, where the fir&s;t thing that ble&s;t the fight of over-joy'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> was a whole Steer, &s;pitted upon a whole Elm; there were twelve <HI>Turn-broaches</HI> at each end to turn it, and the Fire that Roa&s;ted it you would ha' &s;worn had been a Mountain of Charcoal; over which hung no le&s;s then
<PB N="385" REF="209"> &s;ixteen huge Iron Pots large enough to hold a dozen Legs of Mutton at a time, with their Colly-flowres to boot, and all full of Neats Tongues and Udders, Pidgeons and Bacon, We&s;tphaly Hams, Pullets, and boyl'd Hanches, &s;ome quite, &s;ome half ready, others newly put in. The Ca|pons, Green Gee&s;e, and Fowl of all &s;orts in Sea&s;on; Lob&s;ters, Sea crabs, Jowls of Salmon, Rands of Sturgeon were without number; heaps of Whitebread like the Cannon Bullets that lie at the Tower: the Chee&s;es pil'd up made &s;uch a beautiful Fortification, that he would gladly a' been the fir&s;t that &s;hould ha' ventur'd his Body to a&s;&s;ail it; Spice and Sugar lay rea|dy for u&s;e in whole Che&s;ts, neer to which &s;tood lakes of Oyl to &s;upply the wa&s;te of Fry'd Meats and Sallat's: And then for Drink, <HI>Sancho</HI> told no le&s;s then three&s;core Punchins, each containing thirty Gallons a piece; there were no le&s;s then twelve little Pigs with Puddings i' their Bellies, &s;ow'd up i' the Paunch of the Steer to give it a Reli&s;h: And to dre&s;s all this Provi&s;ion no le&s;s then fifty <HI>Cooks</HI> be&s;ides <HI>Tenders.</HI> So that altho the Fea&s;t were not &s;o Courtly nor <HI>Alamode de France,</HI> yet was there &s;o much Plenty as might ha' &s;erv'd to ha' fed an Army.</P>
<P><HI>Sancho</HI> beheld all this with wonder and admiration, and almo&s;t inchanted with the variety and plea&s;ure of the Show, would often &s;mile and lick his Lips as he rode along. The fir&s;t Temptation that enthrall'd his &s;en&s;es were the Pots upon the Fire, next to that he became enamour'd of the Punchins and Dry'd Tongues, but the Scent of the Fritters and Tan&s;eys put him into &s;uch an Agony, that he could no longer forbear, but addre&s;&s;ing him&s;elf to one of the Cooks with all the &s;mooth and hungry Arguments he had, be&s;ought him that he might only &s;op a Cru&s;t that he had in one of his Kettles. Friend, quo the Cook, nothing like Hunger rules within this place to day&mdash;thanks to the noble <HI>Martin</HI> for his Bounty&mdash; And therefore alight thy &s;elf, take a Ladle where thou can&s;t find one, fetch out a whole Fowl or two, and much good do thee&mdash;I &s;ee nere a Ladle big enough, quo <HI>Sancho:</HI> 'Slife quo the Cook, I never &s;aw &s;uch a &s;il|ly Fellow i' my life; and &s;o &s;aying, he took a new Frying-pan, and thru&s;t|ing it into one of the great Caldron's, brought up three Pullets and two Gee&s;e at one heave&mdash; Here friend, quo he, make a &s;hift with that Scum to &s;tay thy Stomach till Dinner. God reward ye, quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> but where &s;hall I put it?&mdash;Put it, quo the Cook&mdash; take Frying-pan and all, there's no body will grutch it thee&mdash;</P>
<P>At the &s;ame time <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who&s;e thoughts were otherwi&s;e em|ploy'd, &s;aw twelve young Farmers Sons i' their Holiday Jackets come ri|ding in under the Boughs, upon Barbary Mares, both them&s;elves and their Hor&s;es all bedeckt and &s;et forth with Madam <HI>Maudlins</HI> Favours. The&s;e twelve rid about the Meadow with their Prancing Mares, crying out, <HI>Joy and long Life to the Bridegoom and Bride, the Noble Martin the Brave,</HI> no le&s;s wealthy then <HI>Madam Maudlin</HI> is beautiful, and &s;he the fair|e&s;t i' the World. Which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> hearing, ah! quo he to him&s;elf, the&s;e People never &s;aw my <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o;</HI> for if they had, certainly they nere would cry up <HI>Madam Maudlin</HI> thus, like a Company of Buz|zards.</P>
<P>Soon after at &s;everal other parts of the &s;pacious Arbour, enter'd a great Number of Dancers; and among the re&s;t four and twenty young well fa|vour'd brisk Lads, in their Half-&s;hirts of fine white Holland, with their Handkerchifes of vary colour'd Silk wound about their Heads, and crown'd with Lawrel and Che&s;tnut-branches, carrying every one a Sword i' their Hands. The&s;e danc'd a Military dance, and skirmi&s;h'd one
<PB N="386" REF="210"> with one another in mood and mea&s;ure, that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was mightily taken with the &s;port.</P>
<P>Nor was he le&s;s &s;urpriz'd at the &s;ight of a Company of young Virgins none under fourteen, and none above eighteen, clad in &s;light Green, with their Hair partly filleted up with Ribbonds, and partly dangling loo&s;e about their Shoulders, wearing Garlands of Ja&s;mine, Ro&s;es, and Wood|bines. The&s;e tript it about and danc'd a hundred jumping Galliards, to an In&s;trument like our <HI>Lanca&s;hire</HI> Horn-pipe, with that dexterity and nim|blene&s;s of Foot, as if they had every one been born in <HI>Wake-time</HI> under a <HI>May-pole.</HI> An other &s;ort there were that could &s;hake their Heels al-a-mode. This Company con&s;i&s;ted of two Rows, of eight <HI>Nymphs</HI> apiece; the one led by <HI>Cupid</HI> with all his accoutrements, the other by <HI>Money</HI> clad in a rich Ve&s;tment of Gold and Silver: The <HI>Nymphs</HI> that follow'd <HI>Love,</HI> were <HI>Poe|&s;ie, Wi&s;dom, Nobility</HI> and <HI>Courage.</HI> Tho&s;e that follow'd <HI>Riches,</HI> were <HI>Li|berality, Reward, Trea&s;ure,</HI> and <HI>Peaceable Po&s;e&s;&s;ion.</HI> Before 'em there came a Ca&s;tle drawn by four Savages, clad in Green, cover'd over with Ivie, and grim &s;urly Vizards upon their Faces, but &s;o to the Life, that <HI>Sancho</HI> was almo&s;t &s;car'd to look upon 'em: Over the Portal of the Ca&s;tle was written the <HI>Ca&s;tle of Prudence. Cupid</HI> began the dance, and after a change or two, looking up toward the Ca&s;tle, he made as if he would &s;hoot at a Lady that appear'd upon the Battlements, to whom he thus Addre&s;s'd him&s;elf.</P>
<Q><L><HI>I</HI> Am <HI>Priapus,</HI> Not the Poet's God,</L>
<L>But a Reality that Rules,</L>
<L>With a much more Maje&s;tick Rod:</L>
<L>Know then 'tis I,</L>
<L>And not a &s;illy Boy,</L>
<L>Makes Fools run mad, and wi&s;e Men Fools;</L>
<L>Both Sexes are my Slaves, by Land and Sea,</L>
<L>Fi&s;h, Fowl, Bea&s;ts, Men, all my Commands obey;</L>
<L>No Fence will hold Bold Mortals, for my &s;ake</L>
<L>Engag'd the Laws of God and Man to break.</L>
<L>They call me <HI>Love,</HI> but my true Name's <HI>De&s;ire;</HI></L>
<L>(For true Love you mu&s;t know</L>
<L>Was bani&s;h'd hence, long, long a go.)</L>
<L>And Salamander-like I live in Fire;</L>
<L>For heat of Youth is that which gives me Life,</L>
<L>And nothing cools me but the name of <HI>Wife.</HI></L>
<L>For would you know the only way to tame me,</L>
<L>But marry once, and &s;treight Enjoyment &s;hames me.</L>
<L>What do I hear then? &s;ome will crie;</L>
<L>Oh! Who at fir&s;t but I?</L>
<L>But &s;atisfi'd, like an Autumnal Plant,</L>
<L>I &s;treight run up to Seed and die.</L></Q>
<P><HI>Cupid</HI> having thus &s;hot his Bolt, and di&s;charg'd an Arrow at the Ca&s;tle, retir'd to give place to <HI>Money,</HI> who thus be&s;pake the &s;ame Lady.</P>
<Q><L>LOve is an A&s;s to me, for all his Boa&s;ting;</L>
<L>'Tis I &s;end Re&s;tle&s;s Mortals Roa&s;ting</L>
<L>For utmo&s;t <HI>India's</HI> wealthy Spoyls;</L>
<L>I make 'em hire their Souls and Bodies forth,</L>
<L>To all the heats and Toyls</L>
<PB N="387" REF="210">
<L>Of wicked War; they hunt me round</L>
<L>The Worlds va&s;t Globe,</L>
<L>And when they cannot find me above ground,</L>
<L>Tear up the Bowels of their Mother Earth.</L>
<L>I make the Crooked &s;treight;</L>
<L>The Lame to go upright;</L>
<L>And with my &s;cowring oare</L>
<L>Can Wa&s;h milk-white the &s;ooty Blackamore.</L>
<L>Fools only wed for Love,</L>
<L>But all my Matches th' Old and Wi&s;e approve:</L>
<L>How &s;imply looks the Man that wanteth Me?</L>
<L>But that &s;ame Happy He,</L>
<L>That does my &s;tores controule,</L>
<L>He's the True Body, that has Life and Soul.</L></Q>
<P>Here <HI>Money</HI> retir'd, when <HI>Poetry</HI> &s;tepping into her Place thus pleaded for him &s;elf.</P>
<Q><LG>
<L>LAdy, I Money love, and love it not;</L>
<L>For Poet's few are Rich, but thou&s;ands Poor,</L>
<L>Yet in conceit above the Stars they Soare,</L>
<L>Great Princes in their Cups not worth a Groat.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>But &s;eeing without Money there's no &s;port,</L>
<L>I &s;end ye the&s;e few Lines of Prayer and Prai&s;e;</L>
<L>A Nuptial Song &s;ometimes will do no hurt,</L>
<L>If the Fair hand be Liberal that Pays.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Remember Lady, tho, how the Ca&s;e &s;tands,</L>
<L>'Tis on a Poet you be&s;tow, no Sot,</L>
<L>But one that Immortality commands;</L>
<L>And as you give, you live, or die forgot.</L>
</LG></Q>
<P>This &s;aid, <HI>Poetry</HI> gave way, and <HI>Liberality</HI> advancing from <HI>Money's</HI> &s;ide, thus deliver'd her &s;elf.</P>
<Q><LG>
<L>SOme Men upon their Wedding days &s;eem mad,</L>
<L>And make &s;uch Tearing &s;hews with Ribands, Fea&s;ts,</L>
<L>Enamel'd Rings and bidden Gue&s;ts;</L>
<L>As if the Portion Bag no bottom had.</L>
<L>So like his Spou&s;es Maiden-head, at Night,</L>
<L>Nere to return, the Money takes its flight.</L>
</LG>
<LG N="2">
<HEAD>II.</HEAD>
<L>But tho' I'm liberal, give me the Man</L>
<L>That &s;teals to Church, and then &s;teals home again.</L>
<L>Yet if he needs mu&s;t keep a Wedding day,</L>
<L>To throw off &s;ome loo&s;e Corns</L>
<L>Of his great Portion, let him &s;tay</L>
<L>Till that day three years, rather half a &s;core,</L>
<L>&V;ntill he find him&s;elf &s;ecure from Horns,</L>
<L>From Female Empire, and God knows what more</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<PB N="388" REF="211">
<L>Confounded Plagues of marry'd Life;</L>
<L>Then let him banquet with his Friends to Riot,</L>
<L>To &s;hew, tho' marry'd, yet he lives at Quiet,</L>
<L>Lord of his own and Her; the Term to which</L>
<L>All Husbands tend, but few go thorough &s;titch.</L>
</LG></Q>
<P>In this manner all the <HI>Nymphs</HI> came forth and &s;poke their Ver&s;es i' their Turns, of which &s;ome were bad, &s;ome indifferent, as <HI>Lurkin</HI> danc'd: However among the re&s;t, <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who had a good Memory, re|member'd the&s;e, as being tho&s;e that pleas'd him be&s;t.</P>
<P>After every one of the <HI>Nymphs</HI> had &s;poke i' their Turns, they all inter|mix'd and danc'd the <HI>Hay,</HI> and every time <HI>Cupid</HI> came again&s;t the Ca&s;tle, he &s;hot an Arrow at the Lady; but when <HI>Riches</HI> fac'd the Fortre&s;s, She threw &s;everal Guilded Balls over the Battlements.</P>
<P>After they had thus danc'd awhile, <HI>Riches</HI> took a great Pur&s;e made of a Cats Skin, that &s;eem'd to be full of Money, and threw it again&s;t the Ca&s;tle with &s;uch a force, that the Boards fell down, and left the Virgin without any defence. At what time <HI>Riches</HI> ha&s;ting to the Ca&s;tle with her Train, threw a Gold Chain about the Virgins Neck, as it were to take her Captive; but then <HI>Love</HI> coming with his followers to her Re&s;|cue, there happen'd a plea&s;ant di&s;pute for &s;ome time, to the Flute and Tabor, perform'd with great agility and exactne&s;s, till they were at length parted by the Savages, and &s;o the Show ended, to the great &s;atisfa|ction, and with the high Applau&s;e of all the Spectators.</P>
<P>When all things were over, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> askt one of the <HI>Dancers,</HI> who it was that had compos'd the Mask? who an&s;wer'd, that it was the Curate of the Village, that had an Admirable Wit for &s;uch Inventions. By the Ma&s;s, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> he was more a Friend to Mr. <HI>Ba&s;il,</HI> then <HI>Don Martin;</HI> and I dare be bold to &s;ay, better under&s;tands a Play then a Prayer Book: for he has made <HI>Martin</HI> pay with a vengeance for <HI>Ba&s;ils</HI> Activity.</P>
<P>Body a' me, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> who heard the di&s;cour&s;e, <HI>The Kings my Cock</HI>&mdash; I am for <HI>Don Martin. Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> when wilt thou learn to di&s;&s;emble; thou wilt always, do what I can, di&s;cover thy &s;elf to be a Ra&s;cal, that is, one of tho&s;e that always hold of the winning &s;ide. I know not what I am, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> but this I know that I &s;hall never skim out of <HI>Ba&s;ils</HI> Pot, what I ha' Ladell'd out of my Ma&s;ter <HI>Mar|tin</HI>'s <HI>Caldron;</HI> and &s;o &s;aying, he &s;hew'd the Knight his Panfull of Gee&s;e and Hens, and at the &s;ame time fell on with his wonted Appetite, cry|ing out, a Fig for <HI>Ba&s;ils</HI> Activities&mdash; So much as the Lands worth, &s;o much the Mans worth, and &s;o much as the Mans worth, &s;o much the Lands worth. My old Grandmother was wont to &s;ay, there were but two Progenies i' the World, <HI>Have much,</HI> and <HI>Have little,</HI> and &s;he had always the greate&s;t kindne&s;s for the Family of the <HI>Have much</HI>'s. And now Sir at this day, your Phy&s;ician had rather choo&s;e the Pul&s;e that has, then the Pul&s;e that knows; and an A&s;s laden with Gold, looks better then a Hor&s;e with fine Trappings: And therefore I &s;ay agen, I am clear|ly for my <HI>Ma&s;ter Martin,</HI> the very Scum of who&s;e Pot is nothing but Gee&s;e, Hens, Hares and Coneys; but as for <HI>Ba&s;il,</HI> by what I find, I que|&s;tion whether he were born to the worth of a Skillet. I' the Devil's name, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> when do&s;t mean to make an end? Ju&s;t now; I ha' done, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> becau&s;e I find ye begin to be in a Pa&s;&s;ion; for other|wi&s;e I had cut my &s;elf out work enough for three days together.</P>
<PB N="389" REF="211">
<P>Ay, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I know thou ha&s;t a re&s;tle&s;s Tongue of thy own; I wi&s;h to Heaven I may but &s;ee it fairly pull'd out of thy Chaps be|fore I die. Y'faith, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> according to the Cour&s;es we take, I may have Tongue little enough one of the&s;e days, when you &s;hall have your &s;atisfaction to &s;ee my Mouth full of cold Durt; and then 'tis a thou|&s;and to one you may never hear me &s;peak more till the end of the World, at lea&s;t till the day of Judgement.</P>
<P>Grant it &s;hould be &s;o, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> thy &s;ilence i' thy Grave will never recompence for thy pa&s;t vexation, and the future plaguing of my Ears before thou dy'&s;t; be&s;ides, that by the Cour&s;e of Nature I &s;hould die before thee; and while thou liv'&s;t, I am &s;ure thou't never leave prating, neither &s;leeping nor drinking. In good faith, Sir, as for which of us two &s;hall die fir&s;t, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I know not what to &s;ay to't: There's no tru|&s;ting to that Madam <HI>Barebones,</HI> I mean Death. She devours the Lamb as well as the Sheep; and as I have heard our Vicar &s;ay, all the Trea&s;ures of the Great <HI>Turk</HI> won't bribe her; but &s;he tramples o're the Palaces of Kings as well as the lowly Cottages of the Poor. She's a Lady that has a va&s;t power, and not &s;o much as one grain of Civility; neither is &s;he at all &s;queami&s;h or quea&s;ie Stomach'd; &s;he devours all, &s;wallows all, and fills her wide Satchel with all Ages, all Sexes, and all Conditions, whe|ther Turks or Chri&s;tians. She's no Mower that &s;leep's a Holydays; &s;he's always at work, and cuts down the Green as well as the Ripe Corn. She toils day and night, &s;he &s;wallows without chewing, and crams her un|godly Maw, as if &s;he had a Greedy-worm in her Guts; and though you can &s;ee no Belly &s;he has, yet &s;uch a fatal Drop&s;ie haunts her, that her Thir&s;t is never &s;atisfi'd, but &s;he's alway &s;willing and guggling the Lives of Men, and it goes down with her like Mothers Milk.</P>
<P>Stop there <HI>Sancho,</HI> cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> hold while th' art well, for cer|tainly thou ha&s;t &s;poken of Death in thy Ru&s;tical Phra&s;e, as much as &s;ome Preachers could ha' done. Had&s;t thou but Learning to thy Natural Parts, thou might'&s;t turn <HI>Itinerant Mini&s;ter,</HI> and appear i' the Pulpit. He preach|es well that lives well, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I know no other Philo&s;ophy: No, no, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> thou ha&s;t knowledge enough&mdash; only I wonder at one thing, &s;ince the fear of God is the beginning of Wi&s;dom, how thou &s;hould'&s;t come to be &s;o Wi&s;e, thou that art more afraid of Famine, then of all the Deities i' the World. Good my Lord Shudge, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> do you cen&s;ure your <HI>Knight-Errants,</HI> and let other Men alone with their fears and their Courage; and yet for all that I'de ha' ye to know I am as genteel a fearer of God, as any of my Neighbours; and &s;o, Sir, here's to ye out of this Pan &s;ix <HI>go-downs</HI> upon Rep&mdash; The re&s;t are all idle words of which we mu&s;t give an accompt&mdash;and &s;o &s;aying, he made a &s;econd attack upon his Provant, with that Mettle, as began to &s;harpen his Ma&s;ter's Appetite; who doubtle&s;s would have bore him Company, had he not been prevented by that which nece&s;&s;ity con&s;trains us forthwith to &s;et down i' the next Chapter.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="21" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="390" REF="212">
<HEAD>CHAP. XXI.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing a farther Relation of <HI>Don Martins</HI> Nuptials, and &s;everal other &s;trange Accidents.</HEAD>
<P>WHile <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and his Man <HI>Sancho</HI> were thus Parlying together, a &s;trange Confu&s;ion of noi&s;es and voices reach'd their Ears, but none that were other then the &s;igns of Joy and Acclamation. Thereup|on they di&s;cover'd at a di&s;tance the Bride and the Bridegroom, ha&s;ting to the Arbour, accompani'd by the Curate, their Relations and Friends, be|&s;ides a great number of People, both of the &s;ame and the neighbour|ing Villages, all i' their Holly-day Habits, with the Mu&s;ick playing before 'em.</P>
<P>So &s;oon as <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;aw the Bride, y' gude faith, quo he, this Girle mun be no Country La&s;s&mdash; wa is me, &s;he's not dre&s;t like a Farmers Daughter, but like &s;ome rich Aldermans Heire&s;s&mdash; Three rows of Pearl about her Neck, and a Glaring Thing behind, by this good Light&mdash; Look, look, Sirs, what a Gown &s;he has on, ye connot zee what 'tis made on for Lace, but I warrant 'tis thirty pild Velvet&mdash; Ble&s;s us what a Petticoat's there! &s;ee how 'tis bedaub'd! 'twas never bought for vorty good Shillings I dare &s;ay&mdash;Hoy-da! and what are tho&s;e things about her Arms?&mdash; nothing but Gold&mdash; perfect Gold as I'm a Sinner&mdash; and what's that glitters a little lower?&mdash; Diamonds&mdash;blow me down&mdash;they mu&s;t be Diamonds&mdash; by the Ma&s;s &s;he co&s;t more the Rigging then I am worth&mdash; had they been black Beads or Scotch Pearl, I could a' match'd 'em in our Town&mdash; And now yonder again, what fine Locks the Quean has got! for if they be true I never &s;aw longer nor whiter i' my Life. What Fillets of Pearl too &s;he has upon her Head! Cuds-niggers&mdash; if every Pearl ben't as white as a Sil|labub&mdash;Heaven's how &s;he's bedizond&mdash; &s;he gli&s;&s;ons from top to toe like a Looking gla&s;s, and bows under the weight of her Beads and her Jew|els like a Laden Datetree&mdash; I' my Con&s;cience &s;he would pay a Broken Ban|kers debts, and &s;et him up agen.</P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote,</HI> with all his Gravity, could not choo&s;e but &s;mile to hear how <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;et forth the Lady after his Rural manner; for next to his own <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> he thought her one of the faire&s;t Women that ever he &s;aw. However 'tis &s;aid, at that time &s;he look'd a little Pali&s;h, which might be perhaps for want of &s;leep. For Maids that are to be marri'd next morning, never go to Bed the Night before, which is all time little enough to dre&s;s them&s;elves in Quill for the next Nights undoing.</P>
<P>In this po&s;ture all the &s;elect Company made toward a kind of a Scaf|fold, &s;et up a' one &s;ide the Meadow, and cover'd with Boughs, where the Ceremony was to be perform'd, and where they might with mo&s;t conve|nience &s;ee all the &s;port. But they were no &s;ooner come to the foot of the Scaffold, but they heard behind 'em a hideous outcry, and a mourn|ful voice crying out, <HI>Hold&mdash; Hold&mdash; a little, be not &s;o ha&s;ty</HI>&mdash; At which words, turning about their Heads, they perceiv'd a Per&s;on clad in a long black Jacquet, border'd with Crim&s;on, powder'd with flames of Fire; up|on his head he wore a Garland of <HI>Cyprus,</HI> and in his hand he carri'd a good big Cudgel, headed with an Iron Spike. So &s;oon as he drew neer, they all knew him to be <HI>Ba&s;il,</HI> and every one thought there would &s;ome mi&s;|chief be done, &s;eeing him come neither welcome nor look'd for. At
<PB N="391" REF="212"> length he arriv'd weary and breathle&s;s; and as he was placing him&s;elf ju&s;t before the Couple that were to be marry'd, he &s;trook the Iron end of his Cudgel into the Ground; and then fixing his Eyes upon the Bride, turn|ing pale and trembling at the &s;ame time, with a hoar&s;e and wheazing voice; Ingrateful <HI>Maudlin,</HI> quo he, that ha&s;t forgot thy plighted Troth to me alone; Thou that by the Laws of God and Man art oblig'd to Wed no other but my &s;elf, while I am Living, Ha&s;t thou e're found me un|faithful? and all the while I &s;tay'd for Time and Diligence to better my Fortune and render me a Match more equal for thee; did ever I &s;ollicit di&s;|honourable favours to the prejudice of thy Vertue? What urges thee then, thus to fal&s;ifie thy word, and go about to give my Right to another, who&s;e Riches only make him Fortunate? But let him enjoy his Felicity, &s;ince 'tis thy plea&s;ure; I'le not be long the Ob&s;tacle of his Happine&s;s; the&s;e Hands of mine, at the expence of my own Life, &s;hall give him the peaceable Po&s;&s;e&s;&s;ion of my Claim&mdash;Live wealthy <HI>Martin,</HI> live Ingrateful <HI>Maudlin;</HI> and let the poor unfortunate <HI>Ba&s;il</HI> dye, who&s;e Poverty has clipp'd the wings of his Felicity, and lay'd him in his Grave; and &s;o &s;ay|ing, he drew forth a &s;hort Sword that was cas'd in the Stick, and &s;etting the Pommel of it to the ground, fell upon the Point in &s;uch a manner, that it came out all bloody at his Back, and there lay poor <HI>Peel Garlick,</HI> weltring of a &s;udden in his Blood. Pre&s;ently <HI>Ba&s;il's</HI> Friends running to the doleful &s;pectacle, &s;et up their Throats and made mo&s;t hideous <HI>Ohones</HI> and Lamentations over him. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> al&s;o alighting from his Hor&s;e, ha|&s;ten'd to the bleeding Carka&s;s, and perceiving poor <HI>Ba&s;il</HI> yet to breath, made u&s;e of all his Compa&s;&s;ion to comfort him. Upon which his Friends finding there was Life in a Mu&s;cle, would fain have drawn the Sword out of his Body, but the Curate would not permit 'em, till he had confe&s;s'd him; alleadging that the drawing out of the Sword would be his imme|diate Death. But then it was, that <HI>Ba&s;il</HI> as it were coming a little to him&s;elf, with a langui&s;hing utterance, and fetching a deep &s;igh; Where is the cruel <HI>Maudlin?</HI> &s;aid he, now, now at this la&s;t ga&s;p of my Breath, would &s;he but now vouch&s;afe to give me her Hand, and acknowledge her &s;elf to be my Lawful Spou&s;e, contented would I then expire, and think my &s;elf rewarded amply for the pains and torments that I &s;uffer. One poor Sillable does it; &s;ay but <HI>Yes,</HI> and then&mdash;</P>
<P>Here the Curate interrupting him, told him he had now no lei&s;ure to think of worldly plea&s;ures, that his time was but &s;hort, and therefore ad|moni&s;h'd him to reconcile him&s;elf to Heaven, and beg pardon for the De&s;pe|rate Act he had committed. To which <HI>Ba&s;il</HI> reply'd, that he knew the De&s;peratene&s;s of his Condition; however that he was re&s;olv'd to dye de|&s;paring, unle&s;s <HI>Maudlin</HI> would conde&s;cend to grant him the favour which he demanded; which done, he would &s;ubmit to any thing they &s;hould re|quire from him. Upon which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> cry'd out with a loud voice, that <HI>Ba&s;il</HI> reque&s;ted nothing but what was ju&s;t and rea&s;onable, and a thing &s;o much the more ea&s;ily to be granted, in regard it would be no le&s;s honour for <HI>Martin</HI> to marry <HI>Ba&s;ils</HI> Widow, as true a Virgin as &s;he was before, then if he had receiv'd her at her Fathers hands, &s;ince her &s;aying an incon&s;iderable <HI>Yes,</HI> made no Di&s;tinction 'twixt <HI>Ba&s;il's</HI> Nuptial Bed and Grave.</P>
<P>Poor <HI>Martin,</HI> who &s;aw what was done, and heard what was &s;aid, was in a peck of Troubles, not knowing what to &s;ay or what to think. How|ever <HI>Ba&s;il's</HI> Friends attackt him &s;everely, and be&s;ought him to give way that his Bride might be marry'd for a moment to their dying Friend, if it
<PB N="392" REF="213"> were but only to &s;ave his Soul, in danger of being eternally lo&s;t, &s;hould he dye impenitent; and &s;o forcible were their Importunities, that <HI>Martin</HI> was content, provided <HI>Maudlin</HI> could be per&s;waded to it; &s;ince 'twas but delaying for a minute or two the Accompli&s;hment of his own de&s;ires. Thereupon they all made their addre&s;&s;es to <HI>Maudlin,</HI> &s;ome with Tears in their Eyes, others with the mo&s;t obliging Arguments their Pity could in|vent, urging withal, that it could be no way i' the world to her preju|dice, to marry a Man whom Death would Divorce the next minute from her. But whether it were want of Breeding, or &s;cruple of Con&s;cience, <HI>Maudlin</HI> would make no an&s;wer, but &s;tood like an Idol, &s;peechle&s;s and motionle&s;s, not knowing what to re&s;olve; and how long &s;he would ha' &s;tood in that manner like <HI>Lots Wife,</HI> no body can tell, had not the Curate, who had the Padlock of her Con&s;cience, come to her, and bid her deter|mine &s;omething or other; for that <HI>Ba&s;ils</HI> Soul was ju&s;t ready to depart, and could not &s;tay for her Brown &s;tudy's. But then the poor Virgin trem|bling every Joynt of her, with a &s;low pace drew neer where <HI>Ba&s;il</HI> lay, with his Eyes fix'd, his Breath almo&s;t failing him, and making the World believe he would dye like an Infidel. At length <HI>Maudlin</HI> &s;tanding clo&s;e by the dying Lover, bow'd her &s;elf down, and made him a &s;ign to give him her Hand, as not being able to &s;peak. Then <HI>Ba&s;il</HI> opening his Eyes, and fixing 'em in a Langui&s;hing Po&s;ture upon <HI>Maudlin,</HI> Ah, <HI>Maud|lin,</HI> &s;aid He, where was all thy Pity flown before? Now 'tis too late thou com'&s;t, bringing thy pity rather to make &s;ure work, as if thou wert a|fraid my timorous hand had falter'd. Now I have no more &s;trength left me, for a moment to enjoy the honour of being thine, and nothing can arre&s;t the pains that &s;end me to my Grave, now, now thou com'&s;t. How|ever &s;ince 'tis only for a moment and no longer, abu&s;e me not a &s;econd time; &s;peak not like one con&s;train'd, but &s;incerely acknowledge me thy Husband; &s;ince 'twould be now an unworthy piece of inhumanity, con|&s;idering the Condition to which thou ha&s;t reduc'd me, to play the Coun|terfeit with <HI>Me,</HI> expiring <HI>Me,</HI> whom thou ha&s;t always found &s;o faithful and &s;o true. This He &s;poke with &s;uch a force upon him&s;elf, and &s;uch a langui&s;hing utterance, that there was not one that heard him, but be|liev'd each word he &s;poke would have been his la&s;t. And now he &s;eem'd to faint away, when <HI>Maudlin</HI> with Blu&s;hing Cheeks, yet with a &s;eeming chearful Countenance, and a kind of violence upon her &s;elf, taking the unfortunate Lover by the right Hand: No force, &s;aid &s;he, can work up|on my will; I give thee here the free&s;t hand I have, to be thy Wedded Wife, and receive thine upon the &s;ame accompt, if by thee as freely gi|ven, and in an undi&s;turb'd condition of thy &s;ence and judgment. I give thee mine &s;incerely, reply'd <HI>Ba&s;il,</HI> and with an Intellect as &s;ane as ever Heaven be&s;tow'd upon me; and &s;o I vow my &s;elf thy Wedded Husband. And I receive thee &s;o, cry'd <HI>Maudlin,</HI> whither long liv'd, or whither forth|with hurry'd from my Arms into thy Grave: Now dye in Peace, and I wi&s;h thee a good Pa&s;&s;age.</P>
<P>My thinks, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> this young Man talks a little too much to be wounded to Death; but if he be &s;o neer it as you &s;ay he is, I would ad|vi&s;e him to leave off his woing, and to mind the health of his Soul, which by what I can find, is much more vigorous in his Tongue then in his Teeth.</P>
<P>Now after <HI>Ba&s;il</HI> and <HI>Maudlin</HI> had enter'd into this &s;olemn League and Covenant one with another, while yet their Hands were cla&s;p'd together, in &s;teps the Curate, willing to content the poor dying <HI>Ba&s;il</HI> to the utmo&s;t
<PB N="393" REF="213"> of his Power, and no le&s;s mortify'd with the &s;ight of &s;uch a &s;ad Spe|ctacle, with Tears in his Eyes gives 'em both his Benediction, be&s;eeching God, withal, to have Mercy upon the Soul of the new marry'd Man. Who had no &s;ooner receiv'd the <HI>Nuptial Ble&s;&s;ing,</HI> but he &s;tarted upon his Feet, and with an unexpected Activity drew out the Sword that had been &s;heath'd in his Body. At this, all the &s;pectators were amaz'd; and &s;ome of the &s;impler &s;ort cry'd out a <HI>Miracle,</HI> a <HI>Miracle.</HI> No, no, quo <HI>Ba|&s;il,</HI> with a voice as &s;ound as a Cryer of a Court, and louder then the re&s;t, <HI>No Miracle,</HI> but only a Trick of Agility. Whereupon the Curate more a&s;toni&s;h'd then all the re&s;t, lay'd both his Hands upon the Wound, and after he had felt the place, he found that the Sword had no where pierc'd the Cunning <HI>Ba&s;ils</HI> Body, but only a Tin Pipe full of Blood ingeniou&s;ly fitted to his Ribs, and prepar'd for his de&s;ign. In a word the Curate, Mon&s;ieur <HI>Martin,</HI> and his Friends, acknowledg'd them&s;elves to be fairly cheated. As for the new marry'd Woman, &s;he was &s;o far from being concern'd, that hearing 'em &s;ay that the Marriage was fraudulent, and ea&s;ily di&s;|&s;olv'd, &s;he openly declar'd, that &s;he would abide by what &s;he had done, and confirm it anew; which made &s;ome People think that it was a Plot lay'd between <HI>Ba&s;il</HI> and <HI>Her.</HI></P>
<P>Mon&s;ieur <HI>Martin</HI> and his Friends enrag'd to be thus chous'd of a Wife and a Wedding, were all for immediate revenge, and drawing their Swords, fell upon <HI>Ba&s;il</HI> in great fury. But <HI>Ba&s;il</HI> found as many Friends as his Baffl'd Rival; &s;o that in a Trice there had like to ha' been a pretty Battel. But <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> &s;eeing the Confu&s;ion that was like to happen, pre&s;ently remounting <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> with his Lance Couch'd, and cover'd with his Shield, threw him&s;elf between the Combatants, and put a pre|&s;ent &s;top to their fury, while <HI>Sancho</HI> retir'd to the Place where he had had his dainty Mor&s;els, believing that would be a Sanctuary to which they would all give re&s;pect and veneration, in the height of their Malice. In the mean time <HI>Don Quixote</HI> turning &s;ometimes to one &s;ide, &s;ometimes to the other, Hold, Gentlemen, Hold, cry'd he, and hearken to Rea&s;on, who&s;e Interpreter I am. Know then there's no rea&s;on i' the World to re|venge upon a Lover, the Deceits of his Love: For as in War, &s;o in Love, Stratagem's are always allow'd. <HI>Madam Maudlin</HI> belong'd of right before to <HI>Ba&s;il,</HI> and <HI>Ba&s;il</HI> to <HI>Madam Maudlin;</HI> Heaven it &s;elf had &s;o or|dain'd it; <HI>Don Martin</HI> is Rich, and may meet with Wives enow, that will be glad of his E&s;tate, as hand&s;om as &s;he; as for <HI>Ba&s;il,</HI> that has but one Sheep, tho he has no rea&s;on to complain, 'tis unju&s;t to deprive him of his &s;ingle delight: and therefore let no Man &s;under tho&s;e whom God has joyn'd; for here I &s;olemnly declare the fir&s;t that &s;hall be &s;o bold as to attempt it, mu&s;t wre&s;t this Lance from my invincible Hand; and &s;o &s;aying he &s;hook his Spear with that remarkable force and vigour, that he ca&s;t a &s;udden terrour into all that beheld him. So that <HI>Don Mar|tin</HI>'s Choler changing at an In&s;tant into an immediate &s;corn of Madam <HI>Maudlin</HI>'s Contempt, he re&s;olv'd to forget her; which was the Grand rea|&s;on that upon the ea&s;ie per&s;wa&s;ions of the Curate, who was a Per&s;on of &s;ingular Prudence, both He and all the re&s;t of his Party put up their Swords, more offended at <HI>Maudlins</HI> Incon&s;tancy, then <HI>Ba&s;ils</HI> Policy. <HI>Don Martin</HI> al&s;o rea&s;on'd thus di&s;creetly with him&s;elf; that if <HI>Maudlin</HI> lov'd <HI>Ba|&s;il</HI> when &s;he was a Maid, 'twas mo&s;t probable that her love would have &s;till continu'd, and he &s;hould have only been a marry'd Cuckold; &s;o that in|&s;tead of being Wedded to her, he had more cau&s;e to thank Heaven that he was &s;o fairly rid of her. Pacify'd with the&s;e Con&s;iderations, <HI>Don Mar|tin</HI>
<PB N="394" REF="214"> was &s;o far from re&s;enting the Accident, that he was re&s;olv'd the Fea&s;t &s;hould go forward, as if it had been his own Concern.</P>
<P>But <HI>Ba&s;il</HI> and <HI>Maudlin,</HI> and all that were of his Party, re&s;olv'd to retire to <HI>Ba&s;ils</HI> Village: For di&s;creet and Vertuous mediocrity is no le&s;s admir'd and honour'd by her followers, then the rich are applauded by their Crouds of Flatterers. <HI>Ba&s;il</HI> al&s;o and his Companions invited <HI>Don Quixote</HI> along with them, as looking upon him to be a Per&s;on of Quality and Worth; who was ea&s;ily per&s;waded to follow tho&s;e who&s;e part he had taken.</P>
<P>But as for <HI>Sancho,</HI> not to lie, he follow'd his Ma&s;ter with a &s;orrowful heart. His Soul was in a Mi&s;t, and his di&s;con&s;olate brea&s;t could admit no Con&s;olation, to find that he mu&s;t abandon the Good Chear of <HI>Don Mar|tins</HI> Fea&s;t that la&s;ted till night. Full of grief and melancholy therefore he Shuffl'd after <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> &s;eeing him&s;elf &s;o unfortunately con&s;train'd to leave behind him the Fle&s;h Pots of <HI>Aegypt;</HI> which however he carry'd away in his mind, while the &s;cum of <HI>Don Martins</HI> Kettle, that lay yet unconco|cted in his Stomach, repre&s;ented to his thoughts the abundant happine&s;s he had lo&s;t.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="22" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XXII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Of the unheard of Adventure of the <HI>Cavern</HI> of <HI>Monte&s;inos,</HI> which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> accompli&s;h'd with great &s;ucce&s;s.</HEAD>
<P>THe new marry'd Couple thought nothing too good for <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> whom they made mo&s;t highly welcom, in acknowledgment of his readine&s;s to defend their Cau&s;e, honouring his Prudence no le&s;s then his Valour, while they a&s;crib'd to him as well the Eloquence of a <HI>Cicero,</HI> as the Courage of a <HI>Guy of Warwick. Sancho</HI> al&s;o repair d all his Lo&s;&s;es, du|ring the three days that his Ma&s;ter &s;tay'd, and being plentifully recruited came to his good humour again. <HI>Ba&s;il</HI> al&s;o declar'd that Madam <HI>Maud|lin</HI> had no hand in his Plot, but that it was a meer contrivance of his own, which he had only imparted to &s;ome of his Friends, that they might a&s;&s;i&s;t in ca&s;e of nece&s;&s;ity to make good his Amourous Fraud. To which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> an&s;wer'd, that there was nothing to be call'd Fraud, which tend|ed to a vertuous end; of which nature was Matrimony, where both par|ties had a real Affection for each other, there being but one Inconveni|ence that annoys it, Poverty and Nece&s;&s;ity. For Love is altogether Glad|ne&s;s, Comfort, and Content, e&s;pecially where the Per&s;on loving enjoys the Object of his Affection; a Tranquility that has only for its profe&s;t and open Enemys, Penury and Hunger. All which he &s;pake, with a pur|po&s;e meerly to advi&s;e his Friend Mr. <HI>Ba&s;il,</HI> to quit his Youthful Sports and Exerci&s;es, which tho they won him Reputation, brought him no Money to make the Pot boyl, and to attend the getting of a Livelihood by fair and hone&s;t ways, that never fail the Indu&s;trious. Then pur&s;uing his di&s;cour&s;e, The Man that is Poor and Hone&s;t, quo <HI>Don Quixote</HI> (if a Poor Man may be call'd Hone&s;t) has a Jewel in having a vertuous Wife; which he that takes from him, di&s;honours her, and takes away his Life. The Woman that is fair and hone&s;t, when her Husband is Poor, de&s;erves to be Crown'd with Garlands of Conque&s;t and Tryumph: Beauty attacks
<PB N="395" REF="214"> the Good will of all that behold it; the Royal Eagles and high &s;oaring Faulcons &s;toop to her plea&s;ing Lure: But when they find it in nece&s;&s;ity; the Kites, Crows, and other Birds of Prey are continually fluttering about it: Which &s;he that can with&s;tand with an Invincible Con&s;tancy, de&s;erves to be the Glory of her Sex.</P>
<P>Ob&s;erve mo&s;t worthy <HI>Ba&s;il,</HI> farther added <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> It was the O|pinion of a Wi&s;e Man, who&s;e name I have forgot, that there was but one good Woman in the World, and he advis'd every Husband to think his own Wife was &s;he, as being the only way to live content. For my part I am a Batchelour, nor have I hitherto had any Inclination to marry; and yet methinks if my advice were ask'd, I could tell another how he &s;hould choo&s;e a Wife. I would advi&s;e him in the fir&s;t place to con&s;ider her Reputation rather then her Fortune: For a Vertuous Woman does not acquire a good Name by her being &s;o, but by her appearing &s;o. For the lea&s;t liberty that a Woman takes in the &s;ight of the World, does her more injury then all the loo&s;ne&s;s &s;he can practice in &s;ecret. If a Man finds her good, 'tis an ea&s;ie thing to pre&s;erve her &s;o; but if &s;he come bad to him at fir&s;t, 'tis a difficult thing to mend her; in regard 'tis almo&s;t an impo&s;&s;ible thing to pa&s;s from one extream to another; I &s;ay almo&s;t impo&s;|&s;ible, for I do not hold it altogether &s;o.</P>
<P>All this while <HI>Sancho</HI> had li&s;tn'd with an un&s;peakable deal of Patience, but being no longer able to contain him&s;elf; My Ma&s;ter, quo he, muttering to him&s;elf, when I fall upon &s;uch di&s;cour&s;es as the&s;e, was wont to tell me, that I &s;hould tye a Pulpit at my Back, and carry't about wi' me, to preach my <HI>Conundrum</HI>'s in: but I'm &s;ure when he begins to thread Senten|ces, and talk <HI>Sparables,</HI> he had more need of a good Waggon load for his own &s;hare. The Devil take him for a <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> I think he's one of the &s;even Wi&s;e Men; by my Soul, at fir&s;t I thought he had under&s;tood nothing but <HI>Knight-Errantry;</HI> but upon my Life, I find he under&s;tands all things; there's no Water &s;o hot, but he can put his Finger in it.</P>
<P><HI>Sancho,</HI> <GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="UOM" EXTENT="1 letter">uo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> overhearing him, what's that thou art grum|bling at? I &s;ay nothing, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> neither do I grumble at any Body; only I was &s;aying to my &s;elf, that I wi&s;h I had heard your Wor&s;hip preach this Doctrine before I marry'd, I might ha' been now like the unyoak'd Ox, to lick my &s;elf where I pleas'd; or like the A&s;s at her ea&s;e, to wal|low where I thought fit. Why, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> is my Nighbour <HI>Tere&s;a</HI> &s;o bad? Not &s;o very bad neither quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> nor yet &s;o good as I would have her. Fie <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> thou do'&s;t not do well to &s;peak ill of thy Wife, who is the Mother of thy Children. There's no love lo&s;t between us reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;he &s;peaks ill of me &s;ome|times, e&s;pecially when &s;he thinks I ha' been a Swan hopping; and then Satan him&s;elf would not endure her maundring.</P>
<P>Well, to be &s;hort, three days did our Adventurers &s;tay with the new marry'd Couple, where they were fea&s;ted like the Guards of the Kings Body. At the end of which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> reque&s;ted the Curate to provide him a Guide that might conduct him to the Cave of <HI>Monte&s;inos,</HI> otherwi&s;e call'd the <HI>Devil</HI>'s <HI>Ar&s;e i'th Peak,</HI> which he had a &s;trange de&s;ire to be Romaging, and to &s;ee with his own Eyes all the wonders that were re|ported of it by the Country People. Thereupon the Curate promis'd that one of his Kin&s;men &s;hould go along with him, who was a very good <HI>Grammar</HI> Schollar, and one that had a great kindne&s;s for Books of <HI>Knight-Errantry;</HI> and that he &s;hould carry him to the very Hole of the Cave: moreover that he would be very good Company for him, and
<PB N="396" REF="215"> would &s;hew him all the Springs of the Lake <HI>Ruydera,</HI> &s;o famous in tho&s;e parts.</P>
<P>In a &s;hort time the young Man came, upon a &s;orry Mare that was with Fole, having his Saddle cover'd with an old Carpet, for the better grace of the Bu&s;ine&s;s. Thereupon <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;addled <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> got ready his own <HI>Grizzle,</HI> fill'd both his own Wallets, and the Students to boot; at what time <HI>Don Quixote</HI> taking leave of the Company in mo&s;t &s;olemn Manner, they all mounted and &s;et forward toward the wonderful Cave.</P>
<P>As they rode along <HI>Don Quixote</HI> ask'd the young Schollar, what Em|ployment he follow'd, and what was his Profe&s;&s;ion. To which the Schol|lar an&s;wer'd, that his Profe&s;&s;ion was Humility; and that he &s;pent his time in making Books for the Pre&s;s; which were not only profitable for him|&s;elf, but of great advantage and benefit to the Publick: Particularly that he had one Book that would come forth the next Term, a very large Vo|lumn in <HI>Folio,</HI> entitled <HI>Calliopes Cabinet,</HI> illu&s;trated with figures and Bra&s;s Cuts, wherein all Gentlemen, of all Qualities and Degrees, might be en|form'd how to order them&s;elves at Fea&s;ts, Funerals, and all Heroick Meet|ings, and how all Degrees are to take Place, with a Dictionary of He|rald-Terms. I have another almo&s;t as ready as that, quo he, call'd Mr. <HI>I I's Legacy to his Friends,</HI> containing &s;even hunder'd fifty &s;ix In&s;tan|ces of Gods Providence, in and about Sea Dangers and Deliverances, with the Names of &s;everal that were Eye-witne&s;&s;es to many of 'em; for the Conver&s;ion of Seamen. I have another call'd <HI>Ovids Metamorpho|&s;es tran&s;pos'd:</HI> This is a new and rare Invention, for that by means of Hi|&s;tory intermix'd with Fable, I tell ye who <HI>Merlin</HI> was, give ye an account of the <HI>Pinner of Wakefield,</HI> make St. <HI>Winifreds Well</HI> agree with <HI>Salmaci&s;s</HI>'s <HI>Fountain;</HI> the <HI>Cumaean Sybil</HI>'s <HI>Cave</HI> with <HI>Oukie Hole;</HI> St. <HI>Vincents Rock</HI> with the Story of <HI>Lychas:</HI> The Floating I&s;land in <HI>Scotland</HI> I compare with the I&s;land <HI>Ortygia,</HI> and tell ye that <HI>Silbury</HI> Hill was <HI>Mi&s;enus</HI>'s Tomb; I omit not the <HI>Whi&s;pering place</HI> at <HI>Gloce&s;ter,</HI> nor to give ye the true Original of <HI>Stone|henge;</HI> a work full of <HI>Metamorpho&s;es</HI> and Allegories, as well for Diver&s;ion as In&s;truction. I have another call'd a Supplement to <HI>Polydore Virgil,</HI> a work that &s;hews the great Pains and Learning of the Compiler. For example, you &s;hall not find there who was the fir&s;t Man i' the World that was troubl'd with a Catarrh, nor who was the fir&s;t that was Syring'd for the Neapolitan di&s;ea&s;e, which I make out as clear as the Sun by the authority of five and twenty Te&s;timonies living at the &s;ame time. Sometimes I Compo&s;e <HI>Godly Manuals</HI> of Devotion, and directions for receiving the Communion, for the Pedlers to &s;pread about the Country, be&s;ides what I pre&s;ent my &s;elf to &s;uch as I hear to be People devoutly given. And now I leave you to judge, Sir, whether I don't take a world of pains, and whe|ther the&s;e Books may not be of great Benefit to the Publick.</P>
<P><HI>Sancho</HI> having li&s;ten'd all this while with great attention; So God di|rect your right Hand, quo he to the Schollar, in all the Re&s;t of your Tran|&s;criptions, I be&s;eech ye Sir, for I find you know all things, can you tell me, who was the fir&s;t Man i' the world that &s;cratch'd his Head? for I am apt to think, 'twas our fir&s;t Father <HI>Adam.</HI> Y' are i' the right on't, quo the Schollar; for he being the Fir&s;t Man i' the World, without doubt had a Head and Hair upon it, which as it could not choo&s;e but itch &s;ometimes, &s;o he could not choo&s;e but &s;cratch it. Very good, quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> but can you tell me who was the fir&s;t Vaulter i' the World; In truth quo the Schol|lar I cannot re&s;olve ye at pre&s;ent, but I'le turn over my Books, and tell ye the next time we &s;ee one another, for I hope this will not be the la&s;t
<PB N="397" REF="215"> time. No, no, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I'le &s;pare ye that labour and re&s;olve the Que&s;tion my &s;elf. The fir&s;t Vaulter i' the World was <HI>Lucifer,</HI> when he was thrown out of Heaven, and jump'd into Hell.</P>
<P>You &s;ay very true, quo the Schollar, what a Dunce was I not to think on't. Hang him, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> this An&s;wer is none of his own. Body a' me, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> don't you believe that Sir; for if I fall a que&s;ti|oning and an&s;wering once, I'le undertake to hold on till this day &s;en|night; let me alone to put idle Que&s;tions, and an&s;wer Extravagancies, without the help of my Neighbours. Thou giv'&s;t 'em a better Name then thou art aware of, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for there are &s;ome People that &s;pend a world of Time, and labour infinitely in the &s;earch of Trifles, that are not worth a button when they come to be known.</P>
<P>In the&s;e and &s;uch like plea&s;ant Di&s;cour&s;es they &s;pent the day, and at night they lodg'd in a Village, from whence the Schollar told 'em, 'twas not above &s;ix miles to the Cave, and where it would be nece&s;&s;ary for <HI>Don Quixote</HI> to provide good &s;tore of Ropes if he intended to &s;ee the Bottom? Let that be your care <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for I'm re&s;olv'd to &s;ee the Bottom, tho' it carry me to the Suburbs of Hell it &s;elf. Thereupon <HI>Sancho</HI> went and bought a hunder'd Fathom of new &s;trong well twi&s;ted Hempen Merchandize, and the next day by two a Clock i' the Afternon, they ar|riv'd at the Mouth of the Hole, which was very large and &s;pacious, but &s;o &s;urrounded with Bu&s;hes, Nettles, Burdocks, and other Weeds, that you could hardly come at it, as if Nature had &s;et a Guard about it, or the Devil had hid it for a Pit-fall to have caught <HI>Don Quixote</HI> him&s;elf.</P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> was no &s;ooner arriv'd, but he pre&s;ently alighted, as did the other two with the &s;ame &s;wiftne&s;s; and <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was in &s;uch ha&s;te, that he immediately &s;et the Student and <HI>Sancho</HI> to fa&s;ten the Ropes together, which while they were a doing; Sir, quo <HI>Sancho</HI> to his Ma&s;ter, con&s;ider what ye do, look before ye leap, and don't be &s;o hairbraind in one of your Megrims, to bury your &s;elf alive: Don't put your &s;elf <HI>Dingle dangle</HI> you don't know where, as they hang Bottles in a Well to keep the Wine cool. Con&s;ider what bu&s;ine&s;s you have to do there, and whe|ther you have any acquaintance in Hell that may do you a kindne&s;s, &s;hould the wor&s;t come to the wor&s;t. Prithee friend bind me, and hold thy Tongue, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> or bind on, and talk on; but be &s;ure bind me fa&s;t; bind fa&s;t, and find fa&s;t&mdash; He's a Man a' parts can do two things at once&mdash; and who knows, but that this Adventure was re|&s;erv'd only for Me? <HI>The&s;eus</HI> went down into Hell&mdash;and Pious <HI>Eneas</HI> went down into Hell&mdash;and Pious <HI>Don Quixote</HI> will go down into Hell&mdash; bind me I &s;ay.&mdash;Pray, Sir, quo the Student, when y'are in, look well about ye&mdash; let nothing &s;cape your Eye, nor your Memory that's worth recording; there may be many things proper for the next Edition of my <HI>Metamorpho&s;es.</HI> Let him alone, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> the Game's all in his own hands, and he'l play it well I warrant ye.</P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> finding him&s;elf well bound, 'Slife quo he, what ha' we forgot?&mdash; I &s;hould have had a little Bell ty'd to my Girdle, to give ye notice &s;till where abouts I am;&mdash; but &s;ince there's no Remedy, welcom what falls; and &s;o &s;aying, he fell upon his Knees, and after a &s;hort Prayer to Heaven for &s;ucce&s;s and a&s;&s;i&s;tance in an Adventure &s;o perillous, at lea&s;t to all outward appearance, up he got again, and then fixing his Eyes toward <HI>Tobo&s;o,</HI> with the &s;ame devotion as the <HI>Turks</HI> look toward <HI>Mecca,</HI> with a loud voice, O thou, &s;aid he, that govern'&s;t all my Actions and mo&s;t &s;ecret Thoughts, Illu&s;trious and Matchle&s;s <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o,</HI> if
<PB N="398" REF="216"> it be po&s;&s;ible for the prayers of thy All daring Champion to approach thy Ears, by the Charms of thy Cele&s;tial Beauty I conjure thee to vouch|&s;afe me thy Protection and thy Favour, &s;o requi&s;ite to fortifie my Cou|rage at this time of need. I am ju&s;t now going to ingulf, precipitate, and ca&s;t my &s;elf headlong into this unknown Aby&s;s, meerly out of an Ambition to do &s;omething worthy thy Renown, and to let the World know, there is nothing impo&s;&s;ible to him that adventures under the Ban|ners of thy Beauty.</P>
<P>This &s;aid he approach'd the Mouth of the Hole, and finding it all over|grown with Weeds, Brakes and Bu&s;hes, he drew his Sword and began to cut his way through. But &s;trange to tell, he had not &s;truck above four or five blows, before he had rais'd &s;uch an infinite number of Crows and Flittermice about his Ears, that he was not able to &s;tand upon his Legs, &s;uch was the Impetuo&s;ity of the Winged Tempe&s;t that overwhelm'd him to the Ground; &s;o that had he not been better grounded in Chri&s;tianity then to be &s;uper&s;titious, he had certainly taken it for a bad Omen, and de&s;i&s;ted from his Enterprize. But he ro&s;e again with an undaunted Cou|rage, and finding that he had put all the Birds to flight, he committed him&s;elf to the mercy of the Rope and his two Friends; who &s;erving in&s;tead of a Cu&s;tom Hou&s;e Crane, let him down gently, having wound the Rope, Wine-Porter like, about the Body of a &s;mall Tree that grew clo&s;e by, to have the more command of their weight. At what time <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;eeing him going; Heaven, quo he, pro&s;per thee, and our Lady of <HI>Loretta,</HI> and the holy Martyr St. <HI>Thomas a Becket</HI> go along with Thee, thou Mirrour of Chivalry, and Cream of all <HI>Knights-Errant.</HI> There goes the Hack&s;ter of the World; Arms all of Steel, and Heart of Bra&s;s&mdash; Omnipotence pre|&s;erve thee, and bring thee back again &s;ound Wind and Limb, once more to &s;ee that Comfortable Sun by thee contemn'd, to court Infernal Darkne&s;s, and gratifie the Maggot's of thy Brain, that &s;end thee upon a &s;leevle&s;s Errand to the Devil. To all which the Schollar &s;aid <HI>Amen.</HI></P>
<P>But <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who neither minded nor heard their Prayers, cry'd out aloud to give him more Rope, upon which the Schollar and <HI>Sancho</HI> were &s;o free of their Hemp, that they never left off, till they had let down full out a hunder'd Fathom of Cord; and then they began to con|&s;ider whether to hawl up agen or no. However they thought he mu&s;t have &s;ome time to look about him, and &s;o they &s;tay'd half an hour, which be|ing expir'd, not able to endure any longer delay, they began to heave at the <HI>Cap&s;tall;</HI> but finding the Rope to come &s;o ea&s;ily at fir&s;t, without any &s;tre&s;s or weight at all; Well&mdash; quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> farewel <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI>&mdash; now has &s;ome damn'd Devil or other got my Ma&s;ter a Pick back, and is run|ning away with him, Sword and Buckler and all&mdash;and with that he bur&s;t forth into a &s;hower of Briny Tears, and fell a hawling like madd for far|ther &s;atisfaction. But after they had pull'd up about eight and twenty Fathom, they began to feel Pondero&s;ity, which reviv'd their drooping Spi|rits like a noggin a' Brandy.</P>
<P>When they came within ten fathom of the Ropes end, quo <HI>Sancho</HI> to the Schollar, hold fa&s;t, and out of the bundance of his Joy, running to the mouth of the Hole, Cud's life, Sir, &s;aid he, we thought y' had been pawnd for the Reck'ning. To which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> an&s;wer'd not a word; and when they had drawn him quite up, they found that his Eyes were quite &s;hut, as if he had been in a profound &s;leep: pre&s;ent|ly they lay'd him upon the ground, and unbound him, yet withal their moving and &s;tirring him he never made any &s;ign of waking. In which
<PB N="399" REF="216"> Condition they turn'd him, and rowl'd him, and tumbl'd him about &s;o long, that at la&s;t he began to come to him&s;elf, rubbing his Eyes and &s;tretching forth his Limbs, as if he had waken'd at the Fortnights end: at what time &s;taring round about him with a gha&s;tly look; Ah my dear friends, &s;aid He, you cannot imagine the Injury you have done me, you have depriv'd me of one of the &s;weete&s;t Lives and plea&s;ante&s;t Sights that ever Mortal led, or human Eye beheld. And now it is that I am fully convinc'd that all the Plea&s;ures of this Life are all but tran&s;itory Dreams. Oh unfortunate <HI>Monte&s;inos,</HI> and thou luckle&s;s <HI>Durandart,</HI> &s;o treacherou&s;ly wounded! Unhappy <HI>Belerma,</HI> but more to be deplor'd <HI>Guadi|ana!</HI> and you the &s;ad and mournful Daughters of <HI>Ruydera,</HI> who&s;e &s;wel|ling Waters &s;hew what Streams of Tears once trickl'd from your Charm|ing Eyes.&mdash;</P>
<P>The Schollar and <HI>Sancho</HI> amaz'd to hear &s;uch &s;ad expre&s;&s;ions as the&s;e utter'd by the new return'd Champion, and denoting a more then ordina|ry Affliction, be&s;ought him to explain him&s;elf, and to let 'em know what he had &s;een in that &s;ame Hell upon Earth, where he had been. Call not that Hell, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that rather &s;eem'd to be a Paradi&s;e, as if you'l have but patience, I &s;hall &s;oon convince ye. In the mean while gi' me &s;omething to eat, for I think I was never &s;o hungry i' my Life. Upon that, <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;pread the Schollars old piece of Hanging, that &s;erv'd him doubl'd for a Saddle, upon the Ground, and all the Leathern Butte|ries having &s;urrender'd their Store, they eat altogether lovingly and hearti|ly; for <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was not a Man that took State upon him, when he was not in high Company. Now when they had all done, and that <HI>San|cho</HI> had taken away; come <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> come and &s;it down again&mdash;and let no Man ri&s;e, but mark attentively what I am preparing to tell ye.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="23" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XXIII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing a Relation of the wonderful things which the Unparallell'd <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;aw in the Cave of <HI>Monte&s;inos;</HI> the Strangene&s;s and Impo&s;&s;ibility of which makes this Chapter to be taken for Apocrypha.</HEAD>
<P>IT was now about four a Clock i' the Afternoon, and a clo&s;e day, &s;o that the Sun not able to pierce the thicker Clouds with his &s;calding Beams, gave <HI>Don Quixote</HI> the liberty to enjoy the cool Air, and to entertain his two Illu&s;trious Friends with the following Relation of the unheard of Wonders which he had &s;een in the Cave of <HI>Monte&s;inos.</HI></P>
<P>When y'are de&s;cended, &s;aid he, about twelve or fifteen Fathoms into the Cave, you come to a large and &s;pacious Concavity, big enough to hold a We&s;t-Country Waggon with all its Oxen; into which there falls a glimmering Light, from certain narrow holes that reach to the Super|fices of the Earth. When I came to this place, I took a fancy to it, and being tyr'd with hanging &s;o long by the Middle, and to tell ye the truth, &s;omewhat unwilling to de&s;cend any lower, neither knowing where I went; not having any Guide, I con&s;ider'd better of it, and re&s;olv'd to go into this &s;ame place and re&s;t my &s;elf: when I was in, I call'd to you to let
<PB N="400" REF="217"> down no more Rope, but it &s;eems you did not hear me; however I coyl'd up the Cable, and laying it by me, &s;ate my &s;elf down upon it, full of Pen&s;ive Contemplation; when of a &s;udden, as if &s;ome <HI>Necroman|cer</HI> had lay'd his charming Rod upon my Brows, a mo&s;t profound &s;leep &s;eiz'd me; out of which, being, I know not how, &s;oon after wak'd agen, I found my &s;elf in one of the faire&s;t, and mo&s;t delightful Meadows that ever nature beautify'd with all her Ornaments: Now that I might be &s;ure I was not in a Dream, I wip'd my Eyes, I blew my No&s;e, I told my Money, &s;cratch'd my Head, and gave my &s;elf all the a&s;&s;urances ima|ginable, that I was as certainly awake as an Angler in a Lighter.</P>
<P>Pre&s;ently I beheld a mo&s;t Princely and Sumptuous Ca&s;tle, of which the Walls and Battlements &s;eem'd to be of clear and tran&s;parent Chry|&s;tal. At the &s;ame time likewi&s;e two great Cedar Gates lei&s;urely opening, there came forth a Venerable old Man, clad in a long grey Mantle, with a Tippet of green Sarcenet covering his Shoulders, like the Fellow of a Colledge. Upon his head he wore a black Bonnet &s;omewhat like a Car|dinals Cap; his Beard that was broad and white as the Driven Snow, reaching from his Chin to his Girdle: in his hands he had no other Wea|pons then a Ro&s;ary of Beads about the bigne&s;s of Wallnuts, and his <HI>Credo</HI> Beads as big as ordinary O&s;tridge Eggs. The Port, the Gravity, the Pace, the awful and &s;erious A&s;pect of this Old Man &s;truck me with Ad|miration; but much more was my &s;urprize when this Reverend Spectacle acco&s;ting, and embracing me, gave me this &s;olemn welcom; Long and with extream impatience, &s;aid He, have we been waiting for thy com|ing, mo&s;t Valiant Knight <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha.</HI> We that lye In|chanted in this Solitude, to the end thou may'&s;t reveal to the World the Prodigious Wonders lockt up from Human knowledge, within this Cave call'd <HI>Monte&s;ino</HI>'s Cave, an Adventure re&s;erv'd alone for thy invincible Courage, and only worthy of thy Re&s;olution. Follow me then, thou mo&s;t Illu&s;trious Champion, and behold tho&s;e A&s;toni&s;hing Miracles inclos'd within this tran&s;parent Palace, of which I am the perpetual Governour; for I am that &s;ame <HI>Monte&s;inos</HI> from whom this Cavern takes its name.</P>
<P>No &s;ooner had the Venerable Seer inform'd me that his name was <HI>Mon|te&s;inos,</HI> but I reque&s;ted him to tell me whether it were true or no, what was &s;o confidently reported upon Earth, that he had ripp'd the Heart of his great Friend <HI>Durandart,</HI> out of his Belly with a little Dagger, and had carry'd it as a Token from him to the fair <HI>Belerma,</HI> according to his own de&s;ire upon his death Bed. To which he an&s;wer'd me, that all the re&s;t was truth, only that he did not make u&s;e of a Dagger, but of an A|gat-hafted Carving Knife, poli&s;h'd and &s;et as keen as a Razor.</P>
<P>Then I believe, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I can tell where 'twas bought, either in <HI>Shoe-Lane</HI> or <HI>Popeshead-Alley;</HI> e&s;pecially if it were Razor Mettle. I don't believe, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that any of your Acquaintance &s;old it; for the Battel of <HI>Ronce&s;vales</HI> happen'd long before <HI>Shoe-Lane</HI> or <HI>Popeshead-Alley</HI> were famous for Cutlers; neither is it of any Importance to confirm or di&s;prove the Truth of the Story. You &s;ay very true, reply'd the Schol|lar, and therefore, Sir <HI>Knight,</HI> pray be pleas'd to go on with your Infor|mation, which affects me with a &s;trange delight to hear it. You win my Soul, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for I'm &s;ure no Man can be better pleas'd in telling it.</P>
<P>And &s;o I &s;ay, that being arriv'd at the Chry&s;tal Ca&s;tle, <HI>Monte&s;inos</HI> led me into a low Room of State, all of Alabla&s;ter and very cool. There was in it al&s;o a Marble Tomb, a Piece of mo&s;t incomparable Workman|&s;hip;
<PB N="401" REF="217"> upon which lay a Knight extended all at length; not of Marble or Bra&s;s, as in other Monuments, but Fle&s;h and Bones. He cover'd the Re|gion of his Heart with his Right Hand, which &s;eem'd to me to be very hairy and &s;inewy; an unque&s;tionable &s;ign of the great &s;trength of the Decea&s;ed Knight. Now while I was viewing this Sepulcher with equal Curio&s;ity and A&s;toni&s;hment, behold here, &s;aid <HI>Monte&s;inos,</HI> my Friend <HI>Du|randart,</HI> the Flowr and Mirror of all the Amorous and Valiant Knights of his Time. <HI>Merlin,</HI> that famous <HI>Welch Necromancer,</HI> who as they &s;ay was the Son of the Devil; tho I believe if he were his Son, he knew more then his Father; I &s;ay, that <HI>Merlin</HI> keeps him here Inchanted, as he does Me and a great number of others both Men and Women: But how or wherefore he has Inchanted us no body knows: Perhaps he may be call'd to a &s;evere accompt ere long; and I believe the time is neer at hand. But that which mo&s;t a&s;toni&s;hes me is this, that I am as &s;ure as ever I eat my Vittles, that <HI>Durandart</HI> breath'd his la&s;t Ga&s;p in my Arms, and that &s;o &s;oon as he was dead I ript his Heart with my own hands out of his Body; by the &s;ame token, that to &s;peak mode&s;tly it weigh'd above two Pound <HI>Averdupois</HI> weight: and what opinion ought we to have then of the Courage of my Friend, &s;ince the Natural Philo&s;ophers tell us, that a great Heart is the mark of a great Courage? Now this Knight being dead as I have told yee, how comes it to pa&s;s, that he &s;ighs and weeps, and makes tho&s;e heavy complaints as every day he does, ju&s;t as he us'd to do when he was alive?</P>
<P>No &s;ooner were the&s;e words out of <HI>Monte&s;inos</HI>'s Mouth, but the unfor|tunate <HI>Durandart</HI> cry'd out, Ah my dear Cou&s;in <HI>Monte&s;inos!</HI> well you know, that the la&s;t reque&s;t I made you with my fainting Breath, was to rip my Heart out of my Body, &s;o &s;oon as I was dead, and carry it to the Fair <HI>Belerma.</HI> To whom <HI>Monte&s;inos,</HI> falling upon his Knees with Tears in his Eyes, Sir <HI>Durandart,</HI> &s;aid he, the Deare&s;t of my Kindred, believe me now upon the word of a Kin&s;man, if I did not fulfil all your de&s;ires; the very fatal day of your Decea&s;e, I took your Heart out of your Body as cleverly as an Anatomi&s;t, dry'd up the Blood with a Damask-Napkin, then wrapt it up in a Lawn Handkercher, border'd about with a Needlework Lace, wa&s;h'd my Hands in the Tears that fell from my Eyes, and after I had payd my la&s;t Duties to your decea&s;ed Body, away I tript from <HI>Ronce&s;|valles</HI> for <HI>France,</HI> by the &s;ame token that the next Town I came to lodge at, I rub'd your Heart with three or four Handfuls of the be&s;t Salt, for fear it &s;hould &s;mell and offend the No&s;trils of the fair <HI>Belerma,</HI> whom the <HI>Necromancer Merlin</HI> has kept Inchanted in this place for many years, as well as you and I, together with <HI>Guadiana</HI> your Squire. Madam <HI>Ruy|dera,</HI> her &s;even Daughters, and too Cou&s;ins were here two; with &s;everal others of your Acquaintance: and tho it be now above five hunder'd years &s;ince we were fir&s;t clapt up in this Jayl, we are all &s;till alive, unle&s;s it be Madam <HI>Ruydera</HI> and her &s;even Daughters; who&s;e Tears &s;o melted cruel <HI>Merlins</HI> Heart, that he metamorphos'd the Daughters into &s;o many Foun|tains, and the Mother into a River. <HI>Guadiana</HI> your Squire, who conti|nually bewail'd your Misfortune, he chang'd into another River, that bears his own name, yet &s;till &s;o &s;en&s;ible of your di&s;a&s;ters, that &s;ometimes it hides it &s;elf under Ground, de&s;irous as it were to conceal its &s;orrows from the World; nor will it &s;uffer any whol&s;om and well ta&s;ted Fi&s;h with|in its Streams, as loth to feed the Cruelty of Human kind. All this dear Cou&s;in I have &s;everal times told ye before, and becau&s;e you never made me any an&s;wer, I thought you gave no credit to my words, which
<PB N="402" REF="218"> greiv'd me to the Soul. But now I have other News to tell ye, which if it do not revive your Spirits, can be no prejudice to your Quiet; and that is, that you have here before ye the famous Knight, concerning whom the Cruel <HI>Merlin</HI> has foretold &s;o many Miracles, I mean the Couragious <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> who has not only re&s;tor'd neglected <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI> to the World, but advanc'd it to its ancient Lu&s;tre, and by whom we may expect to be releas'd from our Inchantment, &s;ince great Performances are &s;till re&s;erv'd for the mo&s;t Illu&s;trious Champions. Then <HI>Durandart</HI> with a faint and langui&s;hing utterance, Oh Cou&s;in! but &s;hould it be otherwi&s;e&mdash; &s;hould it be otherwi&s;e, Cou&s;in&mdash; <HI>there's no remedy but patience and &s;huffling the Cards again</HI>&mdash; and &s;o &s;aying, he turn'd him a one &s;ide and fell a&s;leep again.</P>
<P>By and by I heard mo&s;t bitter Howlings and Lamentations, accom|pani'd with mo&s;t doleful &s;obs and &s;ighs; at what time turning about my head I &s;aw through the Chry&s;tal Wall, a Proce&s;&s;ion, in two Companies, of Beautiful Ladies all clad in Mourning, with White Sarcenet Hoods up|on their heads. In the rear of the re&s;t follow'd a mo&s;t Ravi&s;hing Lady, that by her Gate and Gravity &s;eem'd to be &s;uperior to the others, in a black Crape Manteau, with a long white Veil that reach'd down from her Head to her Heels; &s;he had a black Peak upon her Forhead, and her Head was dre&s;t up with plain white Mo&s;elin, cover'd with a large Love Hood. Moreover &s;he had a full black Eye-brow; a No&s;e &s;omewhat flat, and a wide Mouth; a little Blubber Lip'd, but her Harrow-Teeth were extreamly white, though very thin and &s;naggy withal. She held in her Hand a very fine Diaper Napkin, wherein you might perceive an Em|balm'd Heart, that look'd as if it had been dry'd in a Bakers Oven. <HI>Mon|te&s;inos</HI> told me, that all tho&s;e Ladies were Maids of Honour to <HI>Durandart</HI> and <HI>Belerma,</HI> all <HI>Merlins</HI> Pri&s;oners, and that &s;he that carry'd the Heart was <HI>Belerma</HI> her &s;elf, who four times a week walk'd that Proce&s;&s;ion with her Dam&s;els, &s;inging all the way the Lamentation of a bad Market, or ra|ther howling out a hunder'd <HI>Ohone Ohones</HI> over the Heart of the unfortu|nate Champion. To this he added, that if <HI>Belerma</HI> was not &s;o fair as was reported, it was to be attributed to her &s;ufferings under Enchant|ment that had &s;unck her Eyes, and tarni&s;h'd her Complexion; for that when &s;he was in her Prime, the Fair <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> &s;o fam'd in the World, was a meer Dowdy to her. Hold a blow there, good Mr. <HI>Monte&s;inos,</HI> quo I, Compari&s;ons are odious, Mrs. <HI>Belerma</HI> might have had her Advantages of Beauty, but I be&s;eech ye wipe your Mouth when you talk of <HI>Madam Dul|cinea;</HI> the Matchle&s;s <HI>Dulcinea</HI> gives way to nere a Piskitchin <HI>Belerma</HI> i' the World. I beg your Pardon, Sir <HI>Knight,</HI> quo <HI>Monte&s;inos,</HI> I confe&s;s I talk'd at Rovers, to compare Mrs. <HI>Belerma</HI> with <HI>Madam Dulcinea,</HI> e&s;peci|ally con&s;idering how Fame has &s;pread her Beauty. Had I known you had been her Knight, I would a bit off my Tongue, and &s;wallow'd it, before I would ha' compar'd her with any thing, but Heaven it &s;elf. This &s;ub|mi&s;&s;ion of <HI>Monte&s;inos</HI> pacifi'd me, and kept my boyling wrath from Run|ning over.</P>
<P>Nowns&mdash; quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I wonder ye did not lay th' old Ra&s;cal &s;prawling upon his Back and kick out his Guts; certainly you were very tame i' th' other World&mdash; how could you leave him one hair upon his Chin! No, <HI>Sancho,</HI> no, we are oblig'd to re&s;pect our Elders, tho they be no Knights; e&s;pecially &s;uch as are under the Oppre&s;&s;ion of Enchantment. However as I would not &s;eem to be rude, &s;o neither would I take any thing which I look't upon as an affront.</P>
<PB N="403" REF="218">
<P>But I be&s;eech ye, Sir, quo the Schollar, how could it be, that in &s;o &s;hort a time you &s;hould &s;ee and hear &s;o many &s;trange things? Why how long, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> have I been below i' the Cave? About five quarters of an hour, reply'd <HI>Sancho.</HI> Five quarters of an hour! quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> how can that be? when I have &s;een the Sun ri&s;e and &s;et three times. Troth, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> my Ma&s;ter may be i' the Right on't&mdash;for &s;eeing that whatever befals him is done by Enchantment, the time which we took for an hour may well be three days, with every one their Nights belonging to 'em. 'Tis very true, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote.</HI> I hope, Sir, quo the Schollar, you have been highly fea&s;ted i' your Chry&s;tal Palace; pray, Sir, what good chear had ye? Not one Mor&s;el, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> nor indeed had I any de&s;ire to eat or drink all the while. Why? quo the Schollar, do the Enchanted never eat? They neither eat nor drink, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> nor do they ever untru&s;s their Breeches or draw again&s;t the Wall, tho &s;ome are of opinion that their Nails and their Beards do grow. But do they never &s;leep neither? quo <HI>Sancho.</HI> No more then Hares, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> at lea&s;t in all the three days time that I was there, I &s;aw not one that had &s;o much as an Inclina|tion to wink. <HI>Company makes Cuckolds,</HI> quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> you were with tho&s;e that were Enchanted, who neither eat nor drank; no wonder then, you neither did eat nor drink &s;o long as you were in their Com|pany. They that are at <HI>Rome</HI> mu&s;t do as they do at <HI>Rome.</HI> Yet for all that, Sir, would ye have me &s;peak my mind; why then I beg your pardon, Sir; for God take me, I was going to &s;ay, the Devil fetch me, if I believe one Tittle of all your long Story. What's your Rea&s;on, quo the Schollar; is your Ma&s;ter <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;o addicted to lying? Or &s;up|po&s;e he were, he could never have invented &s;o many &s;tories in &s;o &s;hort a time. 'Tis not, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> that I believe my Ma&s;ter Lies;&mdash; What is 't then that thou believ'&s;t, quo <HI>Don Quixote?</HI> I believe, Sir, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> that this &s;ame <HI>Merlin,</HI> or tho&s;e <HI>Necromancers</HI> that Enchanted all that Rabble of People you talk of, have cramm'd into your Pate by En|chantment, all that you have told us, and all that you have yet to tell us, and this I dare be bold to take my Corpral Oath of. This is no &s;uch improbability but that it might be &s;o, quo <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> however 'tis not &s;o: For what I &s;aw, I &s;aw with my own Eyes, and what I heard, I heard with my own Ears. But what will thy <HI>Infidel&s;hip</HI> &s;ay to hear me tell thee, that among four thou&s;and other far more amazing wonders, which <HI>Mon|te&s;inos</HI> &s;hew'd me, and which I &s;hall impart at times as we ride toge|ther, <HI>He</HI> gave me a &s;ight of three Country Girls, that leapt and frisk'd about the Meadow like two young Goats, of which I knew one to be <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> and the other two to be her Companions, that thou and I kneel'd to, not far from <HI>Tobo&s;o.</HI> I ask'd <HI>Monte&s;inos</HI> if he knew 'em? He told me, no; but that they were &s;ome Enchanted Prince&s;&s;es, that <HI>Merlins</HI> Officers had lately brought to Jayl without a <HI>Habeas Corpus.</HI> For that the Devils Counter was full, there being a great number of other La|dies o' the Womens &s;ide, Enchanted under &s;everal di&s;guizes; &s;ome that had layn there for many years; others but lately brought in; and that a|mong the re&s;t he knew Queen <HI>Guinever,</HI> and Madam <HI>Quintaniona,</HI> who was a kind of <HI>Betty Buly</HI> to Sir <HI>Lancelot,</HI> when he return'd into <HI>Britain.</HI></P>
<P><HI>Sancho</HI> was ready to bur&s;t his &s;ides when he heard his Ma&s;ter talk at that Rate; for he knew the Enchantment of <HI>Dulcinea</HI> to be a damn'd Lye, as being the Enchanter him&s;elf; and thence concluding his Ma&s;ter had lo&s;t his Wits, Sir, &s;aid he, in an ill hour, did you de&s;cend into the other
<PB N="404" REF="219"> World; and by the Devils appointment did you meet with <HI>Monte&s;inos;</HI>&mdash; the Devil's Butler, I take him to be, for he has made ye free of his Ma|&s;ters Cellar&mdash; You went hence i' your Wits, with all your Sences, a|bout yee&mdash; talking Sentences at every turn, and giving good Coun&s;el to all that would take it; but now&mdash; Mercy defend me, you talk as if y' had left your Brains in Satans Buttery. I know thee <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and therefore I give little heed to what thou &s;ay'&s;t. Nor I by my Faith, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> to what you &s;ay&mdash; You may kick me, or kill me, if you plea&s;e, for what I have &s;aid, I'm &s;ure 'tis true&mdash; But, Sir, be|fore your Pa&s;&s;ion ri&s;es, pray tell me, what did Madam <HI>Dulcinea</HI> &s;ay to yee, and what did you &s;ay to her? I knew her again, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> by the Red Wa&s;tcoat &s;he had on when thou &s;hewd'&s;t her me, and I &s;pake to her; but now when I made my Addre&s;&s;es to her, in&s;tead of making me an an&s;wer, &s;he turn'd her tail, and flew away with that &s;wiftne&s;s, that an Arrow out of a Bow would not have overtaken her. I would fain have follow'd her, but <HI>Monte&s;inos</HI> told me 'twas in vain&mdash; and then diver|ting me with other di&s;cour&s;e, he told me farther, that in a &s;hort time he would put me in a way to di&s;olve the <HI>Necromancer Merlin</HI>'s Enchantment, and &s;et both <HI>Durandart, Belerma,</HI> and all the re&s;t of the Pri&s;oners at Liberty. But that which griev'd me mo&s;t of all was this, that while <HI>Monte&s;inos</HI> and I were thus talking together, one of the unfortunate <HI>Dulcinea</HI>'s A&s;&s;o|ciates came o' the left &s;ide of me, with Tears in her Eyes, and with a faint and &s;orrowful voice whi&s;pring me i' the Ear; My Lady <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> quo &s;he, commends her mo&s;t kindly to your Highne&s;s, de&s;iring to know how you do; and becau&s;e &s;he is in great want, be&s;eeches your Wor&s;hip to lend her three Shillings, or what you can &s;pare upon this new Flannel Petti|coat, which &s;he intends to redeem in a very &s;hort time. I mu&s;t confe&s;s this Me&s;&s;age &s;trangely &s;urpriz'd me, and therefore turning about to <HI>Monte|&s;inos,</HI> is it po&s;&s;ible Mr. <HI>Monte&s;inos,</HI> quo I, that Enchanted Per&s;ons of Qua|lity &s;hould want in this place? Why truly, reply'd <HI>Monte&s;inos,</HI> we Jay|lors do not buy our Pri&s;ons for nothing&mdash; and as for Nece&s;&s;ity it creeps into all Places, and a&s;&s;ails all Qualities, and Conditions, not pardoning tho&s;e that are Enchanted&mdash; the Lodging and Cellar mu&s;t be pay'd, or el&s;e they are turn'd into the Hole&mdash; and therefore if Madam <HI>Dulcinea</HI> want three Shillings, the Pawn's a good Pawn, and I'de advi&s;e ye to &s;end it her&mdash; I take no Pawns, &s;aid I, neither can I &s;end her three Shillings, for I ha' but eighteen Pence i' my Pocket, which was the Money I had of thee, <HI>Sancho,</HI> to give to the Poor that I might meet i' the other World; and this eighteen Pence I gave the Maid with the&s;e expre&s;&s;ions&mdash; Maid, &s;aid I, tell thy Mi&s;tre&s;s that I am heartily &s;orry for her di&s;tre&s;&s;es, and wi&s;h I were another old <HI>Audley</HI> to relieve her&mdash; let her know that I have no Comfort in my Life, nor any repo&s;e of mind or Body, while I am de|priv'd of her Company and Conver&s;ation; and therefore de&s;ire her to vouch&s;afe that favour to her Weather-beaten Captive, to let him Ki&s;s her fair Hands, and enjoy the Con&s;olation of her Beautiful Society but for an hour or two&mdash; Tell her withal, that when &s;he little dreams on't, &s;he &s;hall hear how I have made an Oath, like the Marque&s;s of <HI>Mantua,</HI> never to eat upon a Table-cloath, nor to &s;leep between a pair of Sheets, till I have got her Execution Money pay'd, and deliver'd her from her Enchantment. All this and more you owe my Mi&s;tre&s;s, quo the Dam&s;el, and then having got the eighteen Pence, in&s;tead of making me a Curt&s;ie, &s;he fetcht a Ca|per i' the Air above fifteen yards high, and I never &s;aw her again.</P>
<PB N="405" REF="219">
<P>Heavens ble&s;s me, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> that Enchanters and Enchantments &s;hould be able thus to intoxicate and bewitch the be&s;t Wit in <HI>Mancha.</HI> O Ma&s;ter, dear Ma&s;ter, for the Love of God, recover your lo&s;t Wits, and never doat upon the&s;e follies that craze your under&s;tanding in this wicked manner.</P>
<P>Thy Affection poor <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> makes thee talk at this rate, and for want of experience in the World thou believ'&s;t tho&s;e things impo&s;&s;ible that &s;eem difficult to be accompli&s;h'd. But as I have &s;aid, the time will come when I &s;hall tell thee &s;uch &s;tories of what I have &s;een i' this Cave, that thou &s;halt no longer que&s;tion the Truth of what I have already related.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="24" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XXIV.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Where you will find a hunder'd Fiddle Faddles and Impertinences, as ridi|culous as nece&s;&s;ary for the under&s;tanding this true Hi&s;tory.</HEAD>
<P>THe Tran&s;lator of <HI>Cid Hamet Benengeli</HI> tells us, that when he came to the Chapter of the Cave of <HI>Monte&s;inos,</HI> he found written in the Margin, with the Authors own hand the following words.</P>
<P><HI>I can hardly believe that all tho&s;e things that are related in the forgoing Chapter &s;o punctually befel the Great</HI> Don Quixote, <HI>as he has de&s;crib'd 'em in his Relation. For there is &s;ome po&s;&s;ibility in all the re&s;t of the Adventures which hitherto have been recorded; but in this of the Cave of</HI> Monte&s;inos, <HI>there is not the lea&s;t probability, no coherence with Rea&s;on, but a flim flam as impo&s;&s;ible as extraordinary. Not that I believe</HI> Don Quixote, <HI>the Noble&s;t and Sincere&s;t Knight of his time would tell a Lye; rather I am con&s;ident he would fir&s;t have been &s;hot to death. On the other &s;ide he has related this Ad|venture with &s;o many Circum&s;tances, that I dare not for my Life be &s;o un|kind to his Memory as not to believe him, e&s;pecially when I con&s;ider that he had not time enough to invent &s;o great a Clu&s;ter of Fables. However I thought fit to in&s;ert it among the re&s;t, without undertaking to affirm or contradict, lea|ving it to the Reader to pa&s;s what cen&s;ure upon it he plea&s;es; only let him take this adverti&s;ement by the way, that for a certain, when</HI> Don Quixote <HI>was upon his death Bed, he di&s;own'd this Adventure, and &s;aid, he only inven|ted it to the end he might with more exactne&s;s imitate the Stories which he had read in his Legends of Knight-Errantry.</HI> To proceed then,</P>
<P>The Schollar all this while was &s;trangely a&s;toni&s;h'd at the Liberty which <HI>Sancho</HI> took, but much more at his Ma&s;ters patience. All that he could imagin was only this, that the joy and &s;atisfaction which had po&s;&s;e&s;s'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for having &s;een his <HI>Mi&s;tre&s;s,</HI> tho inchanted as &s;he was, had mollify'd and &s;weeten'd his Vinegar Temper, &s;ince otherwi&s;e <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;poke tho&s;e words that ju&s;tly merited his being ground to Powder. For my part, Sir Knight, &s;aid he, I cannot but look upon my time extreamly well &s;pent in this Journey, upon four con&s;iderations. Fir&s;t, for that it has brought me to the honour of your Acquaintance, which I mo&s;t infinite|ly e&s;teem. In the next place for the Information it has given me of the manifold wonders conceal'd before within the Cave of <HI>Monte&s;inos,</HI> with the <HI>Metamorpho&s;es</HI> of <HI>Guadiana,</HI> and the Daughters of <HI>Ruydera,</HI> which will be of great u&s;e to me in the next Edition of my <HI>Ovid</HI> with <HI>Cutts.</HI> I have
<PB N="406" REF="220"> al&s;o thereby learnt the Antiquity of <HI>Card-playing,</HI> which I find to have been a Pa&s;time in u&s;e even in the Reign of the Emperour <HI>Charle le Main:</HI> by the words of <HI>Durandart, We mu&s;t have patience and &s;huffle the Cards a|gain;</HI> which mu&s;t have been a Vulgar Proverb in his Life time, &s;ince he could not learn it after he was inchanted: and it comes pat al&s;o for my Supplement to <HI>Polydore Virgil,</HI> who as I remember, &s;ays nothing of the An|tiquity of Cards, which it is of &s;o great importance to know; and for which I am o'rejoy'd to have the Authentic Te&s;timony of &s;o grave and an|cient an Author as <HI>Durandart.</HI> And la&s;tly, now I know for certain the true &s;ource of the River <HI>Guadiana,</HI> how it came to be a River, and whence it fir&s;t deriv'd its name; all which &s;ecrets have hitherto been conceal'd from human Learning.</P>
<P>And truly, Sir, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I am no le&s;s glad to have contribu|ted to the clearing of your under&s;tanding in the&s;e points of &s;uch weighty moment. But pray, Sir, to whom will you dedicate the&s;e Works of yours, if you happen to obtain a Licence, which I very much doubt; for in truth to tell ye, &s;uch impertinent Learning as this, is no more then ju&s;tly &s;ecluded from the Pre&s;s.</P>
<P>Are there not great Lords and Per&s;ons of Quality enow i' the Kingdom? reply'd the Schollar. Not &s;o many as you think for, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> for the greate&s;t part are quite tir'd out with Dedications; and for the re&s;t, they're of a humour not to be troubled with impertinent Morning Vi&s;its. But let us call another Cau&s;e, and con&s;ider where to lodge this Night.</P>
<P>Sir, quo the Schollar, not far from this place there &s;tands a <HI>Hermitage,</HI> the Retirement of a devout Per&s;on, who as they &s;ay was formerly a Soul|dier; He is lookt upon as a good Chri&s;tian, and &s;o charitable that he has built a little Hou&s;e by his Hermitage, for the entertainment of &s;uch as have lo&s;t their way, or come to vi&s;it his Solitudes. But has this devout Hermite any good Vittles? quo <HI>Sancho.</HI> There are few but have, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for they live not now adays like tho&s;e of <HI>Thebais,</HI> that co|ver'd their Nakedne&s;s with Palm-Leaves, and fed upon Roots. I do not deny but the&s;e may be as good Chri&s;tians as the other, only their Penances are not &s;o au&s;tere as in former Ages. In a word, they are both good; and tho they were not, yet we ought to judge favourably of their reti|ring from the World. For the Hypocrite that makes it his bu&s;ine&s;s to ap|pear Holy, is always le&s;s culpable, then the &s;inner that boa&s;ts of his Crimes.</P>
<P>While they were thus di&s;cour&s;ing, they look'd back and &s;aw coming to|ward 'em, a Man that was a-foot him&s;elf, yet travel'd a very great pace, driving before him a Hor&s;e laden with Lances and Halberds; which made 'em take up and ride gently. But &s;o &s;oon as the Man had overtaken 'em, Hold, hone&s;t Friend, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> there's no nece&s;&s;ity of making &s;uch ha&s;te by what I find by thy Hor&s;e. Sir, quo the Fellow, I can't &s;tay; for the&s;e Weapons that you &s;ee, mu&s;t be made u&s;e of to morrow&mdash; If you de&s;ire to know more concerning this matter, I &s;hall lodge to night at the Lone Inn upon the Road, about &s;ix miles beyond the Hermitage, whe|ther if it be your fortune to follow me, I &s;hall tell ye wonders; and &s;o Godbuy to yee all Gentlemen&mdash;and &s;o &s;aying, he gave his Hor&s;e &s;uch a lick o' the Buttocks with his Whip, that away trotted the Hor&s;e and the Fellow after, with that &s;wiftne&s;s, that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> had no lei&s;ure to ask any more que&s;tions. However <HI>Don Quixote</HI> had &s;uch an itching ear af|ter Novelties, e&s;pecially if they had but the lea&s;t Twang of an Adven|ture, that he re&s;olv'd to lie at the Inn, and not to &s;top at the Hermi|tage.
<PB N="407" REF="220"> But notwith&s;tanding <HI>Don Quixot</HI>'s re&s;olutions, <HI>Sancho</HI> was deter|min'd to call and &s;ee how the Hermite was provided. To which purpo&s;e he whipt on his <HI>Grizzle,</HI> and rid before, and being come up to the Her|mitage, <HI>So ho, Hou&s;e,</HI> quo he, who's within here? But &s;uch was <HI>Sancho</HI>'s ill luck, that the <HI>Hermite</HI> was gone abroad, and there was no body at home, but another Old Man, the <HI>Hermite</HI>'s Companion, whom <HI>Sancho</HI> ask'd whe|ther he had any &s;trong Liquor within? To which the Old Man made an|&s;wer, that he could not come at the &s;trong Liquor, but if he would have any &s;mall Water, he &s;hould have his Belly full. <HI>Sancho</HI> reply'd, that he could have had Water enough upon the Road; and then fetching a deep &s;igh, farewel <HI>Don Diego</HI>'s good Vittles, and the Rich <HI>Martins</HI> Wedding, quo he, there's nothing but <HI>cold Comfort</HI> in <HI>Hermitages.</HI></P>
<P>Having &s;ped &s;o ill at the <HI>Hermitage,</HI> they rode on toward the Inn, and upon the Road they overtook a young Lad, that walk'd carele&s;ly along, &s;houldring his Sword with a little bundle ty'd to the Scabbard. He had on an old Velvet Jerkin, very bare and thin; the tail of his Shirt hung out at the Knees of his Breeches, which had been once of a good &s;ort of Silk, and upon his Feet he wore the remains of a pair of Spani&s;h-leather Shoes. He was about eighteen years of Age, a lively brisk Lad, well complexion'd and hand&s;ome; and as they came neer him, they heard him &s;inging the conclu&s;ion of an old Ballad.</P>
<Q><L>And &s;o farewel, my <HI>Jinny,</HI> farewel,</L>
<L>For I to the Wars mu&s;t go;</L>
<L>Yet had I but Money in my Poke,</L>
<L>I would not leave thee &s;o.</L></Q>
<P>Spark i' the Paper Garments, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> which way bound? Me thinks you are but thinly clad, Sir youth, to let your Shirt take &s;o much Air. Nece&s;&s;ity, Sir, reply'd the Youth, con&s;trains it, and the hot weather excu&s;es it; and I am going for a Souldier. I admit the Heat, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> but why Nece&s;&s;ity. Sir, quo the young Lad, I have i' my bundle a pair of Breeches an&s;werable to my Jerkin, but I am loath to wear 'em out upon the Road, becau&s;e they will do me more credit when I come to a good Town. Now I hear of &s;ome new rais'd Foot Compa|nies that lie about fifteen miles off, with whom I intend to li&s;t my &s;elf; and then I intend to throw off my Rags; for I had rather have the King for my Ma&s;ter, then &s;tarve under e're a beggerly Courtier of 'em all. Prithee, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> what makes thee complain &s;o much of the Cour|tiers?</P>
<P>Perphaps, quo the Youth, had I &s;erv'd any Eminent Nobleman, or Per|&s;on of Quality, I might have had as little rea&s;on as another; for their Lac|queys many time come to be Captains or Lieutenants at lea&s;t; but it has been always my ill Fortune to wait upon Up&s;tarts and younger Brothers, who&s;e Allowance was &s;o &s;hort, that the greate&s;t part of it always went to buy me Shoes and Stockins: no wonder then there was &s;o little hopes of Preferment among them. Truly Friend, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> you &s;erv'd ve|ry bad Ma&s;ters indeed, that in all the while you could never get your &s;elf a whole Livery. Why truly, Sir, an&s;wer'd the Youth, I never &s;erv'd but two poor-&s;pirited Ma&s;ters, who when they had di&s;patch'd their bu&s;i|ne&s;s at Court, went home again into the Country; and then, as in Mo|na&s;tries, where if a Man goes out before he profe&s;&s;es, they take his fre&s;h Habit from him, and return him his old Cloaths; my Ma&s;ters &s;tript me of
<PB N="408" REF="221"> my Liveries, which they only made for a little O&s;tentation in the City, and &s;ent me a grazing with my old Rags. A poor piece of Miching Ba&s;e|ne&s;s indeed, quo <HI>Don Quixote:</HI> and therefore I mu&s;t needs commend thee for leaving the Court, e&s;pecially con&s;idering the Bravery of thy de&s;ign; for there is nothing more noble nor more beneficial in this World, then to &s;erve God in the fir&s;t place, and the King in the next, e&s;pecially in the Profe&s;&s;ion of Arms; for tho a Man do not thereby heap up Wealth, yet he gains more honour by Military employment, then by Learning. 'Tis true indeed, more Families have been advanc'd by the Gown, then by the Sword; yet whatever be the rea&s;on of it, the Souldier has always this ad|vantage above the Schollar, that he &s;hines forth in the World with a more pompous and brighter Splendor. And therefore young Man, mind and remember what I now tell ye, and which may be much for your pro|fit and con&s;olation hereafter; be &s;ure to be ready prepar'd for all Events that can happen, the wor&s;t of which is death; and if it be a good and an ho|ne&s;t Death, it is the greate&s;t happine&s;s in the World. <HI>Julius Cae&s;ar</HI> be|ing ask'd what death he would make choice of? To dye &s;uddenly, &s;aid he, wherein he &s;aid well, tho a <HI>Pagan,</HI> and one that had no knowledge of the true God. For what imports it whether I be kill'd with a Can|non Bullet, or blown up in a Mine; 'tis all but dying: and a Souldier &s;tretch'd forth dead upon the Field of Battel, looks far more honourable then alive and &s;afe in flight. 'Tis the bu&s;ine&s;s and the glory of a Soul|dier to obey his Superiours, and tho&s;e that command him; and I mu&s;t tell thee young Man, 'tis better for a Souldier to &s;mell of Gunpowder, then Amber-Greece or E&s;&s;ence of Oranges; and if Age overtake thee in this honourable Employment of fighting for thy King and Country, tho co|ver'd with Scars, tho lame and maim'd, it never can &s;urprize thee with|out honour, that will guard thee from the contempt of Poverty; nay from Poverty it &s;elf, while thy Princes generous Providence takes care of thy &s;upport. I have nothing more to &s;ay to thee at pre&s;ent, hone&s;t fel|low Souldier, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> only get thee up behind me, and I'le car|ry thee to the Inn, where thou &s;halt Sup with me to night, and then God be with thee, and &s;end thee well to do.</P>
<P>The young Lad civilly excus'd him&s;elf from riding behind the Knight, but willingly accepted of his Invitation to Supper. But that which bred admiration in <HI>Sancho,</HI> was to hear his Ma&s;ter talk &s;o like a <HI>Rabby.</HI> Nowns, quo he, muttering to him&s;elf, how is it po&s;&s;ible that a Man that talks as this Man does, nothing but Sentences and Pithy &s;ayings, a Man that is able to be a Privy Councellor to a Marqui&s;s, &s;hould be &s;o be&s;otted as to believe tho&s;e impo&s;&s;ibilities, which he tells us he has &s;een in <HI>Monte&s;inos</HI>'s Cave, and affirm 'em for Go&s;pel. Body a Me, never was any &s;ingle Mortal &s;o po&s;|&s;e&s;s'd, at the &s;ame time by <HI>Fool</HI> and <HI>Wi&s;e-man</HI> thus by turns, i' this World&mdash;</P>
<P>And now the Sun was ju&s;t ready to &s;et when they arriv'd at the Inn; at what time, that which mainly overjoy'd <HI>Sancho</HI> was, that his Ma&s;ter took the Inn for what it really was, not a Ca&s;tle but an Inn, contrary to his u&s;ual Cu&s;tom.</P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> was no &s;ooner enter'd the Yard, but he enquir'd of the Inn|keeper for the Man with the Swords and the Halberds; who an&s;wering, that he was in the Stable, they all alighted, and <HI>Don Quixote</HI> gave his Hor&s;e to <HI>Sancho.</HI></P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="25" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="409" REF="221">
<HEAD>CHAP. XXV.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing the Braying Adventure; with the Adventure of the Puppet-Player, and the Fortune-telling Ape.</HEAD>
<P><HI>DON Quixote</HI> was more in ha&s;te, then the fellow that left his Drink behind him, to under&s;tand what tho&s;e wonders were, which the <HI>Man</HI> with the <HI>Swords</HI> had promis'd to tell him; and therefore he would an&s;wer to none of tho&s;e que&s;tions; <HI>What will ye plea&s;e to drink?</HI> or <HI>What will ye have to Supper?</HI> nay, he would not be &s;hew'd a Room, till he had caus'd the Carrier to be &s;ent for, and had challeng'd him with his Promi&s;e. To whom, no &s;uch ha&s;te to hang true Folks, quo the Carrier&mdash; My Mira|cles are not to be told &s;tanding&mdash; give me but leave to look after my Bea&s;t, and when I ha' &s;erv'd my Bea&s;t, then I'le &s;erve your Wor&s;hip. If that be all, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I'le go and help thee my &s;elf; and &s;o &s;aying, away he went with the Carrier into the Stable, and while the one rubb'd down and Litter'd his Bea&s;t, the other &s;ifted the Oats, and clean'd the Manger. Which was a piece of humility, in the Champion, &s;o gaining up|on the Carrier, that leaving the Stable, he went into the Yard, and &s;eat|ing him&s;elf upon the Hor&s;e-block, while <HI>Don Quixote, Sancho,</HI> the Schol|lar, the Page, and the Innkeeper lent him their mo&s;t attentive Ears, thus deliver'd him&s;elf.</P>
<P>About five or &s;ix miles, quo he, from this Place there &s;tands a very large Town under the Government of two Bayliffs, and their A&s;&s;i&s;tants: Now it happen'd that a little while &s;ince, the Head Bayliff, as &s;ome &s;ay through the negligence, as others &s;ay through the Treachery of his Maid Servant, lo&s;t his Milch A&s;s, and notwith&s;tanding all the diligent &s;earch he made after her, could never find her again. About fifteen days after, as the head Bayliff was walking about the Market-place, one of the Serjeants of the &s;ame Town coming to him: An't like your Wor&s;hip, quo he, what will you give me, and I will tell ye where your Milch A&s;s is. A &s;houlder a Mutton and a Capon quo the Bayliff&mdash; provided I have her agen. Why, reply'd the Serjeant, I &s;aw her this Morning upon the Mountain without either Pack-&s;addle or Halter, &s;o lean that it griev'd my heart to &s;ee her. I would have arre&s;ted her at your Wor&s;hips Suit, and brought her home again, but &s;he is grown &s;o lawle&s;s, &s;o wild and &s;o skitti&s;h, that withal the Craft I could u&s;e, I could not get neer her, and at length &s;he flung up her Heels, and flew into the covert of the Mountain. If your Wor&s;hip plea&s;es we'l go both together, and &s;ee if we can find her; perhaps the Bea&s;t may be more obedient to her Ma&s;ter then to me. You &s;ay very well Neighbour, quo the Bayliff, I accept your kind offer and thank you for it. With the&s;e Circum&s;tances, and after this manner all that know the &s;tory, relate it word for word.</P>
<P>In order to this Agreement, the Head Bayliff and the Serjeant, went ear|ly the next Morning afoot, to examin the Mountain, more e&s;pecially that part where the A&s;s had been &s;een the day before. But after they had gone many a weary &s;tep, lookt all about as if they had been &s;earching for Birds Ne&s;ts, quite tyr'd, and hungry as Foxes, not &s;o much as the Hair of an A&s;s was to be found; which very much afflicted the Bayliff. There|upon the Serjeant, beholding the Bayliff's mournful Countenance, now I think on't, quo he, I ha' thought upon a mo&s;t certain way to find out this A&s;s
<PB N="410" REF="222"> of yours, if &s;he be above ground; nay tho &s;he &s;hould be hid fifteen yards un|der the Earth; for I my &s;elf can <HI>Bray</HI> to a Miracle, and if your Wor&s;hip could but <HI>Bray</HI> never &s;o little, the bu&s;ine&s;s were done. Never &s;o little! re|ply'd the Bayliff; I &s;peak it without boa&s;ting, I defie all Mankind, nay the very A&s;&s;es them&s;elves to <HI>Bray</HI> more to the life then I can. So much the better, reply'd the Serjeant; then do you go a one &s;ide the Mountain, and I'le go a' tother; and do you <HI>Bray</HI> a' your &s;ide, and I'le <HI>Bray</HI> a' mine; for then if the A&s;s be i' the Mountain, the Devil him&s;elf mu&s;t be too &s;trong for the A&s;s, if &s;he don't come to her kind, the fir&s;t that &s;he hears <HI>Bray,</HI> whether you or me. Upon my word, quo the Bayliff, a notable invention, and which none but a Man-hunter could ever have hit upon.</P>
<P>At the &s;ame time they parted, and when they thought them&s;elves at a &s;ufficient di&s;tance one from the other, they both fell a <HI>Braying</HI> &s;o exactly, that one deluding the t'other, they both made toward each others noi&s;e, believing the A&s;s had been found, and &s;o met again. Bodikins, quo the Bayliff, I'de ha' layd my Life I had heard my A&s;s <HI>Bray.</HI> 'Twas your Wor|&s;hips mi&s;take, quo the Serjeant, for 'twas I that you heard <HI>Bray,</HI> Well! quo the Bayliff, now Neighbour, mu&s;t I acknowledge that there is no dif|ference between an A&s;s and thee, I mean i' the matter of <HI>Braying;</HI> for upon my life I never heard the like. The&s;e Prai&s;es, reply'd the Serjeant, better belong to your <HI>Wor&s;hip,</HI> then your unworthy Officer; for without flattery, your <HI>Wor&s;hip</HI> is able to teach all the young A&s;&s;es i' the Country to <HI>Bray:</HI> You have a &s;trong Voice, excellent Lungs, and hold out your note exactly; you have the true <HI>Ronk huyinck, Ronk huyinck,</HI> and the Twir|ling of your Lips to a hairs breadth. In a word I yield your Wor&s;hip the Bays, and will never more pretend to <HI>Bray</HI> i' your Company. <HI>Kings truce,</HI> quo the Bayliff; lore your Commendations, Neighbour, for they are more then I de&s;erve: However I &s;hall have a better Opinion of my <HI>Braying</HI> then ever I had, as having receiv'd your more judicious Approbation.</P>
<P>In good faith, Sir, quo the Serjeant, there are many good Qualities lo&s;t in the World, for want of knowing how to make u&s;e of 'em. You &s;ay very true, Neighbour, quo the Bayliff, for I &s;hould never have di&s;cover'd this Talent of mine, had it not been for this occa&s;ion, and I wi&s;h it may prove &s;ucce&s;sful.</P>
<P>After the&s;e Complements pa&s;t between 'em, they divided them&s;elves a &s;econd time, and went <HI>Braying</HI> one a' one &s;ide the Hill, and th' other a' t'other, more vigorou&s;ly and couragiou&s;ly then before; but being &s;till delu|ded by their own <HI>Braying,</HI> they as often ran to the noi&s;e, and met one an|other as before, believing &s;till 't had been the lo&s;t A&s;s; till at length they agreed to <HI>Bray</HI> twice one after another, to the end they might be &s;ure 'twas they, and not the A&s;s; and thus <HI>Braying</HI> twice together at a time, they fetcht a compa&s;s round about the Mountain, but all in vain, for the A&s;s made not the lea&s;t <HI>Huyinck</HI> of an an&s;wer. And indeed how was it po&s;|&s;ible the poor Bea&s;t &s;hould an&s;wer 'em, which afterwards when they had almo&s;t <HI>Ronk'd</HI> their Hearts out, they found in the thicke&s;t part of the Moun|tain half eaten by the Wolves. At what time, quo the Bayliff, I won|der indeed the A&s;s took &s;o little notice of his Kindred; which I'me &s;ure &s;he would ha' done, or el&s;e &s;he had been no A&s;s. But let her go Neighbour, I ha' lo&s;t my A&s;s, and found a good Quality; and it is my farther &s;atisfa|ction and a &s;ufficient recompence for my lo&s;s, that I have heard thee <HI>Bray</HI> &s;o deliciou&s;ly as I ha' done.</P>
<P><HI>The Gla&s;s is in a good hand,</HI> an't like your Wor&s;hip, quo the Serjeant, <HI>and if the Abbot &s;ings well, I'me &s;ure the little Monk comes not behind</HI>
<PB N="411" REF="222"> him. With that returning home, as hoar&s;e as Sowgelders horns, and as tyr'd as Dogs after a Fox cha&s;e, they told all their Friends and Acquain|tance what had befall'n 'em in &s;earch of the A&s;s; the Serjeant extolling the Bayliff, and the Bayliff applauding the Serjeant for his excellency in <HI>Braying,</HI> and both with an equal Genero&s;ity yielding the Palm to the o|ther.</P>
<P>Such a Story as this you may be &s;ure was &s;pread abroad over all the Coun|try, and the Devil who never &s;leeps, but watches all occa&s;ions to &s;ow di&s;|cord and di&s;&s;ention among Men, layd hold of the Opportunity; and &s;o ma|nag'd his bu&s;ine&s;s, that when any of the Neighbouring Villages met any of our Town, they would &s;till fall a <HI>Braying</HI> at 'em in deri&s;ion of our Bayliff.</P>
<P>At length the &s;tory was got among the Boys, and then all the Inhabitants of Hell had as good ha' known it; for pre&s;ently it flew like lightning from Village to Village; &s;o that our Town&s;men are as well known all over the Country, as the Begger knows his Di&s;h. But this is not all, for the jea&s;t is now gone &s;o far, that when the Jeerers and the Flowted meet, they fall to Daggers-drawing, fearing neither the King nor his Laws, and never part without broken Pates and bloody No&s;es. And now to morrow or next day at farthe&s;t, there is a Party of our Town, that are going to be re|veng'd upon a Village about two Leagues off, who are lookt upon as their mo&s;t inveterate Per&s;ecutors; and that's the rea&s;on they &s;ent me to buy the&s;e In&s;truments of mi&s;chief. And the&s;e are the wonders I promis'd to tell ye; which if they ben't wonders, may produce wonders for ought I know.</P>
<P>At the &s;ame time that the Country Fellow concluded his Story, there came into the Inn-yard a kind of a <HI>Merry-Andrew,</HI> in Doublet, Breeches, and Stockins of Shamoy Leather, who calling to the Innkeeper, ask'd him for a Room. Withal, Sir, &s;aid he, here's the Ape that tells For|tunes, and the Story of the Captive <HI>Meli&s;andra</HI>'s being &s;et at Liberty.</P>
<P>'Slife, quo the Innkeeper, who's here, Mr. <HI>Peter!</HI> we &s;hall be merry to night I find&mdash; Welcom Mr. <HI>Peter</HI>&mdash; but where's the Monkey and the <HI>Show?</HI>&mdash; Not far behind, quo <HI>Peter,</HI> only I came a little before, to know whither y' had any room or no. I'de refu&s;e the Duke of <HI>Alva</HI> to make room for Mr. <HI>Peter,</HI> quo the Ho&s;t; only bring the Monkey and the <HI>Show;</HI> for here are People enow to pay well for the Sight. Very good, quo Mr. <HI>Peter;</HI> and I'le moderate my Price for the &s;ake of the good Company&mdash; provided they may bear my charges, I'le look for no more&mdash; and &s;o &s;ay|ing, he went out again to fetch his Cart.</P>
<P>I had forgot to tell yee, that this Mr. <HI>Peter</HI> wore a long piece of green Taffaty over his left Eye, that cover'd half his Face; by which you may gue&s;s he was troubl'd with a Di&s;ea&s;e more then ordinary; be&s;ides that the Bridge of his No&s;e was fallen.</P>
<P>In the mean time <HI>Don Quixote</HI> ask'd the Innkeeper who this Mr. <HI>Peter</HI> was, and the meaning of his Fortune-telling Monkey, and his <HI>Show.</HI> This Mr. <HI>Peter,</HI> reply'd the Innkeeper, is the be&s;t for Puppet-Plays i' the Country; and he &s;hews yee the <HI>Show</HI> of <HI>Meli&s;andra,</HI> made to the Life in Puppets, by <HI>Don Gaffero</HI> him&s;elf. He has al&s;o a wonderful Monkey, the like of which was never heard of. If you ask him any que&s;tion, he li&s;tens attentively, then leaps upon his Ma&s;ters Shoulder, and whi&s;pers in his Ear the An&s;wer to the Que&s;tion demanded, and Mr. <HI>Peter</HI> explains it to the Party. He is much better at telling a Man or Woman what has befall'n, then what &s;hall befall 'em; and tho he does not always hit right, yet is he &s;eldom deceiv'd; which makes many People believe the Devil's in
<PB N="412" REF="223"> him. You give twelve Pence a piece for every Que&s;tion, to which the Monkey an&s;wers, or rather his Ma&s;ter, after the Ape has whi&s;per'd in his Ear. So that Mr. <HI>Peter</HI> is lookt upon to be very well to pa&s;s; for he is a notable merry Fellow, and a good Companion, talks &s;ix Mens &s;hares, and drinks twelve Mens; and all this he gets by his Tongue, his Monkey, and his <HI>Show.</HI></P>
<P>By this Mr. <HI>Peter</HI> arriv'd with his Cart, and the Ape appear'd, a lu&s;ty Rogue without a Tail, and his Bum as bare as a felt, but very pert and plea&s;ant to look upon.</P>
<P>So &s;oon as <HI>Don Quixote</HI> perceiv'd him, out of his impatience to try all manner of Adventures; Wor&s;hipful Son of <HI>Cornelius Agrippa,</HI> quo He, what Fi&s;h do we catch? what ha' you to &s;ay concerning my good or bad Fortune?&mdash; Here's my twelve Pence as round as a Jugglers Box&mdash; and &s;o &s;aying he order'd <HI>Sancho</HI> to give the Money to Mr. <HI>Peter,</HI> who at the &s;ame time returning the Monkeys An&s;wer; Sir, &s;aid he, this knowing Creature, &s;peaks nothing of what is to come; but of what is pa&s;t he can tell yee &s;omething, and concerning the pre&s;ent time he knows as much. The Devil twi&s;t his Guts for a Baboon as he is, quo <HI>Sancho</HI>&mdash; I'le not give him a Farthing to tell me whats pa&s;t&mdash; for who knows that better then my &s;elf?&mdash; Zookers, that's the greate&s;t folly i' the World, to pay for what a Man knows already&mdash; But &s;ince he's &s;o good at the pre&s;ent Time, let him tell me what my Wife <HI>Tere&s;a</HI>'s now a doing, and here's my Twelve-Pence withal my heart.</P>
<P>Mr. <HI>Peter</HI> told him, he took no Money beforehand; and at the &s;ame time giving two claps with his right Hand upon his left Shoulder, up skip'd the Ape, and laying his Mouth to his Ma&s;ters Ear, grated his Teeth together while a Man might tell <HI>Five,</HI> and then down he leap'd again. Immediately upon this, Mr. <HI>Peter</HI> throwing him&s;elf upon his Knees before <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and embracing his Thigh; This Thigh, quo He, do I em|brace with more joy, then I would embrace the Pillars of <HI>Hercules.</HI> Long live the Re&s;torer of forgotten <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> Long live the renowned Knight, the famous <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha;</HI> the Support of the Weak, the Stay of them that are ready to Fall, the Rai&s;er of the Di&s;con&s;olate, and the Succour of the Mi&s;erable.</P>
<P>At the&s;e words <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;tood amaz'd, <HI>Sancho</HI> trembl'd, and the Schollar ble&s;s'd him&s;elf, the Lacquey wonder'd, the Country Fellow gap'd, the Innkeeper &s;tar'd, a&s;toni&s;h'd all at Mr. <HI>Peters</HI> Rapture; who then ad|dre&s;&s;ing him&s;elf to <HI>Sancho,</HI> And thou <HI>Sancho Pancha,</HI> &s;aid he, the mo&s;t faith|ful Squire to the mo&s;t Valiant Knight that ever was, thank thy kind Stars that have be&s;tow'd upon thee &s;o good a Wife, and &s;o indu&s;trious a Hu&s;wife, for &s;he's at this time darning her old Stockins, by the &s;ame token that &s;he has &s;tanding by her, upon her left Hand a Stone Jug with a broken mouth, containing two Pints of Old Malaga, to relieve her fainting Spirits, every other &s;tich, with a Dram of the Bottle. By the plea&s;ure of Generation, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I dur&s;t ha' &s;worn as much; for <HI>Tere&s;a</HI>'s a Woman of extraordinary Parts, and were it not but that &s;he's a little Jealous, I would not change her for the Gyante&s;s <HI>Betty-Makarela,</HI> who as my Ma&s;ter &s;ays, was one of the mo&s;t diligent Women of her Time. I dare &s;ay &s;he'll never kill her &s;elf with fa&s;ting, tho her Heirs were ready to &s;tarve for want of her Joynture.</P>
<P>Well&mdash; quo <HI>Don Quixote, He that reads much and travels much, &s;ees much and knows much:</HI> but who the Devil would ever believe that Monkeys could Prophe&s;ie; not I by my faith, had I not &s;een it with my own Eyes. And
<PB N="413" REF="223"> then proceeding, &s;aid he, 'tis very true as this &s;ame little Animal has &s;aid, I am that very Specifical, Numerical <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> in who&s;e Prai&s;es the Monkey has &s;o obligingly enlarg'd him&s;elf, I confe&s;s, &s;ome|thing beyond my de&s;erts. But let me be what I will, I give thanks to Heav'n for having be&s;tow'd upon me &s;trength and Courage, and a Compa&s;|&s;ionate Inclination to &s;erve all Mankind.</P>
<P>Had I but a Shilling in all the World, I would give it <HI>Mr.</HI> Monkey, to tell me what luck I &s;hall have i' my Travels. Sir, quo Mr. <HI>Peter,</HI> I have told yee already my Monkey knows nothing of what is to come; if he did, he &s;hould &s;erve you gratis for once; for there is nothing that I would not do for the &s;ake of the worthy Sir <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who&s;e Friend&s;hip I e&s;teem above all the Money i' the World; and that he may &s;ee the Reality of my Heart, I will freely &s;et up my <HI>Show</HI> for the Pa&s;time of the Compa|ny, without expecting a Farthing for my Pains. Which the Innkeeper hearing, like one ready to leap out of his Skin for joy, call'd for t'other dozen of <HI>Rabbet's,</HI> and order'd Mr. <HI>Peter</HI> a convenient Room, wherein to embattel his Puppets.</P>
<P>Which while Mr. <HI>Peter</HI> was a doing, <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who could not beat it into his Brains, that a Monkey could Prophe&s;ie and give an&s;wers, retir'd with <HI>Sancho</HI> into a By-corner of the Stable, where finding them&s;elves in private; Hark yee me, <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;aid he, I have been often rowling and trowling i' my mind the wonderful and extraordinary Gifts of this &s;ame Monkey, and I cannot for the Blood of me apprehend how it &s;hould be, unle&s;s his Ma&s;ter has made a &s;ecret Contract, or an expre&s;s Stipulation with the Devil. I'le hold a Wager, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> that neither of 'em &s;aid their Prayers before they went to this <HI>Collation;</HI> neither can I think that any Collation of the Devils could be otherwi&s;e then na&s;tily dre&s;t.&mdash; Now pray Sir, what advantage could it be to Mr. <HI>Peter</HI> to eat the Devils <HI>Durty Puddings?</HI> Thou do'&s;t not under&s;tand me <HI>Sancho;</HI> my meaning is, that the Devil and He have enter'd into an Agreement and Covenant together, that the Devil &s;hall endow the Monkey with the gift of Figure-ca&s;ting, to enrich the Puppet-player his Ma&s;ter; and that after &s;uch a time the Puppet-player in recompence of the Devils kindne&s;s &s;hall &s;urrender him his Soul, which is all that mortal Enemy of human Kind aims at. And that which confirms me the more in this Opinion is, that the Monkey knows nothing but of the pa&s;t and pre&s;ent time, which is as much as the Devil him&s;elf knows, for alas he under&s;tands nothing of what is to come, but only Conjectures at it; and where one of his Conjectures hit, a thou|&s;and mi&s;s, there being only God alone who &s;ees all things as if they were pre&s;ent before his Eyes. Which being beyond all contradiction, 'tis as clear as the Sun, that the Monkey &s;peaks only through the Devils Organ-Pipe. And I wonder the Inqui&s;ition Court has hitherto taken no Cog|nizance of this &s;ame Mr. <HI>Peter,</HI> and that they have not &s;ummon'd him in to declare and make out by what power this Monkey takes upon him to tell Fortunes. For when ye have &s;aid all that ye can, I cannot think that either he or his Ma&s;ter are Prophets, or that they know how to erect a Scheme any more then as your <HI>Lillies,</HI> your <HI>Saffolds,</HI> and the re&s;t of your <HI>More-fields</HI> and <HI>Spittle-fields</HI> Conjurers, Women and Coblers do, who by their Confounded lyes and ignorance, deba&s;e and bring to contempt Judicial A&s;trology, which is a wonderful and infallible Science.</P>
<P>I remember, one day, a Per&s;on of Quality put the que&s;tion to one of the&s;e Quacks, whether a little Bitch that &s;he had &s;hould Puppy; and of what colour, and how many Puppies the Bitch &s;hould have. To whom
<PB N="414" REF="224"> the Figure-Flinger, after he had erected his Scheam in great formality, an&s;wer'd, that the Bitch &s;hould have three Puppies, one green, one red, and another Motley, provided &s;he were lim'd of a <HI>Munday</HI> or <HI>Saturday,</HI> between the hours of Eleven and Twelve a Clock at Noon or Night. But it happen'd that the Bitch mi&s;carry'd at three days end, and &s;o the Conjurer lo&s;t the Reputation of his Prediction. However, Sir, quo <HI>San|cho,</HI> I would have ye ask the Monkey, whether what you have related con|cerning the Cave of <HI>Monte&s;inos,</HI> be true or no; for, for my part, &s;aving that re&s;pect which I owe yee as my Ma&s;ter, I cannot think 'em other then idle Whims and Vi&s;ions that you &s;aw i' your &s;leep. That can|not be, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> however for thy farther &s;atisfaction I'le ask the Monkey; tho I confe&s;s it goes a little again&s;t my Con&s;cience.</P>
<P>While they two were thus in deep Con&s;ultation, Mr. <HI>Peter,</HI> who had been looking for <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> came and told him, that all things were ready, and that only his Pre&s;ence was wanting.</P>
<P>To whom <HI>Don Quixote</HI> an&s;wer'd, that he had a que&s;tion to put to his Monkey fir&s;t; whether certain Accidents that had befall'n him in a cer|tain Cave, call'd the Cave of <HI>Monte&s;inos,</HI> were Lyes or Realities; for that he could not tell what to think on't him&s;elf. Pre&s;ently Mr. <HI>Peter</HI> fetch'd his Monkey, and placing him ju&s;t before <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho;</HI> Look ye <HI>Mr.</HI> Monkey, &s;aid he, This famous Knight de&s;ires ye to tell him, whether certain &s;trange Accidents that befel him in a Cave, call'd the Cave of <HI>Mon|te&s;inos,</HI> were true or fal&s;e? Pre&s;ently the Monkey upon the u&s;ual &s;ignal leaping upon his Ma&s;ters Shoulder, after he had layd his Lips a while to his Ma&s;ters Ear, whip'd down again; at what time, quo his Interpreter to <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> the Monkey &s;ays, that what you &s;aw in the Cave, is partly probable, partly very much to be que&s;tion'd. This is all that he can an&s;wer to this Demand at pre&s;ent; but that if you de&s;ire to know any thing farther, he will next <HI>Fryday</HI> give yee full &s;atisfaction to as ma|ny Que&s;tions as you plea&s;e to ask; for his Spirit has left him, and will not return till next Fi&s;h day.</P>
<P>Law ye there now, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> did I not tell yee that all your Stories of <HI>Monte&s;inos</HI>'s Cave were all a Company of inventions and lyes, and that it was only for your &s;ake if I believ'd above half of 'em. That's as time &s;hall try, <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> there's nothing &s;o conceal'd in this World, but time at length will bring it to light, tho it were buri'd in the Entrails of the Earth.&mdash; But no more of this at pre&s;ent,&mdash; let's now go and &s;ee Mr. <HI>Peters</HI> Show: I am per&s;waded we &s;hall &s;ee &s;omething that is new and worth our &s;ight. Something! quo Mr. <HI>Peter,</HI> yes&mdash; a hun|der'd thou&s;and things&mdash; I tell yee my Lord <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> this is none o' your common <HI>Rarie-Shows,</HI> that are cry'd about the Streets, but one of the mo&s;t exqui&s;ite <HI>Motions</HI> that ever Europe beheld; <HI>Believe our works not our words:</HI> Come along, Sir, then, for we have a great many Speeches to make, and the day wa&s;tes.</P>
<P>Thereupon <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho</HI> follow'd Mr. <HI>Peter</HI> into the Cham|ber where the <HI>Show</HI> &s;tood, with a great number of &s;mall Wax-Candles glimmering round about. At the &s;ame time Mr. <HI>Peter</HI> put him&s;elf behind the Motion, under the covert of a Curtain, as being the Per&s;on that was to move the Puppets, and to make 'em &s;peak. Before, &s;tood a Boy, Ser|vant to Mr. <HI>Peter,</HI> who was to interpret what the Puppets &s;aid, and with a little Wand in his Hand to poynt directly to every Figure as they came in and out, to tell who they were, and explain the My&s;tery of the whole Motion. And then it was that all the Company having taken
<PB N="415" REF="224"> their Seats (tho <HI>Don Quixote, Sancho,</HI> and the Schollar were preferr'd to the be&s;t places) the Interpreter began a Story that will never be read or known, but by tho&s;e that &s;hall read and hear the next Chapter.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="26" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XXVI.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Continuing the Plea&s;ant Adventure of the Puppet-player, with other plea|&s;ant Pa&s;&s;ages.</HEAD>
<P><HI>COnticuere omnes;</HI> The <HI>Trojans</HI> and <HI>Tyrians</HI> were all &s;ilent; that is, all the Spectators hung their Ears upon the Interpreters Mouth; at what time the Scene opening, they heard in the fir&s;t place a loud Flou|ri&s;h of Trumpets and Kettle-Drums, accompany'd with &s;everal Peals of Cannon: which Prelude being over, the young Interpreter, lifting up his Voice, Gentlemen, quo he, behold a True Hi&s;tory, taken out of the Chronicles of <HI>France;</HI> How <HI>Don Gafferos</HI> deliver'd <HI>Meli&s;andra</HI> his Wife, de|tain'd a Captive by the <HI>Moores</HI> in the City of <HI>Sarago&s;a.</HI> And fir&s;t you &s;hall &s;ee how the great <HI>Don Gafferos</HI> &s;its playing at Draughts all day i' the Widows Coffee Hou&s;e, never regarding what becomes of the Virtuous <HI>Meli&s;andra,</HI> according to the words of the Ballad.&mdash;</P>
<Q><L>And all the while <HI>Gafferos,</HI> He</L>
<L>Lay &s;moaking of his Mam&s;ey No&s;e,</L>
<L>And playing all day long at Draughts</L>
<L>For all the Money in his Ho&s;e.</L>
<L>So little for his Princely Wife,</L>
<L>Fair <HI>Meli&s;andra,</HI> was his Grief.</L></Q>
<P>That &s;ame Potentate that peeps out there with a Crown upon his Head, and a Scepter in his Hand, is the famous Emperour <HI>Charlemain,</HI> the re|puted Father of the Fair <HI>Meli&s;andra;</HI> who all enrag'd to &s;ee the Sloth and Negligence of his Son in Law, comes out to rate him; and mark how Maje&s;tically he <HI>Berogues and Ra&s;cals</HI> him, as if he intended to break his Pate with his Scepter; and &s;ome Authors there are that tell yee, how he gave him five or &s;ix Remembrances well lay'd on, after he had told him his own, and what a <HI>Pewter-button'd</HI> Rake&s;hame he was, to let his Wife lie all that time in Pri&s;on. Now mark again how the Emperour turns his Tail upon him; how he goes away maundring; and how <HI>Don Gafferos</HI> enrag'd at the affront offer'd him by the Emperour, dings the Tables one way, and whirls the Table-men another way, and calls for his Arms to be brought him immediately. Thereupon you &s;ee him begging his Cou&s;in <HI>Rowland</HI> to lend him his tru&s;ty Sword <HI>Durindana</HI> (for you mu&s;t know his own was at Pawn) which he refu&s;es to do, but offers to go along with him and be his Second. Which puts <HI>Don Gafferos</HI> into &s;uch a Pelting chafe, that he &s;corns both his Cou&s;in <HI>Rowland</HI> and his Company, and falls a &s;wearing like a Tinker, that he'll deliver his own Wife him&s;elf, with|out being beholding to any of his Kindred&mdash; ay that he will&mdash; by <HI>Pha|ro's</HI> Ho&s;t (hark how he bellows now) tho &s;he were fifty Leagues beyond the <HI>Antipodes.</HI> And now he's going to put on his Armour, and to prepare him&s;elf for his Journey.</P>
<PB N="416" REF="225">
<P>And now Gentlemen, ca&s;t your Eyes upon that Tower. That's one of the Towers of the Ca&s;tle of <HI>Sarago&s;a,</HI> and the Lady which you &s;ee in the Balcony there, in <HI>Mori&s;h</HI> Habit, is the Peerle&s;s <HI>Meli&s;andra;</HI> who com|ing out forty times a day into the Balcony, ca&s;ts many a heavy look to|ward <HI>France,</HI> thinking upon <HI>Paris,</HI> and her Maggot pated Spou&s;e, the only Con&s;olation of her Impri&s;onment. But now, Gentlemen, mind, I be&s;eech yee mind it, here is an Accident altogether new, and perhaps ne|ver heard of before. Don't yee &s;ee the <HI>Moore</HI> yonder, that comes creep|ing and &s;tealing along with his finger in his Mouth, behind <HI>Meli&s;andra?</HI> By and by he gives her a pat o' the Shoulder, and as &s;he turns her Head to &s;ee what"s the matter, hark what a &s;mack he gives her full i' the Mouth. Then &s;ee how &s;he Spits and Fogh's it, and wipes her Lips with her white Holland-&s;mock &s;leeves; &s;ee how &s;he laments and tears her Golden Tre&s;&s;es for very madne&s;s, as if they were guilty of the <HI>Moores</HI> Theft. Now ob|&s;erve yonder grave &s;erious <HI>Moore,</HI> above i' the open Gallery; That's <HI>Mar|&s;ilius</HI> the King of <HI>Sarago&s;a,</HI> who having &s;een the Sawcine&s;s of the <HI>Moore,</HI> tho his near Kin&s;man and Favorite, cau&s;es him to be be apprehended and publickly Whipt through the Streets of the City. There, look yee, the Guards are coming forth to put the Sentence in Execution; for among the <HI>Moores</HI> the Kings word's a Law without any formality of Tryals.</P>
<P>Here <HI>Don Quixote</HI> interrupting him, Young Man, Young Man, quo he, pray go on wi' your Story in a direct Line, and let me ha' none a' the&s;e Digre&s;&s;ions and ramblings out of the Road&mdash; For I mu&s;t tell yee, there ought to be Legal Proofs of the matter of Fact, before a Man be con|demn'd. Boy, quo the Ma&s;ter, from behind the Show, do as the Gentle|man commands yee; forbear your Flouri&s;hes; keep to your Plain-&s;ong; and let me hear no more o' your Figur'd <HI>Counter-point;</HI> lea&s;t you run into Di&s;cords.</P>
<P>I &s;hall, Sir, quo the Boy, making a Reverend Scrape, and &s;o going on; He that you &s;ee there a Hor&s;e-back, in a &s;hort Sleevele&s;s Coat of Ru&s;&s;et <HI>Manche&s;ter</HI> Bays, is <HI>Don Gafferos</HI> him&s;elf, to whom <HI>Meli&s;andra</HI> (now &s;uf|ficiently reveng'd upon the <HI>Moore</HI> for his Arrogancy) talks from the top of the Tower, taking him for &s;ome Stranger that travell'd that way, and holds him in a long Di&s;cour&s;e, which you may read in the Ballad, where you have the&s;e Lines, <Q><L>Friend, if for <HI>France</HI> you go, enquire</L>
<L>For my <HI>Gafferos,</HI> &s;tout and &s;trong,</L>
<L>And tell him he's a whoring Cur</L>
<L>To let me lye in Jayl &s;o long&mdash;</L></Q> The Re&s;t I omit, Prolixity being di&s;plea&s;ing to mo&s;t men. 'Tis &s;ufficient that <HI>Don Gafferos</HI> at length made him&s;elf known to her; and then you may readily gue&s;s how glad &s;he was to &s;ee him, tho 'twere only by Moon-light, and how &s;orry &s;he was &s;he had &s;ent him &s;uch an unkind Me&s;&s;age; but &s;he ex|cus'd it by &s;aying &s;he did it only i' the way of Familiarity. And to make him amends, &s;he &s;traddles over the Balcony to leap into his Arms (for he was able to hold her had &s;he been as heavy agen) and &s;o to have got be|hind him. But oh the wretched Fate of Lovers; for there you &s;ee her &s;topp'd by one of the Spikes of the Balcony, that catches hold of her Pet|ticoat; and there you &s;ee her dangling i' the Air, in a mo&s;t unhappy and frightful Condition. And now what &s;hall &s;he do! or who &s;hall afford her Succour in this di&s;tre&s;s? There's but one way i' the World&mdash; but a de&s;perate
<PB REF="225">
<PB REF="226">
<FIGURE>
<FIGDESC>Don Quixote and puppets</FIGDESC>
<P><HI>Don Quixot's Encounter with the puppits. page. 417.</HI></P>
</FIGURE>
<FIGURE>
<FIGDESC>Don Quixote and the Enchanted Bark</FIGDESC>
<P><HI>Don Quixots Adventure of the Enchanted Bark. page 427.</HI></P>
</FIGURE>
<PB N="417" REF="226"> Di&s;ea&s;e mu&s;t have a de&s;perate Cure. <HI>Don Gafferos</HI> therefore rides up to her, and taking her by both her Heels, never minding the Richne&s;s of her Pet|ticoat, gives her a tugg, and the delicate Garment a ra&s;h; and &s;o fetching her down by Head and Shoulders, &s;ets her a&s;tride upon the Crupper of his Hor&s;e, bidding her &s;it fa&s;t, and clap her Arms about his Shoulders for fear of falling, by rea&s;on &s;he was not accu&s;tom'd to that way of riding. Hark how the Hor&s;e neighees, and by his Prancing, &s;hews how proud he is of the Noble burden of his Valiant Ma&s;ter and Beautiful Mi&s;tre&s;s. See how they leave the City, and Gallop merrily away, taking the Road for <HI>Paris.</HI> Peace be with yee, mo&s;t Peerle&s;s Couple of Faithful Lovers; may yee arrive &s;afe and &s;ound within the Confines of your beloved Country, without meeting any Traver&s;es or Ob&s;tacles of Way-ward Fortune. And after a pro&s;perous Journey may you be long the Joy of your Friends and Relations in Peace and Pro&s;perity; and may your Years equal the Years of <HI>Ne&s;tor.</HI></P>
<P>Soft and fair, Boy, quo Mr. <HI>Peter,</HI> &s;oar not &s;o high, lea&s;t you break your Neck i' the fall&mdash; To which the Boy made no an&s;wer, but pur&s;uing his Story&mdash; Now, quo he, there were a &s;ort of Bu&s;ie-bodies, who di&s;co|vering <HI>Meli&s;andra</HI>'s Flight, gave immediate notice of it to King <HI>Mar&s;ilius,</HI> who pre&s;ently put the whole City into an Uproar; and now you may &s;ee the whole City tottering, and ready to &s;ink into the Earth with the weight of the Bells that Ring backward in all their <HI>Mo&s;quees.</HI></P>
<P>There y'are out again, quo <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> and your Ma&s;ter is ab&s;urdly mi&s;taken in Bells: The <HI>Moors</HI> have no Bells, but only make a noi&s;e with their Drums and their Kettle-Drums, and &s;ometimes they have their <HI>Shaums,</HI> that are like our <HI>Haut-boys;</HI> but to bring in Bells into <HI>Sarago&s;a!</HI> your Ma&s;ter was an ignorant Coxcomb for his pains. Never let &s;uch trifles di&s;turb your Patience, I be&s;eech yee Sir Knight, quo Mr. <HI>Peter.</HI> Don't we find Comedies Acted every day that talk of Great Guns in <HI>Alexander</HI> the Great's time, and Giants in <HI>Edward</HI> the Thirds Time; with a hunder'd Extravagancies altogether as ab&s;urd, yet Acted with the applau&s;e and ad|miration of mo&s;t of the Spectators? Go on, Boy, go on; let there be as many Impertinencies as Motes i' the Sun, &s;o I get Money. You &s;ay very true indeed, Mr. <HI>Peter,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> Why &s;hould you ob&s;erve Rules more then others?</P>
<P>And now Gentlemen, quo the Boy, going on with his Lurrey; what a Hurry of Glittering Knights is yonder? How they pour out of the City in pur&s;uit of the two Lovers? How the Trumpets &s;ound? What a ratling and rumbling i' th' Air the Drums and Kettle-Drums make? For my part I am afraid of nothing &s;o much, as that they &s;hould overtake 'em, and then we &s;hould &s;ee 'em drag'd along in mo&s;t cruel manner ty'd to the Tails of their Hor&s;es.&mdash;</P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> as it were awaken'd by tho&s;e words, &s;eeing &s;uch a Clu&s;ter of <HI>Moors,</HI> and hearing &s;uch a Dinn and Hurry of People, thought it now high Time to &s;uccour the flying Lovers; and to that pupo&s;e &s;tarting up briskly upon his Feet, he cry'd out in a mo&s;t violent fury; For whom do they take me here? &s;hall it ever be &s;aid that while I liv'd, and before my Face too, &s;uch an Outrage &s;hould be done to &s;o Famous and &s;o Amorous a Knight as <HI>Don Gafferos?</HI> Then in a foaming Rage&mdash; Hold In&s;olent Scoundrels&mdash; hold, quo he&mdash; forbear your Villanous pur&s;uit&mdash; He that &s;tirs an Inch farther, moves to his de&s;truction. And &s;o &s;aying, up he leaps upon the Table, and lays at the poor Innocent Puppets, with that outragious fury, that Heads and Arms flew about without Compa&s;&s;ion. Among the re&s;t of the vigorous blows, there was one back &s;troak cleft the Air with &s;o &s;wift
<PB N="418" REF="227"> a Motion, that if the Puppet-Player him&s;elf had not been more nimble then a Taylor, it had parted his Neck from his Shoulders, more exactly then any <HI>Dutch</HI> Heads-man could have &s;liver'd it off. Heavens ble&s;s me, Sir <HI>Knight,</HI> what d' yee mean to do? cry'd Mr. <HI>Peter,</HI> The&s;e are no <HI>Moors</HI> I'le a&s;&s;ure yee Sir: Does not your Wor&s;hip &s;ee they are only Puppets made of Pa&s;tboard, and that you are going about to ruin a Poor Man? But Mr. <HI>Peter</HI>'s cries could nothing avail, for the Valiant <HI>Don Quixote</HI> layd about him as long as he thought he &s;aw any Enemies. So that in le&s;s time then a Man might &s;ay a <HI>Mi&s;erere,</HI> he had cut the <HI>Motion</HI> all to pieces, King <HI>Mar&s;ilius</HI> be|ing dangerou&s;ly wounded, and <HI>Charlemain</HI> having his Head cleft, like <HI>Jupi|ter</HI>'s when he brought forth <HI>Minerva.</HI> For you mu&s;t know that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;par'd neither <HI>Moors</HI> nor <HI>Chri&s;tians.</HI> The whole Company was no le&s;s in di&s;order; the Monkey betook him&s;elf to his Heels, and got to the Top of the Hou&s;e; the Guide and the Lacquey were in a &s;tinking Condition; nay <HI>Sancho</HI> him&s;elf trembl'd, as one that had never &s;een his Ma&s;ter in &s;uch a terrible Fury before. But now the Enemy being Defeat|ed, and the Field of Battel clear'd by &s;uch a general De&s;truction, the Generous <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;corn'd to take Advantage of his Victory, or to en|rich him&s;elf by the Pillage, but having wip'd the Sweat from off his Face, with a more &s;edate and pacify'd Countenance; now would I fain, quo he, that all they had been here pre&s;ent, that will not believe the benefit and nece&s;&s;ity of <HI>Knight-Errantry.</HI> For do but con&s;ider, had it not been my good Fortune to have been here, what might have befallen <HI>Don Gafferos</HI> and the fair <HI>Meli&s;andra,</HI> who could have hinder'd the&s;e Dogs, but that they would have pur&s;u'd, apprehended, and abus'd 'em? Long live <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI> in de&s;pite of Envy, and maugre the Incredulity of tho&s;e that have not the Courage to enter into her Orders; Let her live for ever glorious; and let him that &s;ays the contrary dare to &s;hew his Face.</P>
<P>Oh let her live, cry'd Mr. <HI>Peter</HI> in a doleful tone, and let death be my mi&s;erable Portion, who may now &s;ay with King <HI>Rodorigo, Ye&s;terday I was King of</HI> Spain, <HI>but now not Ma&s;ter of a Foot of Land.</HI> Within this Quar|ter of this hour I had one of the faire&s;t Courts in the World; I commanded Kings and Emperors; and now behold me a Poor <HI>Nicodemus,</HI> a naked, &s;ad, di&s;con&s;olate Beggar; and all through the ra&s;h and incon&s;iderate fury of an Ungrateful Knight, that calls him&s;elf the Bulwark of Orphans and Widows, the Support and comfort of the Afflicted. He is full of Chari|ty for others, but it &s;eems he re&s;erv'd all his Malice to &s;pend it upon me and mine. But &s;ince it was the Will of Fate, that the <HI>Knight of the Sad Figure</HI> &s;hould employ his Valour to dubb &s;o many of my Puppets, to wear his Title, I &s;ubmit.</P>
<P>Poor <HI>Sancho,</HI> was &s;o touch'd with Mr. <HI>Peter</HI>'s Lamentations, that no le&s;s griev'd then the Puppet-Player; Weep not, Mr. <HI>Peter,</HI> quo he, you peirce my very heart; but confide in me; for I a&s;&s;ure yee my Ma&s;ter is as Pious, as he is Valiant, and when he comes to under&s;tand he has done yee the lea&s;t Injury, he will make yee double Amends. Provided, quo Mr. <HI>Peter,</HI> that the Lord <HI>Don Quixote</HI> will but pay me part of what my Puppets which he has disfigur'd co&s;t me, I &s;hall &s;oon be &s;atisfy'd, and he'll di&s;|charge a good Con&s;cience; for he cannot well think to be &s;av'd who wrongs his Neighbour, and re&s;tores not the Goods of which he has de|priv'd him. 'Tis very true, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> but I know not any dammage I have done yee. No dammage! an&s;wer'd Mr. <HI>Peter;</HI> behold the&s;e mi&s;erable Innocents that lie &s;trow'd upon the Floor; who d' yee think has &s;lic'd and carbonado'd 'em thus, but that Invincible Arm of
<PB N="419" REF="227"> yours, which no human force can re&s;i&s;t? and who d' yee think the&s;e wretched Ruins belong to but to Me? who think yee Feeds and Cloaths me but They? Ab&s;olutely am I now convinc'd, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> of what I have &s;o often &s;aid, that the&s;e Enchanters who continually per&s;e|cute Me, change and alter all things at their plea&s;ure, on purpo&s;e to abu&s;e me. For I profe&s;s ingeniou&s;ly, Gentlemen, who hear me, that every thing I &s;aw appear'd to Me as real and undoubted, as it was in the Time of <HI>Charlemain.</HI> I took <HI>Meli&s;andra</HI> for <HI>Meli&s;andra, Don Gafferos</HI> for <HI>Don Gafferos,</HI> and <HI>Mar&s;ilius</HI> for <HI>Mar&s;ilius,</HI> the <HI>Moores</HI> for <HI>Moores,</HI> in perfect Fle&s;h and Bones. Which being &s;o, I could not refrain my fury; and therefore, that I might accompli&s;h the Duty of my Profe&s;&s;ion, which obliges me to Succour the Oppre&s;&s;ed, I did what I did: if the Effects prov'd not an|&s;werable to my De&s;ign, the fault lay not in me, but in tho&s;e cur&s;ed <HI>Necro|mancers,</HI> that pur&s;ue me to extremity. Neverthele&s;s, tho I am not guil|ty of their wickedne&s;s, I will condemn my &s;elf to repair the dammage; reck'n your Lo&s;s therefore, Mr. <HI>Peter,</HI> and I &s;hall pay it down upon the Nail. At which words Mr. <HI>Peter</HI> bowing him&s;elf with his Head almo&s;t to the Ground, I mi&s;tru&s;ted no le&s;s, quo he, from the inimitable Piety of the mo&s;t Valiant <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> the mo&s;t a&s;&s;ured Refuge and certain Support of mi&s;erable Vagabonds. Here's my Ma&s;ter, the Innkeeper, and the mo&s;t upright <HI>Sancho,</HI> let them, if your Wor&s;hip plea&s;es, be the Moderators in this Unfortunate Cau&s;e. Content, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> withal my Heart. Immediately Mr. <HI>Peter</HI> taking up King <HI>Mar&s;ilius,</HI> and &s;hewing him without a Head; you &s;ee Gentlemen, &s;aid he, 'tis impo&s;&s;i|ble to re&s;tore the King of <HI>Sarago&s;a</HI> to his Royal Dignity, and therefore, with &s;ubmi&s;&s;ion to my honourable Judges, for the Coronation of his Suc|ce&s;&s;or, and the Funeral Expences of the Murder'd Prince, le&s;s cannot be allow'd me then Two Shillings and &s;ix Pence. Content, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> go on to the next. For this &s;ame downright &s;lit from Head to Foot, con|tinu'd Mr. <HI>Peter,</HI> taking up <HI>Charlemain</HI> from the Ground, I think three Shillings is little enough. 'Tis but rea&s;onable, quo <HI>Sancho.</HI> Very Con|&s;cionable, quo the Innkeeper; he was a great Emperour, mea&s;ure the Wound, and you'l find it &s;ix Sixpences all a row in length. Give him two Shillings ten Pence Half-penny, quo <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> we'll neer &s;tand upon a Half-penny in &s;uch a ca&s;e as this. But pray di&s;patch Mr. <HI>Peter,</HI> for 'tis Supper time, and I begin to feel certain Su&s;picions of Hunger. For this Figure here, that has lo&s;t one Eye, and the No&s;e cut off, which was in|deed the fair <HI>Meli&s;andra</HI> her &s;elf, I think it but rea&s;onable to demand fif|teen Pence. 'Slife, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I had thought <HI>Meli&s;andra</HI> and her Husband had been upon the Confines of <HI>France</HI> before now, con&s;idering that the Hor&s;e they rode upon &s;eem'd rather to flie then Gallop. Find an|other Chapman, good Mr. <HI>Peter;</HI> you mu&s;t not think to &s;ell me Cats for Hares; by making me believe a <HI>Meli&s;andra</HI> without a No&s;e to be the real <HI>Meli&s;andra,</HI> who if the Devil ben't i' the Hor&s;e, is now at her Fathers Court between a pair of Holland Sheets with her Husband.</P>
<P>Thereupon Mr. <HI>Peter</HI> finding <HI>Don Quixote</HI> begin to grow touchie, and fearing he &s;hould &s;hew him a Trick, after he had &s;eem'd to view the Pup|pet more narrowly; I was mi&s;taken, quo he, this is not <HI>Meli&s;andra,</HI> now I &s;ee, but one of her waiting Gentlewomen dre&s;t up in her Cloaths, for whom I demand no more then four Pence ha'penny.</P>
<P>After Mr. <HI>Peter</HI> had thus examin'd who were &s;lain, and who were wound|ed, and &s;et his price upon every one, the Arbitrators moderated the bu&s;i|ne&s;s to the content of both Parties, allotting <HI>Don Quixote</HI> to pay a Mark
<PB N="420" REF="228"> for the whole, which <HI>Sancho</HI> payd down upon the Nail. Mr. <HI>Peter</HI> de|manded al&s;o three Pence more toward paying for a&s;&s;i&s;tance to help him catch his Monkey. Give it him, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> and I would give ten times as much, to be a&s;&s;ur'd, that <HI>Don Gafferos</HI> and <HI>Meli&s;andra</HI> were &s;afe in <HI>France</HI> with their Friends. No body can tell that better then my Mon|key, cry'd Mr. <HI>Peter.</HI> But 'tis &s;uch a mad Thief, that the Devil can't take him, unle&s;s hunger or his kindne&s;s for me cau&s;e him to return; but I'me &s;ure of him to morrow Morning, and then he &s;hall give your Wor&s;hip full &s;atisfaction.</P>
<P>The <HI>Hubbub</HI> thus appeas'd, they all Suppt together at <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Charges, who was as liberal as a Young Heir at a <HI>Fi&s;h-Street</HI> Tavern.</P>
<P>The next Morning the Carrier departed with his Lances and his Hal|berds by break of Day; the Guide and the Lacquey went and took their leaves, the one to return home, the other in order to continue his Jour|ney. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> gave the Lacquey &s;everal whol&s;om Admonitions touching the Profe&s;&s;ion of a Souldier, which he was going to under|take, and then putting a Ro&s;e Noble into his Hand, embrac'd him and bid him farewell. As for Mr. <HI>Peter,</HI> he was too well acquainted with <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s humour, and therefore re&s;olving to have no more to do with him, after he had got his Monkey again, and pickt up the Ruins of his <HI>Mo|tion,</HI> he packt up his Auls, and away &s;cudded he before Sun-ri&s;e to mend his <HI>Show</HI> and &s;eek his Fortune. And as for <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> he generou&s;ly payd the Innkeeper, and taking Hor&s;e by eight a Clock i' the Morning, left him as much a&s;toni&s;h'd at his Extravagancies, as wondering at his Liberality. And &s;o let him jog on a while, that we may have lei&s;ure to recount &s;ome other Pa&s;&s;ages, nece&s;&s;ary for the better under&s;tanding of this Hi&s;tory.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="27" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XXVII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Wherein is di&s;cover'd who Mr. <HI>Peter</HI> was, together with the ill &s;ucce&s;s which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> had in the Adventure of <HI>Braying,</HI> which did not fall out according to his Wi&s;hes.</HEAD>
<P>THey who have read the fir&s;t part of this Hi&s;tory, may remember a certain Rake-hell, whom <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;et at liberty, together with &s;everal other Newgate Birds. This &s;ame Tory was he that robb'd <HI>Sancho</HI> of his <HI>Grizzle</HI> in the Black Mountain.</P>
<P>This &s;ame <HI>Black Tom,</HI> fearing the Warrants that were out again&s;t him, to puni&s;h him for the Rogueries he had committed, of which the number is &s;o great, that they are extant in Print in a Book much like that of the <HI>Engli&s;h Rogue,</HI> put a black Plai&s;ter upon his Eye, and in that di&s;gui&s;e re|&s;olv'd to wander up and down the Country and &s;hew Puppet-plays; where|in, as al&s;o in the Art of <HI>High Pa&s;s and be gone,</HI> he was an accompli&s;h'd Ma&s;ter. The Monkey he bought in his Travels of certain Marriners that came from the Coa&s;t of <HI>Barbery;</HI> and taught him to leap upon his Shoul|der upon a certain &s;ign given, and to make as if he whi&s;per'd in his Ear. This done, before he enterd into any Place where he intended to take up his Quarters, he carefully inform'd him&s;elf in the next Village what particu|lar Accidents had happen'd in that place, and to what Per&s;ons, and Barrell'd 'em up &s;afely in his Memory. Then the fir&s;t thing he did, was to &s;hew his Puppet-play, that repre&s;ented &s;ome times one Hi&s;tory, &s;ometimes another,
<PB N="421" REF="228"> which were generally well known, and taking among the Vulgar. Af|ter that, he commended the wonderful Qualities of his Ape, telling the People that he knew all things that were pa&s;t and pre&s;ent, but never what was to come; and for every An&s;wer to every Que&s;tion he took a Shilling, and many times le&s;s, as he felt the Pul&s;es of his Cu&s;tomers. And &s;ometimes when he came to the Hou&s;es of People, of whom he had already had &s;ome information, he would without being ask'd, make his accu&s;tom'd &s;ign to his Monkey, and then as if the Monkey had told him, relate the pa&s;&s;age with all 'its Circum&s;tances; by which means he had got a mighty Credit among the Vulgar &s;ort; or if he were not fully inform'd, then by the Dexterity of his Wit, he return'd &s;uch Ambiguous An&s;wers, which &s;uited with the Que&s;tion like a Garment that will fit &s;everal Per&s;ons, laughing all the while at all the World, and filling his Pur&s;e: So that in &s;uch a di&s;gui&s;e 'twas ea&s;ie for Mr. <HI>Peter</HI> to cully <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho,</HI> whom he knew as &s;oon as he enter'd the Inn, tho unknown to them.</P>
<P>Now let us overtake the famous Knight of the <HI>Mancha;</HI> who having left the Inn, re&s;olv'd before he went to <HI>Sarago&s;a</HI> to vi&s;it the plea&s;ant Banks of the River <HI>Heber,</HI> and the Places adjoyning, e&s;pecially finding he had time enough, and being never out of his way.</P>
<P>For two days together he travell'd without meeting any Adventure worthy Ob&s;ervation; till the third day, mounting up a little Hill, he heard a great noi&s;e of Drums and Trumpets, and &s;hooting off of Muskets, which he thought at fir&s;t had been &s;ome mu&s;ter of the County Train Bands, and made him &s;pur up <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> to the Top of the Hill, where he &s;aw i' the Vale on the other &s;ide about two hunder'd Men Arm'd with different Weapons, Pitchforks, Partizans, Cro&s;sbows, Pikes, and &s;ome Muskets. Thereupon he rode down the Hill &s;o near the Multi|tude, that he could di&s;tingui&s;h their Colours, and their Motto's; and among the re&s;t he di&s;cover'd one En&s;ign of black Taffaty, upon which was Pain|ted an A&s;s to the Life, &s;tretching out his Neck, holding up his Snout, widening his No&s;trils, and thru&s;ting out his Tongue, ju&s;t in the Po&s;ture of an A&s;s that is <HI>Braying;</HI> with this Motto round about.</P>
<Q><L>'Twas not for nothing, if well Weigh'd,</L>
<L>That both the wi&s;e Con&s;t-ables Bray'd.</L></Q>
<P>This Motto gave <HI>Don Quixote</HI> to under&s;tand that they were the Inhabi|tants of the <HI>Braying Village;</HI> and therefore &s;aid he to <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;hewing him what was written in the Colours; the Carrier that told us the Story of the Men that Bray'd was ab&s;olutely mi&s;taken; for they were not Bay|liffs of a Corporation that Bray'd, but certain Con&s;tables or Princes of the Night, as is apparent by the Motto in the Colours. Sir, &s;aid <HI>Sancho,</HI> I have nothing to do with <HI>Brad&s;haws</HI> Windmil, neither is it any way material to the Truth of the Story, whether they were Bayliffs or Con&s;tables, (tho Con&s;tables do make a fearful noi&s;e &s;ometimes) nay for ought I know they might be two of your Country Ju&s;t-A&s;&s;es of the Peace, put into Commi&s;&s;ion more for their Money then their Wit: but let 'em be what they will, what's that to you or me? The Mayor of <HI>Altring|ham</HI> and the Mayor of <HI>Over,</HI> one was a Thatcher the other a Dauber&mdash; but what's this to you or me, or the Hi&s;tory?&mdash; pray go on, Sir, if y' have any thing more to &s;ay.</P>
<P>At length <HI>Don Quixote</HI> under&s;tood that they were a Company of hair|braind Men of <HI>Gotam,</HI> mu&s;ter'd together to fight the People of another Vil|lage, who indeed jeer'd 'em with their Braying too unmercifully, and like ill
<PB N="422" REF="229"> Neighbours. Thereupon <HI>Don Quixote</HI> rode in among 'em, notwith&s;tand|ing all <HI>Sancho</HI>'s prudent Admonitions, who had no kindne&s;s for &s;uch &s;ort of Adventures; at what time the armed Rabble hemn'd him in, believ|ing him to be one of their Party. But <HI>Don Quixote</HI> lifting up his Vizor, and with a lofty Countenance de&s;iring the Throng to make way, rode up to the Standard, where the chief Ma&s;ters of Mi&s;rule gather'd about him, no le&s;s a&s;toni&s;h'd then others had been before at his &s;trange Phy&s;iognomy and Equipage. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> therefore perceiving how they &s;tar'd and gap'd upon him, re&s;olv'd to take the Advantage of their &s;ilence, and willing to enlighten their Under&s;tandings,</P>
<P>Gentlemen, &s;aid he, I de&s;ire yee with all the love and kindne&s;s that may be, not to interrupt me in my di&s;cour&s;e, unle&s;s you find it di&s;plea&s;ing to your Ears; for then upon the holding up of a Finger I &s;hall &s;top, tho it be i' the mid&s;t of my Career. Thereupon one that &s;eem'd to command the Re&s;t bid him &s;peak freely, and as long as he pleas'd. Then <HI>Don Quixote</HI> beginning a &s;econd time.</P>
<P>Gentlemen, &s;aid he, I am a <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> Arms are my Exerci&s;e, and my Profe&s;&s;ion is to &s;uccour tho&s;e that are under Oppre&s;&s;ion and have need of my A&s;&s;i&s;tance. It is but within the&s;e few days that I under&s;tood the mi&s;chance that had befall'n yee, and how that yee had taken Arms to revenge your &s;elves upon a Company of <HI>Cogg&s;hall</HI> Jeerers, that in&s;ulted over your Misfortune. I mu&s;t confe&s;s I have been ever &s;ince con&s;idering, and pondering, and meditating upon your Ca&s;e; and I find by the &s;trickt Laws of Duels, that you injure your &s;elves, in believing your &s;elves affronted; for that one particular Per&s;on cannot affront a whole Corporation and So|ciety of Men, unle&s;s it be by accu&s;ing 'em of a general Rebellion or In&s;urrection, for want of knowing the Ringleaders. Of which we have a notable Example in the Ca&s;e of <HI>Don Diego de Lara,</HI> who ac|cus'd all the Inhabitants of <HI>Zamora</HI> for Traytors, not knowing that <HI>Vellido Dolfos</HI> had kill'd the King his Ma&s;ter; and &s;o accu&s;ing all, the Revenge and the Defence belong'd to all in General. I mu&s;t confe&s;s, <HI>Don Diego</HI> &s;train'd a Note above <HI>Ela;</HI> for it was unrea&s;onable to accu&s;e the Dead, or the Waters, or the Corn that was reap'd, or tho&s;e that were unborn, as you may read in the Accu&s;ation; but when a Man's <HI>Welch</HI> Blood is up, there is no Curb that can hold it in. Wi&s;e Men and well govern'd Re|publicks never take Arms, nor hazard their Lives and E&s;tates, but upon five occa&s;ions; In the fir&s;t place to defend their Religion; Secondly in defence of their Lives and Fortunes, which the Laws both of God and Man allow: Thirdly, to maintain the Honour and Dignity of our Fami|lies; Fourthly, for the Service of our Prince in his ju&s;t Wars: Fifthly, which indeed may be refer'd to the &s;econd, in defence of our Country&mdash; Under the&s;e five, as Capital Heads, may be comprehended all the other oc|ca&s;ions of taking Arms in a ju&s;t cau&s;e. But to run <HI>Hurry Hurry,</HI> to re|venge and &s;laughter for Trifles, and the little Extravagancies of wanton Waggery and Pa&s;time, is not only a breach of the Law, but directly contrary to the purity of Chri&s;tian Morality, which commands us to for|give our Enemies, and to Love our Neighbours as our &s;elves. A &s;evere Injunction I mu&s;t confe&s;s to tho&s;e that partake more of the Fle&s;h then of the Spirit, yet a command to which it behoves all Men to &s;ubmit, that would be Imitators of the Grand Exemplar of Love and Peace. And now Gen|tlemen having &s;aid thus much, I hope I need &s;ay no more to per&s;wade yee to lay down your Tumultuous Arms, that only &s;erve to di&s;turb the publick Tranquility, and render yee obnoxious to your Princes ju&s;t Indignation.</P>
<PB N="423" REF="229">
<P>Here <HI>Don Quixote</HI> paws'd a while, as it were to take breath; at what time <HI>Sancho</HI> believing he had done, the Devil take me, quo he, if this Ma&s;ter a' mine be not a Doctor of Divinity; or if he be not &s;o indeed, he's as like one as four Pence to a Groat; and then encourag'd by the continu'd attention of the Armed Auditory&mdash; Gentlemen, quo he, My Lord <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> once call'd the <HI>Knight of the Ill-favour'd Countenance,</HI> but now the <HI>Knight of the Lyons,</HI> is a Per&s;on of great knowledge and di&s;|cretion, and one that can &s;peak Latin as fluently as an U&s;her of a School; and in all the Coun&s;els and Admonitions that he gives he &s;peaks like a Souldier, bluntly but to the purpo&s;e. He has all the Laws and Statutes of Military Di&s;cipline and Knight-Errantry at his Fingers ends, &s;o that you may depend upon his Advice; and in &s;o doing if ever yee tread awry, then will I give yee leave to brand me for an Infidel. And I mu&s;t tell yee, 'tis not without good Rea&s;on that he &s;eems &s;o much offended at your quar|relling &s;o idly about a &s;illy Bu&s;ine&s;s of <HI>Braying.</HI> For I remember when I was a little Scaperloiterer, and us'd to play truant, I took great delight in Braying; and by often practice, without offence to your Wor&s;hips, and without vanity be it &s;poken, it was &s;o natural to me, that all the A&s;&s;es i' the Village would fall a Braying when they heard me Bray. And yet for all that, I was no le&s;s the Son of Parents, who were Both well de&s;cended. I mu&s;t confe&s;s that for this excellent Quality of mine, I was envy'd by a|bove four of the be&s;t Young Men i' the Pari&s;h, but I valu'd 'em not a But|ton; well knowing that every Man was to make the be&s;t of tho&s;e parts which Heaven and his own Indu&s;try had be&s;tow'd upon him. Now, Gen|tlemen, to let you &s;ee that I am no Lyar, but one that always tells truth, do but hear me, and then your own Ears &s;hall be Judges; for this Art of mine is like &s;wimming, once acquir'd 'tis never forgot. And &s;o &s;aying, the &s;incere Squire, clapping both the Paums of his Hands to his No&s;e, fell a Braying with &s;uch a &s;trong and vigorous breath, that he made all the Neighbouring Woods and Vallies ring again. But as he was going to re|cover his Wind, and Bray a &s;econd time, one of tho&s;e that &s;tood next him, believing he had done it in mockery, gave him &s;uch a thump with a Woodden Leaver upon the Reins of his Back, that he fell'd poor <HI>Sancho</HI> from his A&s;s, and layd him &s;prawling upon the Ground. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;eeing his unfortunate Squire &s;o uncivilly us'd, ran with his Lance couch'd again&s;t the remorcele&s;s A&s;&s;aylant; but finding him re&s;cu'd by &s;uch a num|ber of Pitchforks and other de&s;perate Weapons, and feeling it already be|gan to rain mortal &s;howers of Stones about his Ears, be&s;ides a great num|ber of Muskets ready to give Fire, he withdrew him&s;elf out of the Throng as fa&s;t as <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> could Gallop, heartily recommending him&s;elf to God and his dear Mi&s;tre&s;s, believing him&s;elf already &s;hot through with a thou|&s;and Bullets: but the Rabble being &s;atisfi'd with his Flight, never offer'd to &s;end any of their Leaden Me&s;&s;engers after him. As for <HI>Sancho,</HI> he was acquitted, upon payment of the blow he had receiv'd; &s;o that they layd him athwart his A&s;s, hardly recover'd from the &s;wimming of his Head that accompany'd the brui&s;e of his Back, and &s;uffer'd him to follow his Ma|&s;ter; which his <HI>Grizzle</HI> according to Cu&s;tom did of her own accord, as not being able to quit the Society of <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> tho but for a moment. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> on the other &s;ide having try'd <HI>Ro&s;inantes</HI> Heels, and perceiv|ing him&s;elf out of Gun-&s;hot, fac'd about; and &s;eeing <HI>Sancho</HI> and his A&s;s pacing fair and &s;oftly towards him, without any trouble&s;om Train attending 'em, &s;tay'd to receive and condole his Friend and A&s;&s;ociate.</P>
<PB N="424" REF="230">
<P>As for the Men of War they &s;tay'd till night, and then return'd home to their Wives, triumphing over their da&s;tardly Enemies that dur&s;t not &s;hew their Faces. And I believe, that had they under&s;tood the Cu&s;tom of the <HI>Greeks</HI> and <HI>Oliverians,</HI> they would have erected &s;ome Trophy in the Place of expectation, as a Monument of their Valour, and have &s;et apart a day of Thank&s;giving for their Great Victory.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="28" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XXVIII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing &s;everal Remarkable Pa&s;&s;ages written by <HI>Benengeli,</HI> which he that reads the next Chapter with Attention may know.</HEAD>
<P>WHen a Valiant Man flies, you may be &s;ure he has di&s;cover'd &s;ome Ambu&s;cade; for it becomes a prudent Per&s;on to re&s;erve him&s;elf for a better Occa&s;ion. This Truth is verify'd in <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who never con&s;idering the danger wherein he had left the di&s;tre&s;&s;ed <HI>Sancho,</HI> cho&s;e rather to run away, then expo&s;e him&s;elf to the fury of an enrag'd Multitude; and to &s;ecure him&s;elf at a di&s;tance out of harms way. <HI>Sancho,</HI> as I &s;aid before, follow'd his Ma&s;ter &s;tretcht out upon his <HI>Grizzle,</HI> and having reco|ver'd his Sences, ju&s;t as he had overtaken him, fell down at <HI>Ro&s;inante's</HI> Feet. Pre&s;ently <HI>Don Quixote</HI> alighted to &s;earch his Wounds, but finding his Skin whole, in a Pelting chafe, Friend, quo he, who the Devil taught you to Bray with a Pox to yee? <HI>I had thought you had known better things, then to be talking of Halters, in the Hou&s;e of a Man who&s;e Parents were hang'd.</HI> 'Slife! what other payment could &s;uch a Mu&s;itioner as you expect for his Mu&s;ick? Go and thank God, Sirrha, that in&s;tead of dry blows, they did not &s;lice thee into fat Collops.</P>
<P>I have not a word to &s;ay for my &s;elf, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> my Kidneys &s;peak &s;ufficiently for me; pray, Sir, help me up, and let's get out of this place; if ever I Bray again i' this World, I'le gi' yee my Mother for a Maid. On|ly I cannot forbear to ob&s;erve the Wi&s;dom and Prudence of you <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> in running away to &s;ave one, and leave their Squires to be thra&s;h'd like Wallnut Trees in the mid&s;t of their Enemies. No, <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I did not run away, but only retire; for thou mu&s;t know <HI>Sancho,</HI> that Valour which is not &s;upported by Prudence is meer Ra&s;hne&s;s, and the Actions of a Ra&s;h Man are attributed rather to his good Fortune, then to his Courage: I mu&s;t confe&s;s I did retire, but not flie; and in &s;o doing I did but imitate the mo&s;t Valiant Captains, who not to hazard their Honour indi&s;creetly, have re&s;erv'd them&s;elves for more favourable occa&s;i|ons. Hi&s;tories are full of Accidents of the &s;ame Nature, but as it is to no purpo&s;e, &s;o neither am I in a humour at pre&s;ent to urge Pre&s;idents.</P>
<P>By this time <HI>Don Quixote</HI> having &s;ettl'd <HI>Sancho</HI> upon his A&s;s, and being mounted him&s;elf, they march'd fair and &s;oftly along to a Wood about a quarter of a Mile off: Yet as &s;oftly as they rode, <HI>Sancho</HI> could not forbear fetching mo&s;t profound &s;ighs, and making heavy Lamentations, be|moaning his Ribs after a mo&s;t doleful manner; of which when <HI>Don Quixote</HI> demanded the Rea&s;on, poor <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;adly an&s;wer'd, that from his Nock-bone to the very Nape of his Neck, his pain was &s;uch as almo&s;t be|reft him of his Speech. Doubtle&s;s, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> the cau&s;e of thy ex|traordinary Pain, is by rea&s;on the Leaver being long and broad, was well
<PB N="425" REF="230"> aim'd and layd on at the full breadth, as a broad Bli&s;ter &s;pread upon the Skin, Scarifies more then one of a le&s;&s;er Compa&s;s. By the Lord Harry, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> you ha' reveal'd to me a very great My&s;tery: And now i' the Devil's name; was the Cau&s;e of my Pain &s;o hard to be divin'd, that you mu&s;t di&s;cover it in &s;uch Eloquent Terms? O yes; I ha' found it out, for you &s;ay I have a pain in my Ankle-bone which I know not of, and that's a poynt of Divination indeed; but to tell me the cau&s;e of my Pain where the Leaver hit me, every Fool cou'd ha' done that. In good &s;ooth, Sir, Mr. Ma&s;ter of ours, now I di&s;cover Land; I find you are like all the re&s;t of the World, that lay to heart no Bodies harms but their own; and what I mu&s;t expect by keeping you Company&mdash; Ee'n as yee left me now to the Mercy of the&s;e bloody Rib roa&s;ters, and t'other day to be to&s;t in a Blanket upon an Errand to the Moon; &s;o do I expect to be left a hunder'd times more i' the&s;e Lurches; and as it is like to co&s;t me one Rib at pre&s;ent, the next bout ware both my Eyes. Death o' the Devil, I ha' been always a Fool hitherto, and &s;o &s;hall continue as long as I live&mdash; My be&s;t cour&s;e had been never to have undertook the&s;e Rambles, and now my be&s;t cour&s;e will be to return home to my Wife and Chil|dren, and look after my Hou&s;e with that little Wit that God has giv'n me, in&s;tead of running your <HI>Wild-goo&s;e Chaces</HI> any longer, and the mo&s;t part of my time too, without either eating or drinking. A comfortable Re|fre&s;hment indeed, after a Man has weary'd him&s;elf off his Legs, to cry&mdash; are yee &s;leepy, Brother Squire? Take &s;ix Foot of Earth; and if that won't &s;erve, take &s;ix Foot more.&mdash;The Devil burn that &s;ame fir&s;t Son of a Butcher that invented this <HI>Knight-Errantry;</HI> or at lea&s;t the fir&s;t Fool, that had &s;o little Wit as to turn Squire to &s;uch a Parcel of Mad men&mdash; Pardon me, Sir, I mean the <HI>Knights-Errant</HI> of former times, not the Honourable Gen|tlemen of this pre&s;ent Age, for whom I have a particular re&s;pect, becau&s;e your Wor&s;hip is one of the number, and becau&s;e I perceive yee to have more Wit and Sence then any of the re&s;t; and that indeed you under&s;tand a poynt more then the Devil him&s;elf.</P>
<P>I'le hold a good Wager, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> while thou ha&s;t the liberty to prate thus without interruption, that thou feel'&s;t no more pain then a Tortoi&s;e in his Shell.&mdash; Well&mdash; <HI>Sancho,</HI> talk on&mdash; talk till thy Lungs ake&mdash; talk like a Quaker in a Meeting-Hou&s;e, whatever comes into thy Brain&mdash; I'le patiently bear with the trouble of all thy Impertinencies; and if thou ha&s;t &s;uch a de&s;ire to return home to thy Wife and Children, God forbid that I &s;hould hinder thee&mdash; Thou keep'&s;t my Ca&s;h&mdash; Count how many days 'tis &s;ince we made our la&s;t Sally, ca&s;t up thy Wages by the Month, and pay thy &s;elf&mdash; When I &s;erv'd <HI>Tom Carra&s;co</HI> the Students Father, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> whom your Wor&s;hip knows very well, I earn'd a Mark a Month: I know not what to demand of you; but this I know, that a Squire to a <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> undergoes more hard&s;hip then e're a Plough-Boy i' the World: for we that go to Plough and Cart, whate|ver we endure all the day, are &s;ure of our Fat Bacon and Pudding at night, and to &s;noar in a Bed: But &s;ince I &s;erv'd you, I'le take my Corporal Oath I never had my Belly full, nor a good nights Re&s;t, unle&s;s it were at <HI>Don Diegoes</HI> Hou&s;e, when I &s;cumm'd <HI>Don Martins</HI> Caldron, and drank and &s;lept at Mr. <HI>Ba&s;ils.</HI> Mercy upon me, all the re&s;t of my time I never &s;lept but upon the Green Earth, under the Canopy of Heaven, expos'd to all the Inconveniencies of Wind and Weather, living providentially upon Scraps of hard Chee&s;e, and mouldy Cru&s;ts, and drinking the Water of the De|&s;erts.</P>
<PB N="426" REF="231">
<P>I agree to all you &s;ay, quo <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> then how much more do&s;t thou demand above what <HI>Tom Carra&s;co</HI> payd thee? why truly, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> if I may be my own Caterer, two Shillings a Month more then <HI>Tom Carra&s;co</HI> gave me I think will be but very rea&s;onable for Wages; and then in lieu of the I&s;land which you promis'd me, I think that in poynt of Con&s;cience you cannot give me le&s;s then twelve Shillings a Month more, which makes twenty &s;even Shillings and four Pence in all.</P>
<P>Very good, quo <HI>Don Quixote</HI>&mdash; Let's &s;ee then, 'tis now twenty five days &s;ince we left our Village, reck'n what is thy due for Wages, and for the re&s;t take your own demands and pay thy &s;elf.</P>
<P>But &s;tay, Sir, reply'd <HI>Sancho</HI>&mdash; we are out in our accompt, for as to your promi&s;e of the I&s;land, we are to reck'n from the very day that you fir&s;t made the promi&s;e to this very Minute. Very good, quo <HI>Don Quixote</HI>&mdash; and how long is it, I pray, &s;ince I fir&s;t made you that promi&s;e? According to the be&s;t of my Remembrance, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I think it is from this very Hour about twenty years, more or le&s;s. <HI>Hoyday,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> bur|&s;ting forth into a loud laughter, what ayls the Fellow?&mdash; we have hard|ly been abroad in all two Months; and now thou would'&s;t make me be|lieve 'tis twenty Years ago &s;ince I oblig'd my &s;elf to give thee an I&s;land&mdash; I find thou ha&s;t a mind to turn Cheat i' thy Old Age, and to Couzen me of all my Money&mdash; in good time&mdash; Take it with all my heart, and much good may it do thee&mdash; for rather then be plagu'd with &s;uch a confound|ed Squire as thou art, I would part with my Shirt.&mdash; But prithee tell me, Treacherous Tran&s;gre&s;&s;our of all the Laws of <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI>&mdash; where did'&s;t thou &s;ee or read that ever any Squire &s;tood haggling with his Ma&s;ter, or brangling as thou ha&s;t done about more or le&s;s? Dive <HI>Cut-Pur&s;e,</HI> dive mi&s;erable Wretch, into the &s;pacious Sea of Hi&s;tory, and &s;hew me any &s;uch example, and I'le give thee leave to Brand me i' the Fore|head, with four <HI>Mammon</HI>'s in Capital Letters over my No&s;e. Go too then, the bu&s;ine&s;s is concluded, take thy own Cour&s;e, and get thee home with a murrain, for I am re&s;olv'd thou &s;halt not &s;tay a Minute longer i' my Service. O the many Loavs of mine ill be&s;tow'd! Friend&s;hip ingratefully recom|penc'd! Promi&s;es ill plac'd! vile heartle&s;s Wretch, that partak'&s;t more of Bea&s;t then Human kind!&mdash;Thou art leaving me, when I was ju&s;t upon the ve|ry poynt of rai&s;ing thee to the highe&s;t Pinacle of Grandeur&mdash; Thou &s;hark'&s;t away from me, when I had the be&s;t I&s;land in the Sea ready to be&s;tow upon thee&mdash; ju&s;t when I thought to have &s;een thee honour'd and re|&s;pected by all the World. Treacherous Infidel without Honour, without Ambition&mdash; well might'&s;t thou &s;ay indeed that <HI>Honey was not for the Chaps of an A&s;s;</HI> and indeed thou art a very A&s;s; an A&s;s thou wilt live, and an A&s;s thou wilt dye.</P>
<P>While <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was thus loading poor <HI>Sancho</HI> with Reproaches, poor <HI>Sancho</HI> all aba&s;h'd, di&s;may'd, and confounded, beheld his Ma&s;ter with a wi&s;tful look, and bur&s;ting out for grief into a flood of Tears; Sir, &s;aid he, with a whining and &s;orrowful Voice, ju&s;t as if he had been reading his Neck-Ver&s;e, my mo&s;t dear and precious Ma&s;ter, I acknowledge I want nothing but a Tail and long Ears to be an ab&s;olute A&s;s; if your Wor&s;hip will be pleas'd but to fix the one to my Back&s;ide, and the other to my Head, I &s;hall deem 'em well &s;et on, and &s;erve yee all the days of my Life. Be not &s;o angry I be&s;eech yee, Sir, rather pitty my Youth, con|&s;ider my Breeding, and if my Tongue run at random, a&s;cribe it to my weakne&s;s and &s;implicity, rather then to my evil Intentions; for as the fault is, &s;o mu&s;t the Pardon be. <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> what are be|come
<PB N="427" REF="231"> of all thy Proverbs; I admire thou could&s;t talk all this while, with|out &s;o much as one mu&s;ty Adagie. But all's well again, thy Repentance has prevail'd, and I pardon thee, tho upon this Condition, that thou amend'&s;t thy follies, and for the future tak'&s;t care of being &s;o rivited to thy own Self intere&s;t. Pluck up a good heart then, and rely upon the Faith and Integrity of my Promi&s;es, of which thou wilt &s;oon &s;ee the full accompli&s;hment, and don't believe 'em impo&s;&s;ible becau&s;e delay d. There|upon <HI>Sancho</HI> recover'd out of his Dumps, renew'd the League with his Ma&s;ter, and promis'd to reforme all his pa&s;t Errors.</P>
<P>Having thus fini&s;h'd their di&s;cour&s;e, they betook them&s;elves into the Wood, and lay rough at the bottom of a Tree; where <HI>Sancho</HI> had but a bad night's Re&s;t, in regard the Coolne&s;s of the Air augmented his Di&s;tem|per. As for <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> he diverted him&s;elf with his u&s;ual Imaginati|ons. But neither of 'em liking their Lodging, they got up early i' the Morning, and continu'd their Journey toward the River <HI>Heber;</HI> where what befel 'em, we &s;hall relate i' the following Chapter.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="29" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XXIX.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing the Adventure of the Enchanted Bark.</HEAD>
<P>AFter two days March, our Noble Adventurers arriv'd at the River <HI>Heber;</HI> where <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was infinitely pleas'd to behold the Beauty of the River, the Verdure of its Banks, the abounding plenty of the Water, and the Tranquility of the Stream. And this delightful Pro&s;pect re|calling to his mind a thou&s;and Amourous thoughts; more e&s;pecially of what he had &s;een in the Cave of <HI>Monte&s;inos,</HI> which he a&s;&s;ur'd him&s;elf to be real Truths, in de&s;pight of the Monkeys An&s;wer, and contrary to <HI>Sancho</HI>'s more judicious Opinion, who took 'em all for lies, he abandon'd him&s;elf, waking, to his wonted idle and fanta&s;tick Dreams.</P>
<P>In the mid&s;t of the&s;e charming fancies, he &s;py'd in the River a &s;mall Bark without any Oars, Cordage or Sails, moor'd to the Trunk of a Tree. There|upon looking round about him, and &s;eeing the Coa&s;t clear, he threw him|&s;elf to the ground, commanding <HI>Sancho</HI> to alight and tye their Bea&s;ts to an <HI>O&s;ier</HI> that grew ready at hand. <HI>Sancho</HI> ask'd him wherefore he alighted &s;o briskly, and what de&s;ign he had in his Noddle?</P>
<P>Friend, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> thou art to under&s;tand, that this &s;ame Bark lies there to no other end but only to invite me to enter into it, for the relief of &s;ome di&s;tre&s;&s;ed Knight, or other per&s;on of Quality that is in great dan|ger: For ob&s;erve the very method of Enchanters in all the Books of <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> when any Knight, who is a friend of theirs, is up to the ears i' the Sudds, and knows not which way i' the world to get out of him&s;elf, but by the a&s;&s;i&s;tance of &s;ome other Knight, as being perhaps two or three thou|&s;and miles di&s;tant one from the other, they &s;end him, as here now, a Bark, that &s;eems to be altogether unrigg'd, and without either Oars or Tackle, as this is, in which he cro&s;&s;es the Sea; or el&s;e they hor&s;e him up into a Cloud, and by that means before you can tell twenty, he is tran&s;ported through the Air, or whisk'd along the Seas to the Place where there is oc|ca&s;ion for him: and now if this Boat don't lie here meerly upon this de&s;ign, I am a Hor&s;e and no <HI>Knight-Errant.</HI> And therefore tye up <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> and
<PB N="428" REF="232"> <HI>Grizzle,</HI> and let's begon without lo&s;ing time; for I am re&s;olv'd to try this Adventure, tho all the Monks of St. <HI>Francis</HI>'s Order &s;hould conjure me up|on their knees to de&s;i&s;t. Nay, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> if nothing will &s;erve your turn, but &s;till to follow the&s;e intoxications of the Devils Witchcraft, my part is only to make a leg and obey&mdash;according to the Proverb&mdash;<HI>Do as thy Ma&s;ter commands thee, tho it be to &s;it at his Table.</HI> However in di&s;charge of a good Con&s;cience, give me leave to tell yee, I do not believe this Boat to be any of tho&s;e <HI>Enchanters</HI> Boats you dream of, but &s;ome Fi&s;hermans Ve&s;&s;el that u&s;es this River, which affords the be&s;t Thornback in all the Country. This advice did <HI>Sancho</HI> give his Ma&s;ter while he was tying the Bea&s;ts to the Tree, tho griev'd to the very Soul to leave the poor Creatures a|lone; and therefore like a faithful Friend mo&s;t heartily recommended 'em to the care of the Enchanters. Which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> hearing, bid him never pine him&s;elf for the Bea&s;ts; a&s;&s;uring him that the <HI>Necromancers</HI> would never &s;uffer 'em to want. Go too, Sir, then &s;aid <HI>Sancho,</HI> they are fa&s;t I'le warrant yee, what mu&s;t we do next? Nothing more, reply'd <HI>D. Quixote,</HI> but recommend our &s;elves to God and weigh Anchor. And &s;o &s;aying he leapt into the Bark, when <HI>Sancho</HI> following him, cut the Cable, and &s;o by degrees the &s;tream carri'd the Boat from the Shoar; but <HI>Sancho</HI> no &s;ooner &s;aw him&s;elf in the middle of the River, but he began to quiver and &s;hake, as giving him&s;elf over for Sea-mon&s;ter dyet. But nothing griev'd him &s;o much as to hear <HI>Grizzle</HI> bray, and to &s;ee how <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> paw'd and tugg'd his Bridle to get to the Gra&s;s. Sir, &s;aid he, look yonder, how poor <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> &s;trives to break his Bridle, mad to throw him|&s;elf after Us; hark too, how my poor <HI>Grizzle</HI> bemoans our Ab&s;ence. Ah my dear Friends, then continu'd he, have patience a little while, till Heaven &s;hall find a Cure for this Madne&s;s of our Ma&s;ter's that makes this Separation, and then yee may be &s;ure we'll &s;oon return to your relief. Which &s;aid, he fell a blubbering and making &s;uch an ugly noi&s;e, that <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> giving him a &s;urly look; Da&s;tard, quo he, What is't thou fear'&s;t? What do&s;t bleat for like a great Calf? Who pur&s;ues thee, for a Weezle-hearted Ra&s;cal? What would'&s;t thou &s;ay if thou wert to march Barefoot over the Snowy <HI>Riphaean</HI> Mountains, or the burning Sands of the <HI>Libyan</HI> De&s;erts; Thou that &s;itt'&s;t like an Arch-duke at a Table abounding with Plenty? See how &s;oftly and gently the Current of this River carry's us along; from whence in a Moment we &s;hall fall into the wide Ocean, if we are not there already. For I am &s;ure we are about &s;even or eight hunder'd Leagues from the Place where we fir&s;t embarqu'd&mdash; had I but an A&s;trolabe here, I could tell thee exactly; tho if I gue&s;s right we are now about to pa&s;s the <HI>Equinoctial Line,</HI> that divides the whole World into two equal Parts.</P>
<P>And when we have pa&s;s'd that <HI>Line,</HI> as you call it, I be&s;eech your Wor|&s;hip, how many Leagues have we &s;ayl'd then? When we come to the <HI>Line,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> we have mea&s;ur'd the one half of the Globe of the Earth, according to <HI>Ptolomies</HI> accompt, who was one of the be&s;t Co&s;|mographers i' the World; which at three hunder'd and &s;ixty degrees, and five and twenty Leagues to a degree, makes nine thou&s;and Leagues in all.</P>
<P>By the Lord Harry, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> this &s;ame Mon&s;ieur of a <HI>Count,</HI> what d' yee call him, with his Additions of <HI>Meon</HI> or <HI>Meo,</HI> was a notable Man &s;ure; and is mightily beholding to your Wor&s;hip, to carry me along with yee by Water, to witne&s;s the Truth of his wonders; for I'le undertake neither <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> nor <HI>Grizzle</HI> would ha' travell'd one of the&s;e degrees in &s;ix years. I find thou do&s;t not under&s;tand me <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> &s;miling, neither have I lei&s;ure at pre&s;ent to inform thee; however thou can&s;t not take it ami&s;s to trye an Experiment that co&s;ts thee nothing.
<PB N="429" REF="232"> The <HI>Spaniards</HI> and all tho&s;e that Embark from <HI>Cadiz</HI> to the <HI>Ea&s;t-Indies,</HI> have made it a mo&s;t infallible Ob&s;ervation, that &s;o &s;oon as they have pa&s;s'd the <HI>Equinoctial Line,</HI> all their Vermin dye; not &s;o much as one Lou&s;e re|maining, tho you might have an Ounce of Gold for every Black-li&s;ted Ani|mal. Look therefore <HI>Sancho</HI> 'i thy Shirt, and if thou find'&s;t any <HI>Creepers</HI> about thee, then we have not pa&s;t the <HI>Line;</HI> if thou do&s;t not, then we have pa&s;t the <HI>Line.</HI> Tararara, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> the Devil take him for the Son of a Whore that believes a Tittle of all this: However I'le &s;ubmit to your Commands, tho there be no occa&s;ion; for I plainly &s;ee with my own Eyes, that we are not got above twenty Perches from the Shore, by the &s;ame token that you may di&s;cern <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> and <HI>Grizzle</HI> in the &s;ame place &s;till where we left 'em ty'd. And I'le venture my Wife and Children that we do not move much fa&s;ter then an Emmet, and that we go no farther then yonder Lock which I &s;ee before us.</P>
<P>Try what I tell thee, <HI>Sancho,</HI> and never &s;tand to argue; thou know'&s;t not what belongs to Colures, Lines, Parallels, Zodiacks, Poles, Sol&s;tices, Planets, Signs, Tangents, Points and Climates, of which the Sphear is compos'd; and therefore, as I &s;aid before, romage thy Linnen, and believe as thou &s;ee&s;t thy &s;elf; for, for my part I take thee to be as clear as a Sheet of guilt <HI>Venice</HI> Paper. Thereupon <HI>Sancho</HI> obey'd, put his hand gently into his Bo&s;om, and after he had felt a while, &s;taring in his Ma&s;ters Face, the Experiment is fal&s;e, quo he, or el&s;e we mi&s;take quarter Inches for Leagues&mdash; How! quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> ha&s;t found any thing <HI>Sancho?</HI> 'Tis e|nough that I tell yee th' Experiment's fal&s;e, cry'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> and &s;o &s;aying, he &s;hook his Fingers over the Water, and then wa&s;h'd his Hands in the River, upon which the Bark drove along in&s;en&s;ibly, without the help of any &s;ecret Intelligence, or conceal'd Necromancer, but only by the bare A&s;&s;i&s;tance of the Current as calm and &s;mooth as a Milk-bowl. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> however would not believe but that he was whirl'd along as &s;wift as an Arrow out of a Bow; and perceiving certain Mills i' the middle of the River, full of joy, Friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo he, look yonder, there's the City or Ca&s;tle, I'me &s;ure, where &s;ome di&s;tre&s;&s;ed Knight, or Queen, or Prin|ce&s;s lyes, that wants the &s;uccour of my Potent Arm&mdash; and now&mdash; What City or Ca&s;tle i' the Devils name d' yee mean? Sir, quo <HI>Sancho</HI>&mdash; Have not you liv'd long enough yet to know Mills from Cities? Good God, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> how long will the&s;e Misfortunes of mine attend me? They &s;eem indeed to be Mills, but a&s;&s;uredly they are not Mills. Have I not told thee a hundred times that the&s;e <HI>Necromancers</HI> change, overturn, and di&s;gui&s;e all things at their plea&s;ure; not that the&s;e changes are really &s;o, but only their Sorceries make 'em &s;eem to be &s;o. Of which we have had a late Confirmation in the Enchantment of my Dear <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> the only Refuge of all my Hopes.</P>
<P>By this time the Bark being got into the middle of the Stream, the Current carry'd it along much &s;wifter then before. At what time the Millers perceiving the Bark coming a-drift full upon the Mill Wheels, came running out with their long Poles, with all the A&s;&s;i&s;tance they could readily call together, crying out as loud as they could open their Throats, Devils of Men, what d' yee mean, whither are yee going, are yee madd i' the Boat there, d' yee intend to be drownd, or ground to bits by the Mill Wheels?</P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> ob&s;erving the Miller's Countenances powder'd with Meal-du&s;t, and all their Tatters of the &s;ame Colour; did not I tell thee <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;aid he, 'twould not be long before we came to the place where it is or|dain'd
<PB N="430" REF="233"> for me to &s;hew my utmo&s;t Prowe&s;s, and the Invincible &s;trength of my Arm? See yonder how many di&s;mal Hobgoblins make head again&s;t me, how many deformed Phy&s;iognomies appear at once together, think|ing to affright me with their Goggle Eyes and Saracen's Faces? But we'll be with yee Hang-dogs, immediatly. With that he &s;tood up in the Bark, and rending his Wind-pipe, in a mo&s;t terrible tone began to threaten the Millers, crying out, Sons of Perdition, Infidels accurs'd of Heaven, Pa|gans, Mahumetans, Turks, and Devils upon Earth, relea&s;e forthwith tho&s;e Captives detain'd within your Ca&s;tle, High or Low, Rich or Poor, of what Condition or Quality &s;oever they be; for I am <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> the Renowned <HI>Knight of the Lyons,</HI> for whom Heaven has re|&s;erv'd the Honour to put a happy Conclu&s;ion to this Adventure. And ha|ving &s;o &s;aid, he drew his Sword and Fenc'd with the Air, as if he had been at Back-&s;word already with his Enemies the Millers; who hearing all this while his thundring Threats, but under&s;tanding what he meant no more then Hor&s;es, &s;tood ready with their Poles to keep off the Bark from the Wheels, and to pre&s;erve a Mad-man that had no care of him&s;elf. For neer the <HI>Mill-dam</HI> the Stream ran &s;trong, and brought down the Bark with a Rapid &s;wiftne&s;s.</P>
<P>All this while poor <HI>Sancho</HI> was at his Prayers to Heaven for deliverance but this one time; vowing to all the Saints as the <HI>Secretary</HI> did, that if e|ver they took him again in a Bark without Oars, he would give 'em leave to drown him; for that nothing but a Miracle or the Millers could &s;ave him: who &s;o be&s;tir'd them&s;elves, that they prevented the danger, tho not &s;o dextrou&s;ly, but that in turning the Bark from the Wheels, they overturn'd it the Keel upwards, with all its lading, and <HI>&s;ou&s;e</HI> came <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and his Squire both into the River. 'Twas well for <HI>Don Quixote</HI> that he could &s;wim like an <HI>Otter;</HI> but the weight of his Armour for all that car|ry'd him twice down to the bottom; however by means of his extraordina|ry Skill, and his labouring for Life like a Mou&s;e in a Wa&s;h-bowl, he got up again, and at length the Millers throwing them&s;elves into the Water, made a &s;hift to pull out <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and poor <HI>Sancho,</HI> that lookt like a pumpt Bayliff; which had they not done, there had been an end of the Succour of the Oppre&s;&s;ed, and the Mirrour of I&s;land-Governours.</P>
<P>In this Pickle, more &s;ous'd then thir&s;ty, the Millers lay'd out the Knight, now tame enough, and his Anabaptiz'd Squire upon the Gra&s;s a drying in the Sun; at what time <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;hivering and &s;haking with cold, and lift|ing up his Eyes and his Hands to Heaven, call'd upon all the Saints he could think of, to deliver him for the future from the Ra&s;h extravagancies, and incon&s;iderate follies of his Ma&s;ter.</P>
<P>But he had &s;carce ended his Prayers, before the Phili&s;tin Fi&s;her-men were upon him; who &s;eeing their Bark broken all to pieces, fell upon <HI>San|cho,</HI> and began to unca&s;e him, demanding &s;atisfaction both of him and his Ma&s;ter for the lo&s;s of their Bark. To whom <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> no more di|&s;turb'd then if he had been bath'd in E&s;&s;ence of Oranges, an&s;wer'd with his u&s;ual Flegmatick Gravity, that he was ready to pay for the Bark, pro|vided they would relea&s;e the Captives that they detain'd unju&s;tly in their Ca&s;tle; which not being done they mu&s;t hope for no Mercy nor Money from him. What Captives, i' the name of <HI>Lucifer,</HI> what Ca&s;tle d' yee mean, Sir, quo the Millers, would yee carry away our Cu&s;tomers from us? This 'tis, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> to preach in a Wilderne&s;s; a Man had as good talk to the Rocks, as to &s;uch Tra&s;h of Mankind as the&s;e. Then continuing his Speech; Certainly, &s;aid he, this mu&s;t be &s;ome confounded
<PB N="431" REF="233"> Conte&s;t between two <HI>Necromancers,</HI> both Craftma&s;ters i' their Art: One &s;ends me a Bark and t'other overturns it; God &s;end us better Times, for here is nothing but over-reaching and undermining i' this World. Then ca&s;ting a fixed eye upon the Millers, well&mdash;my dear Friends, and Prince&s;&s;es, quo he, pardon me, I be&s;eech yee, &s;ince it &s;o falls out, both to your Misfortune and mine, that it lies not in my power to relea&s;e yee from your Chains.</P>
<P>After that, he came to an agreement with the Fi&s;hermen for the price of the Boat, to whom <HI>Sancho</HI> paid down five good Mark in ready Coyn, fetch|ing a hunder'd &s;ighs from the bottom of his heart as he told out the money: and when he &s;aw the Fi&s;hermen pur&s;e up the Guelt; Adieu dear Images of our Soveraign Lord the King, quo he, one &s;uch Voyage more will bring our Noble to Ninepence.</P>
<P>Thus <HI>Don Quixot,</HI> like &s;ome Princes, wi&s;ely bought his Peace: yet nei|ther could the Millers nor the Fi&s;hermen forbear admiring two &s;uch Figures and Re&s;emblances of Human Offspring, that neither &s;poke nor acted like the re&s;t of the Sons of Men; both their Language and their De&s;ign being all Heathen Greek and My&s;teries to Them incomprehen&s;ible. And therefore at length concluding 'em to be Ten degrees madder than any Tom-a-Bed|lams they had ever &s;een, they left 'em and return'd, the Millers to their Mill, and the Fi&s;hermen to their Employment. <HI>Don Quixot</HI> al&s;o and <HI>Sancho</HI> made ha&s;te to relieve their Bea&s;ts, that with &s;orrowful Countenances &s;eem'd to be|wail their being ty'd up from the &s;weet Tufts of Gra&s;s that grew under their no&s;es; a Grievance to them beyond the Enchantment of ten thou&s;and Prince&s;&s;es and Per&s;ons of Quality.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="30" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XXX.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing what happen'd to <HI>Don Quixot,</HI> upon his meeting with the fair Huntre&s;s.</HEAD>
<P>THus the Knight and Squire return'd with wet Shirts, and melancholy Hearts to the dear Companions of their Travels; tho <HI>Sancho</HI> were the more ca&s;t down and pen&s;ive of the two; who minding nothing but his Profit, inwardly &s;orrow'd for the lo&s;s of his Five Marks, which he lookt upon as &s;o many drops of Blood, or the Apples of his Eyes. Well, to be &s;hort, at length they both mounted, without &s;o much as opening their Lips one to another, and left the unfortunate River, riding along like two Mutes, the one profoundly drownd in his Romantick Amu&s;ements, the other pondring how to get more Money, and where to lye warm at Night. For <HI>Sancho,</HI> as &s;imple as he was, had &s;o ill an Opinion of his Ma|&s;ters Fegaries, that he began to de&s;pair of any good to be expected from his Promi&s;es, and to ca&s;t about which way to make his e&s;cape, and leave him to Ramble by him&s;elf. But Fortune ordain'd it quite otherwi&s;e then he could po&s;&s;ibly imagin, as you &s;hall find by the Sequel.</P>
<P>It happen'd then, that the next day toward Evening, ju&s;t as he was bid|ding farewel to a Forre&s;t, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;py'd a great number of People, at the farther end of a green Meadow; to whom he rode up, and then found 'em to be certain Per&s;ons of Quality, that were abroad with their Hawks and their Spaniels. Among the re&s;t he perceiv'd a Lady with a Hawk upon her Fi&s;t, richly habited, upon a white Pacing Mare, &s;umptu|ou&s;ly equipt, with a green Velvet Side-&s;addle embroider'd with Silver.
<PB N="432" REF="234"> Which made <HI>Don Quixote</HI> believe her to be &s;ome Per&s;on of Honour, and Mi&s;tre&s;s of the Train that attended, as indeed &s;he was. Thereupon, turn|ing about to his Squire, Son <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;aid he, go and pre&s;ent my humble duty to that Lady upon the white Mare, and tell her the <HI>Knight of the Lyons</HI> adores the Maje&s;ty of her Matchle&s;s Beauty; and if &s;he plea&s;es to vouch&s;afe him the favour, has an Ambition to ki&s;s her fair Hands, and obey her Commands to the utmo&s;t of his Power&mdash; But Sirrha, have a care how you deliver your &s;elf; more e&s;pecially refrain for once that con|founded Cu&s;tom of thine, of garbling thy mouldy Proverbs with my refin'd Complements. Marry, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> who more a Proverb monger then your &s;elf?&mdash; Is this the fir&s;t time think yee, that I have gone of your Emba&s;&s;ies to great Ladyes? Unle&s;s it were when I &s;ent thee to Madam <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I never know of any other for me. 'Tis very true, cry'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> but a good Payma&s;ter never grudges his Wages; and in a Hou&s;e where there's plenty the Cloath is &s;oon layd. That is to &s;ay, I need none of your Admonitions; for God be thanked, I know a little of every thing. I believe it, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> go thy ways, and thy good Angel guide thee. Pre&s;ently <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;et forward, putting his Patient <HI>Grizzle</HI> to the Trot, and approaching the fair Huntre&s;s, he pre&s;ent|ly alighted, and throwing him&s;elf upon his Knees; Mo&s;t fair and right Re|verend Lady, quo he, the Knight whom yonder you behold with your Beautiful Eyes, is the <HI>Knight of the Lyons,</HI> my Ma&s;ter, and I am his Squire, whom my Neighbours at home call Gaffer <HI>Sancho Pan&s;a.</HI> This <HI>Knight of the Lyons,</HI> who not long &s;ince was call'd the <HI>Knight of the Ill-favour'd Countenance,</HI> &s;ends me to bid me tell your <HI>Huge and Mightine&s;s,</HI> that his Lowne&s;s de&s;ires the Favour, with your good leave and perdition, to come and pro&s;trate him&s;elf, in the fir&s;t place at your Highne&s;&s;es Feet; i' the &s;e|cond place, to ri&s;e up and ki&s;s your &s;weet Win&s;om Gollikins, as we &s;ay in our Country; and then in the third place to put in execution his terrible de|&s;ign, which as he &s;ays, and I believe, he has to admire your Safforn duty, and to &s;erve your High-born Revinity to the utmo&s;t of his Power; for which if you will give him your perdition, he will take it for a great fa|vour, to be your ternal Va&s;&s;el. In good truth, mo&s;t excellent Squire, you have deliver'd your Emba&s;&s;y with all the formality and di&s;cretion, that &s;uch a weighty Commi&s;&s;ion requir'd. Recover your Legs I be&s;eech yee, Sir; for 'tis not rea&s;onable the Squire to &s;o famous a Knight as the <HI>Knight of the Ill-favour'd Countenance,</HI> with who&s;e Grandeur and worth we are &s;ufficiently acquainted, &s;hould remain upon his Knees; ri&s;e therefore Ho|ne&s;t Friend, and go and tell your Ma&s;ter, that 'twill be the greate&s;t Honour and Satisfaction imaginable both to the Duke and my &s;elf, if he will but accept the rude Welcom of a Hou&s;e we have hard by.</P>
<P><HI>Sancho</HI> ro&s;e, altogether Ravi&s;h'd with the Beauty and Affability of the Lady, but much more when he heard her talk of the <HI>Knight of the Ill-fa|vour'd Countenance,</HI> as a Per&s;on that was known to her, never taking notice of her not calling him the <HI>Knight of the Lyons,</HI> which was a Title he had but lately a&s;&s;um'd to him&s;elf.</P>
<P>Then quo the <HI>Dutche&s;s,</HI> I pray <HI>Mr.</HI> Squire tell me one thing. Is not this Ma&s;ter of yours the Per&s;on who&s;e Life is lately come forth in Print, under the Title of <HI>The Hi&s;tory of the mo&s;t admirable Knight Don Quixote de la Man|cha,</HI> who adores for his Mi&s;tre&s;s a certain Lady, call'd by the name of <HI>Dulci|nea del Tobo&s;o?</HI> The very &s;ame an't like your Holine&s;s, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> and that &s;ame Squire &s;o often mention'd in the Hi&s;tory by the name of <HI>Sancho Pan&s;a,</HI> is my &s;elf, Madam, if I was not chang'd i' my Cradle. I am extreamly glad of it,
<PB N="433" REF="234"> reply'd the Dutche&s;s, Go then dear <HI>Pan&s;a</HI> and tell thy Ma&s;ter, that he has extreamly oblig'd me by his arrival on my Territories, an accident &s;o grateful that nothing could have happen'd more to my Content and Satis|faction.</P>
<P>With this &s;ame gracious An&s;wer, <HI>Sancho</HI> return'd overjoy'd to his Ma|&s;ter, to whom he repeated all that the Lady had &s;aid to him, extolling in his ru&s;tical dialect, her Beauty, her Carriage, and her Affability, to the Skie.</P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> overjoy'd at &s;uch a Pro&s;perous beginning, &s;eated him&s;elf in his Saddle, fix'd his Toes in his Stirrups, gracefully accommodated the Vi|zor of his Helmet, and <HI>cheruping</HI> to his <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> rode forward to ki&s;s the Lady's Hand. Who &s;o &s;oon as <HI>Sancho</HI> was gone, had &s;ent for the Duke her Husband, and given him an accompt of the Me&s;&s;age &s;he had receiv'd. Thereupon they both prepar'd to receive the famous Champion; for ha|ving read the fir&s;t part of the Hi&s;tory of his Life, they were no le&s;s curious to &s;ee and know the Per&s;on, re&s;olving, as long as he &s;tai'd, not to contra|dict him in any thing, but to humour him in all things that were e&s;&s;en|tial to the Entertainment of a <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> according to what they had already ob&s;erv'd in their frequent reading of Romances.</P>
<P>Pre&s;ently <HI>Don Quixote</HI> approach'd; at what time <HI>Sancho</HI> perceiving him making a Motion to alight, ha&s;ten'd to be ready to hold his Stirrup; but making more ha&s;te then good &s;peed, he entangl'd his Leg after &s;uch a &s;trange manner in the Cord that &s;erv'd him to re&s;t his Foot, that not being able to di&s;ingage him&s;elf, he hung by the Heels with his Head up|on the Ground clo&s;e by his Ma&s;ter. On the other &s;ide <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> think|ing that <HI>Sancho</HI> had held his Stirrup, as he was lifting his right Leg over the Hor&s;e to alight, with his left brought the Saddle, that was very loo&s;e girt, under the very Belly of the Hor&s;e, and with that di&s;appointment down came he Head and Crupper both together, confounded with &s;hame, and Cur&s;ing poor <HI>Sancho,</HI> who was almo&s;t in as bad a Condition as him&s;elf with his Heels i' the Stocks. But the Duke beholding 'em in that di&s;tre&s;|&s;ed plight, gave order to &s;ome of his followers to &s;et 'em both upon their Legs again. At what time <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who had very much bruis'd his Huckle-bone, with a Hip&s;hot grace approaching the Lady fell upon his Knees at her Hor&s;es Feet. But the Duke, who knew his Wife and her Mare to be no Saints, and therefore that &s;o much Adoration was none of their due, alighting from his Hor&s;e, and embracing the humble Votary, Sir <HI>Knight of the Ill-favour'd Countenance,</HI> &s;aid he, It has been no &s;mall trouble to me, that you &s;hould no &s;ooner &s;et your Foot within my Terri|tories, but you &s;hould have &s;o much cau&s;e to repent of your favours; but the negligence of Squires is many times the occa&s;ion of wor&s;e Accidents. The &s;ight of your Illu&s;trious Per&s;on, mighty Prince, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> is a happine&s;s &s;o much by me e&s;teem'd, that I would not have valu'd my fal|ling to the bottom of th' Aby&s;s, for the Purcha&s;e of &s;o great an Honour. 'Tis true, my Squire, the Devil pick his fat Bones, under&s;tands better how to hold a <HI>Canterbury</HI> Tale of five hours long, then to &s;addle a Hor&s;e; but let my Po&s;ture be what it will, whether level with the Earth, or pitch'd upon my Head with my Heels upward, whether a foot or a Hor&s;e-back, I am ab&s;olutely at your Lord&s;hip's Service, and the mo&s;t humble Slave of my Lady the Dutche&s;s, your Peerle&s;s Con&s;ort, the Queen of Beauty, and Soveraign Prince&s;s of all Courte&s;ie. Forbear your Complements, good my <HI>Lord Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> quo the Duke, &s;o long as Madam <HI>Dulcinea</HI> lives, all other Lady's are unju&s;tly applauded.</P>
<PB N="434" REF="235">
<P>Here <HI>Sancho Pan&s;a,</HI> not able any longer to forbear, till his Ma&s;ter had return'd an An&s;wer; It cannot be deny'd, quo he, but that Madam <HI>Dulcinea</HI> is a very &s;weet Creature, a Primro&s;e of beauty; <HI>but all the world does not know where the Hare will &s;tart.</HI> I have heard a good Preacher &s;ay, that this &s;ame I know not who &s;he is, whom ye call <HI>Madam Nature,</HI> is like a Potter that makes Ve&s;&s;els of Clay; he that makes one hand&s;ome Pot, can make one, two, three, or a hundred: And &s;o I mu&s;t tell yee my thoughts, that my Lady the Dutche&s;s is nothing inferiour to Madam <HI>Dulcinea.</HI> Upon which, <HI>Don Quixot</HI> addre&s;&s;ing him&s;elf to the Dutche&s;s, 'Tis my misfortune, Madam, &s;aid he, but certainly never any Knight-Errant i'the world was troubl'd with &s;uch an eternal <HI>Prateroa&s;t,</HI> nor &s;uch a conceited <HI>Hangdog</HI> of a <HI>Squire,</HI> as I am: which if I have the honour to continue but a few days in your Service, your Highne&s;s will find to be true. Let <HI>Sancho</HI> be as con|ceited as he plea&s;es, reply'd the Dutche&s;s, I &s;hall e&s;teem him the better; 'tis a &s;ign he has &s;ome wit in his brains: Good Conceits you know my Lord <HI>Don Quixot</HI> are not to be met with among Loggerheads and Jobbernoles: and therefore if <HI>Sancho</HI> be a man of merry conceit, I'le warrant him al&s;o for a man of wit; and a perpetual Babler to boot, Madam: &s;o much the bet|ter cry'd the Duke; a man that talks well can never talk too much. But not to lo&s;e more time in words let's ha&s;ten home, whither I intend the Knight of the <HI>Ill-favour'd Countenance</HI> &s;hall accompany Us this night, if he plea&s;es to do us that honour.</P>
<P>Your Highne&s;s, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> mi&s;takes his Title, to call the <HI>Knight of the Lyons,</HI> the <HI>Knight of the Ill-favour'd Countenance. Knight of the Lyons</HI> let it be then, reply'd the Duke&mdash;So I &s;ay again, if the Knight of the Lyons will vouch&s;afe us his pre&s;ence at a Ca&s;tle which I have hard by, he &s;hall not fail of the be&s;t Entertainment the&s;e parts will afford, and which the Dutche&s;s and my &s;elf are wont to give to all Knight-Errants that travel this way.</P>
<P>Thereupon they all mounted and &s;et forward, the Duke and <HI>D. Quixot</HI> riding upon each hand of the Dutche&s;s, who call'd for <HI>Sancho</HI> to attend her likewi&s;e; pleas'd with the &s;portive diverti&s;ement of his impertinent Drol|lery. Nor was the Squire &s;uch a ba&s;hful Milk&s;op to refu&s;e the Invitation, but crouded in among the foremo&s;t, after his wonted unmannerly way, as believing there was no &s;port i' the Play without him. A &s;awcy Ru&s;ticity extreamly delightful to the Duke and Dutche&s;s, who were overjoy'd to have met with two men that were not to be parallel'd in all the world be&s;ide.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="31" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XXXI.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing &s;everal Extraordinary Matters.</HEAD>
<P>IT is not to be imagin'd how joyful <HI>Sancho</HI> was to &s;ee him&s;elf &s;o much in the Dutche&s;s's favour. For he made no que&s;tion but that he &s;hould wallow in the &s;ame Plenty at the Dukes Palace as he had met with at <HI>Don Diego</HI>'s and Mr. <HI>Ba&s;il</HI>'s Hou&s;es. For being an Affectionate Friend to good Vittles, he layd hold of Opportunities Forelock upon all occa&s;ions to &s;tuff his Paunch, whereever he met with Provender to his Liking.</P>
<P>Now before they arriv'd at the Ca&s;tle, the Duke rode before, and gave particular In&s;tructions to his Servants how to behave them&s;elves toward
<PB N="435" REF="235"> the new-come Gue&s;t. So that no &s;ooner was <HI>Don Quixote</HI> enter'd the Court Yard, but out came two Lacqueys in long Ve&s;ts of <HI>Crim&s;on,</HI> and took him from his Hor&s;e; telling him withal, that the Dutche&s;s expected the &s;ame A&s;&s;i&s;tance from his Highne&s;s. Thereupon <HI>Don Quixote</HI> ha&s;ten'd to the Dutche&s;s, and many Highflown Complements there pa&s;s'd between the Lady and the Knight; but in conclu&s;ion &s;he refus'd to alight in the Arms of any but the Duke her Husband; excu&s;ing her &s;elf to be a Burthen too mean for the Arms of &s;uch a worthy Champion: &s;o that there was a nece&s;&s;ity for the Duke him&s;elf to perform that Office. And now being en|ter'd into a &s;pacious Hall, immediately there came two young Dam&s;els, who threw a rich and long Mantle of fine Scarlet about <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Shoul|ders. Which done, the Galleries of the Room were fill'd with Men and Women, the Dome&s;ticks of the Duke, loudly crying out, Welcome, Welcome, the Cream and Flowre of <HI>Knight-Errantry;</HI> and &s;o &s;aying, they rain'd &s;howres of E&s;&s;ences and Sweet Waters, upon the Duke, the Dutche&s;s and <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> to the un&s;peakable Joy and Admiration of the Ravi&s;h'd Knight, who never till then &s;o certainly believ'd him&s;elf to be an undoubt|ed and real <HI>Knight-Errant;</HI> finding him&s;elf treated after the &s;ame manner as he had read in his Romances of the Entertainments of <HI>Knights-Errant</HI> in former Ages.</P>
<P>As for <HI>Sancho,</HI> he follow'd the Dutche&s;s, and keeping clo&s;e at her El|bow, enter'd the Hall with the Re&s;t. But being prickt with &s;ome remor&s;e of Con&s;cience, for having left his beloved <HI>Grizzle</HI> alone, he went to a Re|verend Matron, that came with the Re&s;t of the waiting Gentlewomen to meet the Dutche&s;s, and whi&s;pering in her Ear, Madam <HI>Dorothy,</HI> quo he, or what is your name I be&s;eech yee For&s;ooth? My name, Friend, quo &s;he, is <HI>Abigal Fitchet,</HI> what is your plea&s;ure with me? I would de&s;ire yee, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> to go into the Court, where you will find an A&s;s of mine, pray do me the kindne&s;s to order him into the Stable, or el&s;e lead him thither your &s;elf, for the poor Creature is very timorous, and does not love to be alone in a &s;trange Place.</P>
<P>If the Ma&s;ter have no more Manners then the Servant, we are all well hope up y'faith, quo Mrs. <HI>Abigail;</HI> good <HI>Gaffer Trundle-tail,</HI> go &s;eek &s;ome where el&s;e for Ladys, with a murrain, to look after your A&s;s; for here are no O&s;tlers Daughters i' this Hou&s;e. Gud's life, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> what are yee in a Huf, Madam? As if I have not heard my Ma&s;ter, who under&s;tands all the Hi&s;tories in the World, often &s;ay, that when <HI>Lancelot</HI> return'd into <HI>England,</HI> the Prince&s;&s;es took care of his Per&s;on, and the Ladys lookt after his Hor&s;e. And I mu&s;t tell yee good Madam <HI>Squeeze-fart,</HI> I would not change my A&s;s for <HI>Lancelot</HI>'s Hor&s;e, as Mettle&s;om as he was.</P>
<P>I think the Fool rides the Fellow, quo Mrs. <HI>Abigail</HI>&mdash; Pray Mr. <HI>Jack Adams</HI> keep your buffonries for tho&s;e that will take 'em, and pay yee bet|ter then I &s;hall; for I a&s;&s;ure yee, had all the Drols i' your great Fairs no better Cu&s;tomers then I, they might go hang them&s;elves; nor would I give a Fig for all the Je&s;ts i' your Budget. In my Con&s;cience, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;hould I take thee for a Fig, I might be &s;ure of a Ripe one; for if I &s;hould gue&s;s your Ladi&s;hip at <HI>Sixty,</HI> I &s;hould not mi&s;s a Cock-&s;tride of my Ac|compt.</P>
<P>Son of a Whore, reply'd Mrs. <HI>Abigail</HI> in a violent Twitter, whether I am Old or no, what ha&s;t thou to do with it? I am to give God an accompt of my Age, and not &s;uch a Rake&s;hame as thou &mdash;Marry gap&mdash; yee poy&s;on fac'd Ra&s;cal&mdash; The&s;e la&s;t words &s;he utter'd with &s;uch an outragious di&s;dain, and &s;o loud, that the Dutche&s;s heard her, and ob&s;erving her Colour up, ask'd
<PB N="436" REF="236"> her what was the matter? What's the matter, quo &s;he, why here's a &s;awcy <HI>Jack Pudding</HI> would ha' me put his A&s;s i' the Stable, telling me a Story of Prince&s;&s;es that lookt after the Hor&s;e of one, I know not who, Sir <HI>Lancelot</HI> I think he calls him; and becau&s;e I wo'nt do as he bids me for|&s;ooth, here i' your Graces own Hou&s;e he calls me <HI>Old</HI> in downright Eng|li&s;h.&mdash; Fie <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo the Dutche&s;s, I had thought you had known bet|ter things, then to call a Gentlewoman <HI>Old;</HI> and be mi&s;taken too! that's wor&s;t of all, for Mrs. <HI>Abigail</HI>'s a young Woman, and wears her Peak, as a Badge of her Authority, not a Mark of her Age.</P>
<P>May I never go out of your Hou&s;e again, Madam, if I meant any harm&mdash; only I have &s;uch a Paternal Affection for my dear <HI>Grizzle,</HI> as having been bred up from our Infancy both together, that I thought I could not re|commend him to a Per&s;on more Charitable then this good Gentlewoman. <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> ca&s;ting a &s;owre look upon him, d' yee know where yee are? Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> every Man talks of his Bu&s;ine&s;s in the place where he is; here it was that I thought of my <HI>Grizzle,</HI> and here I talk of him, had I call'd him to mind i' the Stable, I had talk'd of him there&mdash; <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;peaks nothing but rea&s;on, &s;aid the Duke, nor do I &s;ee any cau&s;e to blame him; but let him take no care for his A&s;s&mdash; his A&s;s &s;hall have as good Entertainment as him&s;elf.</P>
<P>This Plea&s;ant Squabble being over, which was &s;port alone for all the Company, unle&s;s it were the formal <HI>Don Quixote</HI> him&s;elf, the Knight was carry'd into a Noble Room of State, &s;umptuou&s;ly hung with Cloath of Gold, where he was di&s;arm'd by &s;ix young Dam&s;els, that &s;erv'd him in|&s;tead of Pages, who were fully in&s;tructed how to behave them&s;elves, on purpo&s;e to feed the Champion's Fancy with <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> Entertainment. And now <HI>Don Quixote</HI> being di&s;arm'd, appear'd in his clo&s;e Breeches, and Shamoy Doublet, as meager as an old Witch; Hollow-ey'd, Buckram-jaw'd; with both his Cheeks meeting i' the middle of his Mouth: in a word, his Figure was &s;o ridiculous, that the young Girls had certainly be|pi&s;s'd them&s;elves with laughing, had not the Duke expre&s;ly forbid 'em Giggling, whatever they did. At length they de&s;ir'd the Knight to let 'em pull of his Cloaths, and put him on a clean Shirt. But he refus'd their kindne&s;s with a &s;erious Mode&s;ty, affirming that it became not <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> to &s;hew young Wenches their Tackle; and therefore he reque&s;ted 'em to leave him and his Squire alone for a while. And &s;o being &s;hut up in a Chamber no le&s;s Magnificent then the Room of State, he took his Shirt, and ca&s;ting a &s;urlie look upon <HI>Sancho,</HI> Modern Scoundrel, and Raga|muffin of old, quo he, where learnt you to abu&s;e a Lady &s;o venerable and de&s;erving re&s;pect as Madam <HI>Abigail?</HI> Was that a time to think of your Confounded A&s;s? or do&s;t thou think that Per&s;ons of Quality who &s;o Nobly and Magnificently entertain the Ma&s;ters, forget to provide for their Bea&s;ts? For Heavens &s;ake, <HI>Sancho,</HI> leave off the&s;e Fooleries, and don't di&s;|cover thy &s;elf to be &s;uch an ignominious Clown as thou &s;eem'&s;t to be. Can&s;t thou be &s;uch an ignorant Fop &s;till, as not to under&s;tand that People value the Ma&s;ter according to the Behaviour of his Servants; and that Per&s;ons of quality have this Advantage over others, to be &s;erv'd by their followers no le&s;s civil and well behav'd then them&s;elves? But when they find thee out to be &s;uch a Ru&s;tick and Buffoon, what will they think of me? will they not take me for &s;ome Country Bumkin, or &s;ome Knight that was Dubb'd with a Stake out of a Hedg? No, no, <HI>Sancho,</HI> avoid the&s;e vani|ties&mdash; He that lets his Tongue run at rovers at all times, and at every Body, &s;hall at length be de&s;pis'd by all the World for a Common Twatler, and a
<PB N="437" REF="236"> Fellow not worth minding&mdash; and therefore bridle thy Tongue, Ponder and chaw thy words, before thou let'&s;t 'em flie out of thy Mouth: And la&s;tly con&s;ider that we are now happen'd into a Place, where by the A&s;|&s;i&s;tance of Heaven, and the force of this Arm, we may enrich our &s;elves in Honour and Reputation, and reap the Fruits of our good Fortune. <HI>San|cho</HI> thus la&s;h'd and &s;chool'd by the&s;e Verbal Ca&s;tigations of his Ma&s;ter, fell a <HI>greeting</HI> like a Scotch-man i' the Stule of Repentance, ask'd forgive|ne&s;s, and promis'd for the future &s;o to behave him&s;elf, that they &s;hould be|lieve he had been bred up at the Feet of <HI>Gamaliel.</HI></P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> having thus vanqui&s;h'd the &s;tubborn humour of his unduti|ful <HI>Prateroa&s;t,</HI> pre&s;ently dre&s;t him&s;elf; Hung his Eel-skin Belt about his Shoulders, together with his Tru&s;ty Sword; button'd on his Scarlet Cloak, and cover'd his Scull, the Seat of Prudence, with a Velvet Monteer Cap lin'd through with Cloath of Ti&s;&s;ue, which the Dam&s;els brought him, and in that Equipage enter'd the Great Room of State, where he found twelve Dam&s;els rang'd in order, &s;ix a one &s;ide, and &s;ix a' t'other ready to receive him, which they did with all the Ceremonies, Curchees, and Com|plements imaginable. At the &s;ame time al&s;o came a dozen Pages with a Squire, to conduct the Knight where the Duke and Dutche&s;s expected him at Supper. In the mid&s;t of tho&s;e Pages, &s;ome before, and &s;ome be|hind, he march'd in great Pomp, toward a Sumptuous Parlour, where &s;tood a Magnificent Table cover'd only with four Me&s;&s;es. At the ente|rance into the Room &s;tood the Duke and Dutche&s;s ready to receive him, attended by their Chaplain, a Per&s;on of Years and great Gravity; but a kind of formal Pedant, of the Number of tho&s;e who not being born Prin|ces, will yet take upon 'em to teach Princes their Duty&mdash; and be confi|ning their Grandeur within the narrow Limits of their own Colledge Breed|ing; no le&s;s moro&s;e, then pre&s;umptive to in&s;truct his Betters.</P>
<P>After many Compliments that pa&s;s'd on all &s;ides, enough to have exhau|&s;ted the Magazin of ten more then ordinary Courtiers; the Duke, the Dutche&s;s and <HI>Don Quixote</HI> approach'd the Table, where there aro&s;e a fre&s;h di&s;pute about Preeminency of Place; but at length the Dukes Importuni|ty prevail'd over <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s mode&s;t refu&s;als, &s;o that he was con&s;train'd to take the Upper end: The Chaplain &s;ate at the Lower end right again&s;t him, and the Duke and the Dutche&s;s upon each Hand of the Knight. <HI>Sancho</HI> was a&s;toni&s;h'd to &s;ee the Honour done his Ma&s;ter, as if he had been &s;ome Angel dropt from Heaven, and ob&s;erving what a world of High-flown Language there pa&s;t between the Duke and his Ma&s;ter about the Upper end of the Table; If your Lord&s;hips, &s;aid he, will give me leave, I'le tell yee what happen'd one day in our Village, in reference to this &s;ame Racket of yours about Places. <HI>Sancho</HI> had no &s;ooner done &s;peaking, but <HI>Don Quixote</HI> took the Alarum, afraid that his Squire had &s;ome imper|tinency or other to throw up, that lay heavy upon his Stomach; which <HI>Sancho</HI> perceiving by his looks, Sir, &s;aid he, never fear, my words are all weigh'd and con&s;ider'd, and &s;hall be all to the purpo&s;e, my Life for yours; I have not forgot the Le&s;&s;on you gave me &s;o lately, about talking little or much, &s;ence or non&s;ence. I &s;ay nothing to thee, <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> prithee go on, but be quick, good <HI>Sancho.</HI> Why&mdash; My Lords, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> what I have to &s;ay is as true as that my Mother bore me; for if I &s;hall chance to trip never &s;o little, there's my Ma&s;ter to give me the Lye immediately. Tell as many Lyes as there be &s;pots i' the Moon, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I'le never contradict thee&mdash; but&mdash; have a care what thou &s;ay'&s;t&mdash; O Sir, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> I have champt and chaw'd, con&s;ider'd
<PB N="438" REF="237"> and re-con&s;ider'd, I have rumbl'd and tumbl'd this Story i' my mind a thou&s;and times, and I am &s;ure it mu&s;t take&mdash; In truth, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> ap|plying him&s;elf to the Duke and Dutche&s;s, your Graces would do well to di&s;mi&s;s this idle Fellow, who&s;e extravagancies you can never be able to bear with. By the Life of the Duke, reply'd the Dutche&s;s, <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;hall &s;tay with me; I love him too well to part with him &s;o, and have a great Con|fidence be&s;ides in his Di&s;cretion. God &s;end your Holine&s;s, Madam Dut|che&s;s, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> to live a Thou&s;and years for your good Opinion of Me, tho I confe&s;s I am a poor Man and little de&s;erve it&mdash; now then for my Tale.</P>
<P>A Gentleman in our Village, wealthy and well de&s;cended, for he was of the Family of the <HI>Medina's del Campo,</HI> invited one day&mdash;Hold&mdash;I forgot to tell ye that this Gentleman marry'd one Madam, <HI>One-a-five-hun|dred,</HI> or the Daughter of <HI>Don Alonzo Mendi&s;ho&s;en,</HI> Knight of the Order of St. <HI>James,</HI> who was &s;tifl'd in a Smiths Forge, about whom there happen'd formerly a great Quarrel, in which, I have heard &s;ay, for 'twas before my Time, that my Ma&s;ter <HI>Don Quixote</HI> had his Shins broke; and that <HI>Don Drayman-Boxero</HI> the Unthrift, Son to Old <HI>Bouzabouto</HI> the Farrier, had like to ha' couzen'd the Gallows, being almo&s;t wounded to death&mdash;Speak Ma&s;ter of mine, is not this Truth?&mdash;&s;peak truth and &s;hame the Devil, and let Mon&s;ieur the Duke and Madam the Dutche&s;s &s;ee, that I am neither a Prater, nor a Lyer&mdash;Till now, reply'd the Chaplain, I took thee rather for a Babler then a Lyar; but now I profe&s;s I know not what to think. Thou call'&s;t &s;o many Te&s;timonies to witne&s;s, and produce&s;t &s;o many Cir|cum&s;tances, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that mo&s;t certainly it mu&s;t be true what thou &s;ay'&s;t. But &s;horten thy Tale, for as thou begin'&s;t, thou'lt not make an end this week I'me &s;ure. My Friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo the Dutche&s;s, &s;hall not &s;horten his Tale, if I may have my will; let him tell his Story as he under|&s;tands it him&s;elf&mdash;and let him be this fortnight a telling it, I'le find him Ears to hear it&mdash;my thinks he begins very plea&s;antly&mdash;Then <HI>Sancho</HI> pro&s;ecuting his Tale, This Gentleman, my Lords, quo he&mdash;This Gentle|man, of whom I told yee before, and whom I know as well as I know my own Face i' the Pond in our Back-&s;ide, for I'le undertake to &s;ling a Stone from his Hou&s;e to mine&mdash;This Gentleman invited a Country Farmer, who indeed was none of the riche&s;t, but yet he was counted an hone&s;t man among the Neighbourhood, which was no &s;mall Commendation to him&mdash; Put on, good Brother, quo the Chaplain, interrupting him, you proceed &s;o &s;lowly with your Tale, as if you intended to tell &s;ome part of it i' the other World&mdash;Spare a little of your Chri&s;tian Patience, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> he that rides a Gallop many times comes later to his Inn then he that keeps his con&s;tant three mile an hour.</P>
<P>Now the Farmer, as I &s;aid before, being come to the Gentlemans Hou&s;e, who, as I told yee before, had invited him, and who had marry'd the Daughter of <HI>Don Alonzo Mendi&s;ho&s;en,</HI> poor Gentleman, God re&s;t his Soul, for he has been dead, 'tis now about three years &s;ince, by the &s;ame token, that they &s;ay he dy'd the Death of an Angel&mdash; for, for my part, I was not with him when he dy'd&mdash;being gone at that time to Harve&s;t-work a mat|ter of &s;ix mile off to a Village call'd <HI>Tembleck</HI>&mdash;As you love your Life, Friend, leave your Harve&s;t-work&mdash;and without troubling your &s;elf to bury the Gentleman, go on wi' your Story&mdash;It happen'd then, continu'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> as they were ready to &s;it down at Table, I mean the Gentleman and the Farmer,&mdash;Hold a little, for methinks I &s;ee 'em now as plainly as if the thing had happen'd but ye&s;terday.</P>
<PB N="439" REF="237">
<P>Infinitely were the Duke and Dutche&s;s pleas'd to hear how <HI>Sancho</HI> went on with his Parable, never minding the Chaplains Interruptions. For that was Sport alone for them which teez'd the Chaplain, and made <HI>Don Quixote</HI> grind his Teeth for madne&s;s, though he dur&s;t not be &s;o bold as the Levite.</P>
<P>Well, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> to go on with my Story, when Dinner was brought in, and that they were going to &s;it down, the Farmer &s;tay'd for the Gentle|man to &s;it down, that he might take his Place, and the Gentleman at the &s;ame time made a Sign to the Farmer to place him&s;elf at the upper End. <HI>By no means,</HI> quo the Farmer;&mdash; <HI>Prithee,</HI> quo the Gentleman,&mdash; <HI>I be&s;eech your Wor&s;hip,</HI> quo the Farmer&mdash; <HI>Prithee,</HI> quo the Gentleman. The Farmer &s;crap'd and cring'd and refus'd&mdash; The Gentleman told him he would be Ma&s;ter in his own Hou&s;e&mdash; But do what the Gentleman could, the Farmer &s;tood &s;o &s;tifly upon his Punctilio's of good Manners and Behaviour, that at length the Gentleman was forc'd to take him by the Shoulders and &s;et him in his Chair, withal in a kind of Pa&s;&s;ion grumbling to him, Sit there, Goodman Bumkin, where 'tis my plea&s;ure to have yee&mdash; for &s;it you where you will, the place of Wor&s;hip is where I &s;it. Look yee, My Lords, thus ends my Tale, and by Guds daines I think I ha' &s;poke no|thing but what's to the purpo&s;e.</P>
<P>At this, &s;o many different Colours aro&s;e in <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Countenance, who found him&s;elf nipt to the Quick by <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Morals, that his Face lookt like a piece of &s;peckl'd Ja&s;per; &s;o that the Duke and the Dutche&s;s, who perceiv'd the di&s;turbance of his thoughts, forbore to laugh outright, tho' they could willingly have given full vent to their Mirth, but that they were loth to provoke the already enraged Warriour.</P>
<P>And therefore that <HI>Sancho</HI> might have no farther opportunity to con|tinue his un&s;ea&s;onable follies, the Dutche&s;s turning the Stream of the Di&s;|cour&s;e, ask'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> when he had heard from Madam <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> and how long it was &s;ince he had &s;ent her any Robbers or Gyants Heads for a Pre&s;ent. Madam, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> my Misfortunes have had their beginning, and I hope they will one day have an end. True it is I have vanqui&s;h'd many Robbers and Gyants, and &s;ent her the Trophies of my Victories; but where &s;hall they find her, or how &s;hall they come to know her? For alas, Madam, &s;he lyes now Enchanted in one of the Counters, taken up for a <HI>Sole Trader,</HI> and by tho&s;e accur&s;ed Necromancers of Turn|keys, and Tap-hou&s;e Men, &s;o tran&s;mogrify'd and bloated up with Brandy and foggy Ale, that I my &s;elf when I &s;aw her did not know her again. I don't know, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> but I'me &s;ure I never &s;aw her Parallel for Beauty; at lea&s;t I never &s;aw the like of her for Maypole-tripping; &s;he'l whisk it about like the Girle that turn'd round and threaded Needles; the Devil take me, Madam Dutche&s;s, if &s;he wo'nt jump as nimbly upon a Dre&s;&s;er, as any mortal Cat. Then the Duke putting the Que&s;tion, did'&s;t thou ever &s;ee her Enchanted, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo he? See her! quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> what a Que&s;tion you ask? You may be &s;ure I ha' &s;een her and &s;een her agen&mdash; I was the fir&s;t Yeemun know that di&s;cover'd the &s;ad Accident of her being Enchanted&mdash;and &s;he's as much Enchanted as my Father.</P>
<P>The Chaplain, who heard 'em talk of nothing but Gyants and Inchant|ments, began to conjecture that this mu&s;t be that &s;ame Wor&s;hipful <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> who&s;e Hi&s;tory the Duke was continually reading, tho' he had frequently reprehended him for giving his mind to &s;uch fol|lies, and at length believing his Conjectures were true, he addres'd him|&s;elf to the Duke, and with a &s;tarch'd and formal Gravity, intermix'd with
<PB N="440" REF="238"> a kind of &s;erious Anger, Sir, &s;aid he, your Excellency will have a larger accompt then you think for to give, for Pampering the Extravagancies of this poor Man. This &s;ame <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> or <HI>Don Codshead,</HI> or call him what yee plea&s;e, is no &s;uch Fool as your Excellency takes him to be, or make him believe he is by feeding his Fanta&s;tical Humours. And then turning to <HI>Don Quixote</HI> him&s;elf; Hark yee, Goodman Coxcomb, wi' your Don&s;hip, who has put it into your Empty-firkin-pate, that you are a <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> and kill Robbers and Gyants? Go, go, get yee home agen and look after your Wife and Children, or whatever hone&s;t bu&s;ine&s;s you have to do, and leave wandring and &s;caperloytring about the World, and making your &s;elf a Laughing-&s;tock to all that know yee, and know yee not&mdash; Where do you find any of the&s;e Chimera's of <HI>Knight-Errants,</HI> only talk'd of in former Ages, and now not &s;o much as dreamt of? What part of the World did you meet with tho&s;e Gyants, and Hobgoblins, and Enchanted <HI>Dulcineas,</HI> that pe&s;ter and incumber your Nod|dle? All this while <HI>Don Quixote</HI> never gave the lea&s;t Interruption to the &s;erious Chaplain, but li&s;ten'd to his cutting reprehen&s;ions with a <HI>Job-like</HI> Patience; till at length perceiving he had done, or at lea&s;t not able any longer to re&s;i&s;t the violent Agitations of his provok'd Choler, he ro&s;e up and flung from the Table, as red about the Gills as Bowdy-&s;carlet, never minding his re&s;pect to the Company, and gave the Chaplain the following reply, which therefore de&s;erves a whole Chapter.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="32" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XXXII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing <HI>Don Quixote's</HI> An&s;wer to the Chaplain.</HEAD>
<P>THE <HI>Knight of the Lyons</HI> thus nettl'd to the very Marrow of his Back, trembl'd every Joynt of him for Madne&s;s, like a Lump of Quick-&s;il|ver, and ca&s;ting a <HI>Busbeyan</HI> Frown upon the Chaplain&mdash; Supercilious Pedant, quo he, fitter to Jerk Boys then Men; The Place wherein I am, the Pre&s;ence of the&s;e Noble Per&s;ons, whom the Laws of Civility oblige me to particular Veneration; and the Re&s;pect which I have to your Pro|fe<GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="UOM" EXTENT="4 letters">n bridle my ju&s;t Re&s;entment and tye up my Hands. Were not tho&s;e Obligations upon me, I would have in another manner Cha&s;tiz'd the In|&s;olence of your incon&s;iderate Tongue. But con&s;idering that the Weapons which Men of your Coat, and Women make u&s;e of are the &s;ame, I &s;corn to terrifie thy Female Soul with Ma&s;culine Steel, re&s;olving fairly to com|bat your &s;tingy Gravity upon equal Terms, and with your own Weapon.</P>
<P>And &s;o, Sir, I mu&s;t tell yee, I always expected from a Man of your Cha|racter &s;ober Admonitions, and mode&s;t Rea&s;ons for your Reproofs, but you, contrary to all the Laws of Moderation, without any occa&s;ion given, or any knowledg of my Per&s;on, flye out into Reproaches and Defamations, more fit for a Broom Man then a Divine. Pray, Sir, where did you learn your <HI>Billingsgate</HI> Breeding?&mdash; Surely you cannot otherwi&s;e believe but that the&s;e publick Reproofs, and bitter Taunts of yours, have pa&s;s'd the Limits of all Brotherly Correction. But if you do not know your Duty, or at lea&s;t &s;eem never to have under&s;tood it, let me advi&s;e yee for the fu|ture; con&s;ider before yee utter your Reproofs, whether your Authority be &s;ufficient, and let your fir&s;t Corrections be all Sweetne&s;s and Mildne&s;s,
<PB N="441" REF="238"> Brandy mix'd with Syrrup of Gillowflowres; but above all things have a care of calling a Man Fool and Coxcomb, before y' have made him &s;en|&s;ible of his offence. I would de&s;ire your Doctor&s;hip to tell me what ex|travagance it is of which you accu&s;e me, and why you &s;end me &s;o magi&s;te|rially to look after my Wife and Children, before you know whether I am marry'd or no? Think you not tho&s;e to be as ju&s;tly condemn'd, that wimble them&s;elves into other Mens Hou&s;es, on purpo&s;e to govern the Ma&s;ter at their own plea&s;ure, and becau&s;e they have had the good twenty Pound a Year luck to be Tutor to the young Heir, tho' they never &s;aw the World above ten Miles from home, take upon 'em the Priviledge to pre&s;cribe Laws to <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> and judge of <HI>Knights-Errant?</HI> You for&s;ooth account it an unprofitable Employment, and Labour lo&s;t, to Tra|vel round the World, tho' &s;corning the Delights and Plea&s;ures of it, and enduring only the Hard&s;hips and Toyls of Life, that advance the Brave and Valiant to Immortality&mdash; What then?&mdash; No&mdash; If Men of Honour, Knights, Lords or Princes, lookt upon me as a Fool, I &s;hould think my &s;elf de&s;ervedly contemn'd, and &s;u&s;pect my own Judgment; but when meer Scholars and Pedants that never trod the Paths of Chivalry, pa&s;s their leud Cen&s;ures on my Vertuous Labours, I valu't not a Ru&s;h&mdash; I am a Knight, and a Knight I mean to dye, if &s;o it plea&s;e the Almighty. Some blindly fol|low their own Haughty and Irregular Ambition; others by low and &s;er|vile Flattery advance them&s;elves; others with the Cloak of deceitful Hy|pocri&s;ie cover their Evil de&s;igns; and others walk according to the true Rules of Piety and Sincerity. I, for my own part, guided by my happy Stars, follow the narrow Path of <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> de&s;pi&s;ing Riches and the vain Amu&s;ements of the World, Ambitious only of Honour and real Glory. I have compos'd Quarrels, reveng'd Injuries and Wrongs, cha|&s;tiz'd In&s;olencies, overthrown Gyants, fought with Phantomes and Hob|goblins: I am al&s;o in Love, but no farther then the Profe&s;&s;ion of <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI> obliges me to be; and being &s;o, I cannot be reck'nd in the num|ber of vitious Lovers, who&s;e only object is voluptuous Plea&s;ure, not like mine, Platonic Cha&s;tity. My Intentions are all directed to Virtuous ends; that is, to do no Man Wrong, but Good to all the World. And now whe|ther a Per&s;on, who by his Works demon&s;trates the Integrity of his Senti|ments, &s;uch as the&s;e, de&s;erves to be upbraided for a Fool, I leave it to the Judgment of your Excellencies.</P>
<P>Upon my Religion, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> here's as much as can be &s;aid&mdash; Stop Ma&s;ter, &s;top now y' are well&mdash; for all that a Man has to do i' this World is only to &s;ay, think and pre&s;erve&mdash; and therefore if <HI>Mr.</HI> Doctor will not now yeild there were any <HI>Knights-Errants</HI> i' the World, 'tis no wonder he knew &s;o little what he &s;aid.</P>
<P>D' yee hear you Mr. <HI>Prate-apace,</HI> quo the Chaplain, are not you that <HI>Sancho Pancha</HI> to whom your Ma&s;ter has promis'd an I&s;land? The very &s;ame, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> and I mu&s;t tell yee, the very &s;ame He too that de&s;erves it as well as another, let him be as cocket and as lofty as he plea&s;e. I am one of tho&s;e of whom they &s;ay, <HI>Keep hone&s;t Company, and hone&s;t thou wilt be;</HI> and of tho&s;e of whom it is &s;aid agen, <HI>Lean again&s;t a good Tree, and thou &s;halt have a good Shelter.</HI> I am ty'd to a good Ma&s;ter, and I have kept him Company for &s;ome Months together; and now He and I am all one: And if it plea&s;e God that we live together, I make no que&s;tion that neither will he want Kingdoms to give, nor &s;hall I want I&s;lands to Go|vern.</P>
<PB N="442" REF="239">
<P>No, no, Friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo the Duke, that thou &s;ha't not, for I my &s;elf will give thee one of mine own, where thou &s;halt have the honour to Govern a Mayor, no le&s;s famous then the Mayor of <HI>Quinborough.</HI></P>
<P>Down a' your Mary-bones, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and thank the Duke&mdash; Here's Luck in a Bag indeed. Had we been either of us a Bed this night, I would ha' &s;worn thou had&s;t ri&s;en with thy Bum upwards&mdash; <HI>Sancho</HI> thereupon flung him&s;elf immediately upon his Knees, and ki&s;s'd the Dukes Feet, with more then ordinary Humility. Which put the Chaplain into &s;uch a fret, to find his Admonitions take &s;o little effect, that he ro&s;e from his Chair in a great heat, and with a &s;urly arrogance behold|ing the Duke; By the Habit which I wear, quo he, your Excellency is more too blame then are the&s;e Mi&s;creants them&s;elves&mdash; For how is it po&s;&s;ible they &s;hould be otherwi&s;e then Fools, when Wi&s;e Men counte|nance their <HI>Delirium</HI>'s. Your excellency may keep them Company if you plea&s;e &s;ince they &s;o well fit your humour; for my part, I'le not &s;et my Foot within the&s;e doors &s;o long as they continue here, to excu&s;e my &s;elf from reprehending tho&s;e Extravagancies which I cannot prevent. And &s;o &s;aying, away he flung, like one that takes a &s;udden di&s;gu&s;t at his Com|pany in his drink; tho true it is the Duke did not u&s;e much intreaty to &s;top him, not being able for a good while to forbear laughing at his Im|pertinent Choler. But this fit of Mirth once over, the Duke recovering his &s;erious Countenance, &s;aid he, to <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> in truth Sir <HI>Knight of the Lyons,</HI> you have an&s;wer'd &s;o well for your &s;elf, that you need no other &s;atisfaction of the Par&s;on, then the outragious Pa&s;&s;ion you have put him in; be&s;ides that the Affronts of Women and Black-coats are to be lookt upon with the &s;ame &s;light and &s;corn. 'Tis very true My Lord, re|ply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> for Women, Children, and Church-men, as they are Per&s;ons that cannot defend them&s;elves, &s;o can they neither give nor receive an Affront. Therefore there is this difference berween an Injury and an Affront, as your Excellency well knows. The Affront is given by him that is able to give it and maintain it when he has done; an Injury may be done by any &s;ort of People whatever. For example, a Man walk|ing in the Street, and never dreaming of any thing, is &s;et upon by ten Armed Men who dry-ba&s;t him; he draws his Sword to revenge the Injury, but cannot in regard they are too many for him; this Man may be &s;aid to be Injur'd, but not to have receiv'd an Affront. Agen, a Man comes and &s;urprizes another, takes him at an advantage, and having cudgel'd him &s;ou<GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="UOM" EXTENT="3 letters">y, runs away, the t'other runs after him, and cannot overtake him. He that was beaten has receiv'd an Injury 'tis true, but not an Af|front, becau&s;e the Act was not ju&s;tifi'd; but if he that &s;truck fir&s;t had drawn his Sword and ju&s;tify'd the Fact, then he that was &s;truck'n had receiv'd both an Injury and an Affront. Thus I may have been Injur'd by this Chaplain, according to the Laws of Duels, but I have receiv'd no Affront, becau&s;e he ran away; neither do I believe my &s;elf oblig'd to take notice of the Language he gave, only I wi&s;h he would have &s;tayd a little longer, that I might have made a Convert of him, by convincing him of his Errour, in believing there never were any <HI>Knights-Errant</HI> i' the World. Had <HI>Amadis</HI> or any of that numerous Gang but heard him talk at that Rate, I would not ha' been in his Coat for the be&s;t Bi&s;hoprick i' the Kingdom. Gud's my Dignity, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> putting in for his &s;hare, they had &s;plit him from Head to Foot, like a Pomegranate or a Ripe Me|lon: They were not Men believe me, to be &s;o fool'd with; they would nere ha' &s;wallow'd &s;uch Pills as my Ma&s;ter has done. Hear me what I
<PB N="443" REF="239"> &s;ay, and I'me &s;ure I &s;peak nothing but truth, had <HI>Rinaldo of Montalban</HI> heard this &s;ame Pimpwhisken talk at this rate, he had layd him on &s;uch a Beauty-&s;pot upon the Snout with his Four Fingers and Thumb, that I que&s;tion whether he would have talk'd again this three Years. Let him if he think fit go and keep tho&s;e Swa&s;hbucklers company, and preach the &s;ame Doctrin to Them, by yea and by nay, and in good &s;ooth he'll tell me another tale when he comes back&mdash; No, no&mdash; there's no dealing with tho&s;e Roy&s;ters.</P>
<P>The Dutche&s;s held her &s;ides and laught at <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Di&s;cour&s;e, whom &s;he found to be much the more plea&s;ant Fool then his Ma&s;ter. At what time <HI>Don Quixote</HI> returning to his Seat at the Table, they made an end of Supper, which being done, while others were taking away, there enter'd four young Dam&s;els, the one carrying a Ba&s;on of Silver guilt; a &s;econd with an Ewre in her hand of the &s;ame Mettle; the next brought a very fine Parcel of Linnen richly perfum'd; and the fourth with her Sleevs tuck'd up to her Elbows, carry'd a Silver Box full of &s;weet Wa&s;hballs. Pre&s;ently &s;he that brought the Linnen, unfolded a Towel and pinn'd it be|hind the Champions Neck; the &s;econd held the Ba&s;on under his Chin, and the third pour'd out the Water. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was &s;urpriz'd at &s;uch an extraordinary u&s;age, but believing it to be undoubtedly the Cu&s;tom of the Country, to wa&s;h the Beards in&s;tead of the Hands of Per&s;ons of Quality, he only thru&s;t out his long Chin without &s;peaking a word. And then it was that the Dam&s;el that carry'd the Wa&s;hbals fell to work, belather'd with all her &s;trength not only the patient <HI>Knights</HI> Beard, but his whole Face, &s;o that he was forc'd to &s;hut his Eyes. Madam <HI>Barbare&s;s</HI> having thus lay'd the <HI>Knights</HI> Countenance a-&s;oak in &s;weet Suds, pretended to want Water, and &s;ent for more, after &s;he had begg'd <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Pardon for making him &s;tay. All which time the Poor Knight &s;ate expos'd to all the Com|pany, the &s;trange&s;t Spectacle that ever was &s;een, with his long Neck &s;tretch'd out, his Beard as big as a Plai&s;terers Bru&s;h, be&s;mear'd with Soap Suds, his Eyes fa&s;t &s;hut, and his Chaps all in a white foam. 'Twas a plea&s;ant &s;ight to &s;ee a <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> &s;o handled by a knot of unlucky <HI>Fle|bergebits;</HI> yet no body dur&s;t laugh at pre&s;ent, tho all were ready to bur&s;t; and all their &s;atisfaction was, that they &s;hould have enough to laugh at hereafter. Well at length the Water came, and the curteous Dam&s;el af|ter &s;he had rins'd off the Soap, with her lilly white Hands, dry'd and wip'd the Beard and Face of the Obedient Knight, with that &s;oftne&s;s and lei&s;ure|ly tenderne&s;s, as if &s;he had been afraid to hurt his Skin. Which done the Dam&s;els having made the Spruc'd-up Knight their &s;erious Curchees and profound Reverencies, were about to retire. But the Duke, afraid lea&s;t <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;hould think him&s;elf abus'd, call'd to the Dam&s;el that carry'd the Ba&s;on, crying to her to come and wa&s;h him too. Thereupon the young Lady, who was not then to learn her P&s;alter, under&s;tanding the Dukes meaning, went and gave her Lord a Ca&s;t of her Office in like manner, but with a quicker di&s;patch, for that his Excellencies Beard was neither &s;o long, nor his Face &s;o foul. Which being done, they made their Obey|&s;ances and vani&s;h'd.</P>
<P>Now you mu&s;t know that <HI>Sancho</HI> had beheld the whole Ceremony, and having often revolv'd it in his mind, God forgive me, quo he, why &s;hould it not be the Cu&s;tom of this Country to wa&s;h the Squire's Beards as well as the Knights? For by my Con&s;cience there's as much need of the one as the other; and if Madam <HI>Barbare&s;s</HI> would but &s;have me to boot, I would give her a grey Groat with all my Heart. Which words as he
<PB N="444" REF="240"> was mumbling to him&s;elf, the Dutche&s;s ob&s;erving his Chaps wag, What's that you are muttering between your Teeth, <HI>Sancho?</HI> quo &s;he. I &s;ay Madam, that I ha' been told how 'tis the Cu&s;tom indeed among your Great Folkes, after the Cloath is taken away to have Water brought to the Table, for every one to wa&s;h their Hands, but I never heard of your Women Barbers before: But the longer a Man lives, the more he &s;hall know; and on the other &s;ide they &s;ay, that he who lives long has much to &s;uffer, tho if he &s;uffer no other harm then the wa&s;hing of his Beard, I rather believe it mu&s;t rather be a plea&s;ure then a pain, e&s;pecially when he &s;uffers under the fair Hands of &s;uch a hand&s;om Madam Barber as my Ma&s;ter did. Well&mdash; well&mdash; for that <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo the Dutche&s;s, &s;et thy heart at Re&s;t&mdash; I'le order my Laundry Maids to wa&s;h thee, and if thou wilt, thou &s;halt have a Lye made a purpo&s;e. Let 'em only wa&s;h my Beard at pre&s;ent, an|&s;wer'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> and as I like that I &s;hall con&s;ider what to do farther.&mdash;</P>
<P>Steward, quo the Dutche&s;s, let <HI>Sancho</HI> want nothing, but have what|ever he calls for. It &s;hall be done Madam, reply'd the Steward, and &s;o took <HI>Sancho</HI> along with him to his own Table, leaving the Duke, the Dutche&s;s and <HI>Don Quixote</HI> alone; to whom the Dutche&s;s after &s;everal Di&s;cour&s;es concerning <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> made it her Reque&s;t, to give her a particular de&s;cription of Madam <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> adding with all, that as People &s;poke of her Beauty &s;he mu&s;t be the only Mirrour of Perfection i' the World.</P>
<P>Upon which, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> fetching a profound Sigh, to give your Ex|cellency &s;atisfaction, &s;aid he, in this particular, it is requi&s;ite I were able to unrip my Brea&s;t, and lay before your Eyes in a Plate upon this Table my Heart it &s;elf, where her Beauty is &s;o exactly depainted; &s;eeing my Tongue can never expre&s;s what can hardly be conceiv'd by Imagination. For to make an exact Picture of the Peerle&s;s <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> it would require the Pencils of <HI>Rubens, &V;rbin, Tintoret,</HI> the Graving Irons of <HI>Ly&s;ippus,</HI> and indeed all the Art and Skill of all the famous Painters, Engravers and Statuaries in the World, with the Rhetorick of <HI>Demo&s;thenes</HI> and <HI>Cicero</HI> to boot. However quo the Duke, there is nothing impo&s;&s;ible to a Genius like yours; and you will highly oblige us, but only to give us a rude Draught of the out Lines; for certainly the mo&s;t imperfect Sketch in the World of her Linea|ments, mu&s;t &s;uffice &s;o &s;et all our Celebrated Beauties rayling again&s;t Na|ture, for being &s;o niggardly of her Perfections to them. I would willing|ly obey your Excellencies Commands, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> but that the Misfortune lately befall'n her, has almo&s;t eradicated the very Idea's of her Angelic Features from the &s;eat of my Memory; &s;o that I have now more rea&s;on to deplore her Change, then to de&s;cribe her Per&s;on. For going not long &s;ince to ki&s;s her Hands, to pay her my Re&s;pects, and obtain her leave for my de&s;igned Ab&s;ence in &s;earch of new Adventures, I found her, to my un&s;peakable Grief and A&s;toni&s;hment, Metamorphos'd from a Prin|ce&s;s to a Country Puzzle: Her Beauty chang'd into foul and exce&s;&s;ive De|formity; &s;he that breath'd nothing but <HI>Arabian</HI> Perfumes before, now &s;tunk like a Polcat; I expected a charming Wit, and &s;he talk'd of nothing but Hog-troughs, Di&s;h-clouts and &s;calding of Milk-bowls; I lookt for her wonted Mode&s;ty and Re&s;ervedne&s;s, and &s;he was ready to put her ugly Golls i' my Breeches; I thought to have found an Angel, and met with a Devil. In a word, I lookt for <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o,</HI> but met with a meer Blowzie, Mowzie, Low&s;ie, Lockram-&s;mock'd Cinder-wench.</P>
<P>Pa&s;&s;ion a' my Heart, cry'd the Duke with a loud Voice, and what in|human Mon&s;ter could this be &s;o cruelly malicious to the whole World? Who has deflowr'd tho&s;e Beauties which gave it all its Ornaments? Who
<PB N="445" REF="240"> &s;uch a Mortal Enemy to Nature, as to deprive her at once of all her Wealth and Glory&mdash; Who! reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> who &s;hould it be but one of tho&s;e perpetual Ragamuffins of <HI>Necromancers,</HI> that Hell has &s;pewd up to Eclip&s;e the Glory of Men of Merit, and blemi&s;h their Atchievments, while they labour to exalt and magnifie the Actions of the Wicked. The&s;e accur&s;ed <HI>Necromancers</HI> are they that have plagu'd me all along, and will without ce&s;&s;ation per&s;ecute me &s;till, till they have bury'd Me and all my famous Deeds in the profound Aby&s;s of Oblivion: Nor were they igno|rant which was the mo&s;t &s;en&s;ible part to wound me in, well knowing that to deprive a <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> of his Lady was to deprive him of the Eyes with which he &s;ees, of the Sun that enlightens him, and the Nouri&s;hment that &s;u&s;tains him: For a <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> without a Lady, is like a Tree with|out Sap, a Structure built upon the Sand, and a Body without a Soul.</P>
<P>Very good, cry'd the Dutche&s;s; but if we may believe the Story of your Life &s;o lately publi&s;h'd with great applau&s;e of the whole World, we do not read that ever your Lord&s;hip &s;aw this Madam <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> on|ly &s;he &s;eems to be &s;ome Chimera of a Lady, which your Lord&s;hip has be|got by the &s;trength and heat of your Fancy, and brought forth in your Imagination, like <HI>Jupiters Pallas,</HI> and to which you a&s;cribe &s;uch advan|tages and perfections as you think fit your &s;elf. Madam, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> your Graces Catechi&s;m goes a little too far upon this Subject; God above knows, whether there be any &s;uch Woman i' the World as <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> and whether &s;he be a Reality or a Fiction. But the&s;e are My&s;te|ries not to be &s;o profoundly div'd into. Let her be or not be, 'tis &s;uffici|ent that I look upon her as a Lady endu'd with all tho&s;e Advantages and Perfections capable to procure her the E&s;teem of the Univer&s;e: Lovely without Blemi&s;h; Re&s;erv'd without Pride; Amorous with Mode&s;ty; Chearful without Vanity; Witty without Impertinency, the Effects of her Education, the Con&s;equence of her Illu&s;trious de&s;cent: For that No|bility of Blood gives brisker and more re&s;plendent colours to the Graces of Beauty in Per&s;ons highly born, then in tho&s;e that are meanly de|&s;cended.</P>
<P>This is a Truth which admits no contradiction, &s;aid the Duke; but give me leave I be&s;eech yee, Sir, to propo&s;e one Scruple, which the reading of the late Hi&s;tory of your mo&s;t Renowned Actions has rais'd in my Brea&s;t; which is this, that tho we &s;hould grant Madam <HI>Dulcinea</HI> to be really born upon the Earth, and to be fair to that degree of Beauty as you depaint her, yet do I not find that &s;he can any way compare for Grandeur of de&s;cent with tho&s;e <HI>Oriana</HI>'s, <HI>Mada&s;ima</HI>'s, <HI>Genever</HI>'s, and a Million of others which are mentioned in tho&s;e Hi&s;tories with which you are &s;o well acquainted.</P>
<P>To that, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I an&s;wer that Madam <HI>Dulcinea</HI> is the Daughter of her own Actions, and that the Lu&s;ter of her Vertues enno|ble her Blood; &s;ince the di&s;tinction of accompli&s;h'd Merit is far beyond that of High De&s;cent, not grac'd with any other accompli&s;hments. Now then Madam <HI>Dulcinea</HI> being a Lady endu'd with all tho&s;e tran&s;cendent Qua|lities, capable to advance her to a Throne, and entitle her to be the Mo|ther of a long Pedigree of Princes: hope is never to be bounded where Merit has no Limits; &s;o that altho not actually, yet virtually, &s;he includes within her &s;elf a Birthright to the mo&s;t elevated and &s;urprizing Fortunes in the World.</P>
<P>I mu&s;t confe&s;s, cry'd the Dutche&s;s, your Lord&s;hip, My Lord <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> has the true Gift of per&s;wa&s;ion; for whatever you &s;ay, moves with <HI>a Foot of Lead,</HI> and as they &s;ay, with the <HI>Plummet in Hand;</HI> and therefore I
<PB N="446" REF="241"> &s;ubmit, and from henceforth I am re&s;olv'd to believe and maintain, that there is &s;uch a Lady as Madam <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> that &s;he lives, Beautiful beyond compare, of an Illu&s;trious Race, and altogether de&s;erving the Services and Adoration of &s;o worthy a Knight, as the <HI>Knight of the Lyons.</HI> Neverthe|le&s;s there is one Scruple continually haunts me, which I ha' us'd all the Art I have to exorci&s;e, but cannot; and which cau&s;es me to have a very ill Opinion of <HI>Sancho;</HI> who has the Confidence to report in your Hi&s;tory, that when he carry'd your Letter to Madam <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> he found her win|nowing of Oats, by the &s;ame tok'n that &s;he was Red-hair'd, which makes me very much que&s;tion the Nobility of her Birth.</P>
<P>Oh Madam, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for that, you mu&s;t under&s;tand that all Things happen to me, quite contrary then they were wont to befal other <HI>Knight-Errants;</HI> whether it be by the unalterable decree of De&s;tiny, or through the Malice of my Implacable Enemies the <HI>Necromancers.</HI> Now 'tis a Truth never to be controverted, that many of the mo&s;t Famous <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> were &s;ecur'd under the Protection of &s;ome private Advan|tage; as for &s;ome to have the favour that they could never be Enchanted; for others to be Invulnerable, as <HI>Rowland,</HI> one of the <HI>Twelve Peers of France;</HI> who was impenetrable in all other parts of his Body, unle&s;s it were un|der the Sole of his left Foot, and that only with the Poynt of a &s;mall Needle; So that <HI>Bernardo del Carpio</HI> finding no way to tap him with his Sword, was forc'd by main &s;trength to lift him from the Ground, and then choak him, as <HI>Hercules</HI> did the Gyant <HI>Anteus,</HI> who was &s;aid to be the Son of the Earth. Hence I infer that there is &s;ome &s;ecret Vertue that guards me likewi&s;e, not that I am invulnerable, for I know by woful and frequent Experience that my Fle&s;h is very tender; nor free from Enchantment neither; for I have found my &s;elf tyd hand and foot and crouded into a Cage, where all the World could not have lockt me up, but by the force of Enchantments. But I have &s;ome &s;ecret charm about me, that &s;till I receive no great harm, and procure my own liberty my &s;elf; &s;o that the&s;e Vermin of <HI>Necromancers</HI> perceiving they cannot work their ends directly upon me, reck their Ma|lice upon what I love above all the World, and endeavour to take away my Life, attacking hers by whom I live and Breath. And &s;o I believe that when my Squire deliver'd my Emba&s;&s;y to her, they &s;hewd her to him, un|der the &s;hape of a deformed Country Puzzle, and poorly bu&s;i'd in the low and ba&s;e employment of &s;ifting Wheat; tho I, &s;ay and affirm 'twas nei|ther Barley nor Wheat but Oriental Pearl. For proof of which I &s;hall tell your Excellencies, going a while &s;ince to <HI>Tobo&s;o,</HI> I could not &s;o much as find fair <HI>Dulcinea</HI>'s Palace; whereas my Squire went the next day, and &s;aw her in her Lu&s;ter, brighter then <HI>Aurora,</HI> or the Sun him&s;elf; yet when I met her after that, &s;he appear'd to me i' the &s;hape of a pitiful Country Dowdy; and &s;he that was all di&s;cretion and mode&s;ty it &s;elf, talk'd to me as if &s;he had been bred in a <HI>White-Fryars</HI> Ale-hou&s;e; and therefore becau&s;e they cannot have their will over me any more, &s;he for&s;ooth, who is the wonder of the World for Wit and Beauty, &s;he mu&s;t be thus enchanted, tran&s;mogrify'd, metamorphos'd, di&s;guis'd and disfigur'd; and this is that which makes me renounce all the Plea&s;ures of this World, and con&s;ume my &s;elf in Tears and Sorrow, till I have re&s;tor'd her to her fir&s;t E&s;tate. All which being con&s;ider'd, <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Relation of what he &s;aw &s;ignifies nothing, for if the <HI>Necromancers</HI> could delude Me, they might well put their tricks upon Him.</P>
<P>In &s;hort, Madam <HI>Dulcinea</HI> is both Illu&s;trious and Virtuous, and de&s;cended from one of the mo&s;t Ancient Families in all <HI>Tobo&s;o,</HI> of which there are
<PB N="447" REF="241"> not a few in that City, which now will be no le&s;s famous for being the Place of her Nativity, then <HI>Troy</HI> for the Birth of <HI>Helena, Delos</HI> for that of <HI>Latona,</HI> or the River of <HI>Severn</HI> for bearing the Name of <HI>Sabrina,</HI> St. <HI>Geor|ges</HI> Mi&s;tre&s;s.</P>
<P>By the way let me tell your Graces, that <HI>Sancho Pancha</HI> is one of the Plea&s;ante&s;t Drolls of a Squire, that ever &s;erv'd <HI>Knight-Errant:</HI> Sometimes you &s;hall hear &s;uch dry Bobs come from him, that 'tis hard to di&s;tingui&s;h whether the Rogue mean Wittily or Knavi&s;hly; by and by he talks &s;o like a downright Fool, that he di&s;covers him&s;elf to all the World; &s;ome|times he is &s;o &s;currillous that he de&s;erves to be kickt; he que&s;tions every thing, and believes every thing; and when you would think the Varlet had intreagu'd him&s;elf in a piece of folly never to recover him&s;elf again, he di&s;intangles him&s;elf of a &s;udden, and is applauded to the Skies. In a word, I would not change him for any other Squire, tho I might have a City to boot; yet I cannot tell whether it be &s;o proper to &s;end him to the <HI>Government</HI> which your Excellency has been pleas'd to give him; tho on the other &s;ide I find in him a pretty Aptitude to Govern, &s;o that by giving never &s;o little a whet to his under&s;tanding, he may perhaps do as well as another; and &s;o much the rather, becau&s;e we &s;ee by experience, that there are a hunder'd Governours that can hardly write their Names, and will &s;ometime undertake to read the Letters with their heels upwards. The main bu&s;ine&s;s for him to do is to pre&s;erve his Intentions right; to which purpo&s;e I &s;hall advi&s;e him neither to take Bribes nor lo&s;e his Priviledges; with &s;ome other little In&s;tructions which I have i' my Head, that will be very u&s;eful for him when he comes to &s;it in the Seat of Authority.</P>
<P>While the Duke and <HI>Don Quixote</HI> were thus di&s;cour&s;ing together, there was a great noi&s;e i' the Ca&s;tle, and by and by they &s;aw <HI>Sancho</HI> in a terrible fright, running toward the Parlour where they were, with a grea&s;ie Nap|kin about his Neck, follow'd by the Scullions and other Rabble of the Kit|chin, among whom there was one that carry'd a Kettle full of na&s;ty Di&s;h water, who more eagerly pur&s;uing poor <HI>Sancho</HI> then the Re&s;t, endeavour'd to put it under his Chin, while another more grea&s;ie then him&s;elf was rea|dy to bedaub his Countenance.</P>
<P>What's the matter there, quo the Dutche&s;s, what are yee doing to <HI>San|cho?</HI> Don't yee know he is a Governour Elect? Madam, quo the &s;lovenly Barber, he refu&s;es to be trimm'd according to Cu&s;tom, as my Lord Duke, and my Lord his Ma&s;ter have been already&mdash; 'Tis a Lye, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> in a great fury&mdash; but I de&s;ire whiter Linnen, cleaner Water, and le&s;s grea&s;ie Fi&s;ts to &s;crub me withal; for there's no &s;uch difference between me and my Ma&s;ter, that he &s;hould be wa&s;h'd with Water of Angels, and I be &s;cour'd with the Devil's Lye. The Cu&s;toms of Countries, and Princes Palaces are &s;o far Laudable, while they give no offence&mdash; but this &s;ame bea&s;tly puddle is not fit to wa&s;h a Fryers Toes in. My Beard's as clean as a Lady's Comb-bru&s;h, nor do I need any &s;uch &s;ort of Refre&s;hment.&mdash; By the Death a' my Life, the fir&s;t that touches a Hair of my Beard, I'le give him &s;uch a da&s;h o' the Teeth, that I'le make him &s;wallow my Fi&s;t&mdash; Such Ceremo|nies and Soapings as the&s;e tend rather to the &s;corn and deri&s;ion, then Civil entertainment of Strangers.</P>
<P>The Dutche&s;s held her Sides and laugh'd, ob&s;erving <HI>Sancho</HI>'s fury, and hearing his Arguments for him&s;elf. But <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> di&s;pleas'd to &s;ee his Squire made the &s;port of that Impertinent Rabble, after he had made a pro|found reverence to the Duke and Dutche&s;s, as it were de&s;iring Liberty to &s;peak, quo he to the Scullions, with a &s;erious Tone, Hold worthy Knights,
<PB N="448" REF="242"> retire and let's be quiet; my Squire wants none of your wa&s;hing nor rin|&s;ing; nor comes he here to be your Laughing-&s;tock&mdash; therefore I advi&s;e yee to be gone in time&mdash; for neither do He nor I under&s;tand this kind of Drollery&mdash; No, no, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> taking the Words out of his Ma&s;ters Mouth; Let 'em &s;tay, and go on with their work&mdash; before they and I ha' done, I'le pay my Barbers I'le warrant yee&mdash; if they think to make a May-game of Me: But let 'em fairly bring a Comb, and if they find any thing i' my Beard offen&s;ive to the Nicety of a waiting Gentlewoman, I'le give 'em leave to pluck my Beard from my Chin Hair by Hair. <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;peaks nothing but rea&s;on, cry'd the Dutche&s;s&mdash; He's as clean and as neat as a Bridegroom, and has no need of wa&s;hing; and therefore &s;ince our Cu&s;toms do not plea&s;e him he &s;hall be Ma&s;ter: Be&s;ides, quo &s;he to the Kit|chin-boys, you are a company of In&s;olent Ra&s;cals, to &s;hew &s;uch uncivil u&s;age to a per&s;on of his Quality, and &s;uch a Beard as his. How dur&s;t yee be &s;o bold?&mdash; Be gone, and know your di&s;tance between &s;uch Varlets as your &s;elves and the Squires to <HI>Knights-Errant.</HI></P>
<P>Upon the&s;e words the Rabble believing the Dutche&s;s had &s;poken in good Earne&s;t, retir'd; and <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;eeing him&s;elf deliver'd from &s;uch a threat|ning danger, pre&s;ently threw him&s;elf upon his Knees before the Dutche&s;s; to whom, Madam Dutche&s;s, &s;aid he, great Per&s;ons, are able to do great Favours; and as for this which your mo&s;t Paternal Wor&s;hip has done me at pre&s;ent, I know not how to repay it, but by de&s;iring to be Dubb'd a <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> to the end I might employ my whole Life in your Service. I am a poor Country-man, my name is <HI>Sancho Pancha,</HI> I have a Wife and Children, and &s;erve as a Squire, if in any of the&s;e Qualities I can &s;erve your Greatne&s;s, I am no le&s;s ready to obey then you to command. I find, <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd the Dutche&s;s, that you have been taught Civility in the School of Curte&s;ie it &s;elf, and bred up under the Wings of my Lord <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who is the Cream and Flower of Modern Court&s;hip: Happy Age that enjoys &s;uch a Knight and &s;uch a Squire; of which the one is the North-&s;tar of Chivalry-Errant, and the other the Pattern of Loyalty and Fidelity. Ri&s;e Friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> and relye upon me for the recompence of your Civilities, by obliging the Duke to in&s;tall yee in the Government he has promis'd.</P>
<P>After this <HI>Don Quixote</HI> went to his Repo&s;e, and the Dutche&s;s told <HI>Sancho</HI> that if he had no de&s;ire to &s;leep, he might come and &s;it an Hour or two with her and her Dam&s;els in a cool Parlour, where he &s;hould be welcom. To which <HI>Sancho</HI> an&s;wer'd, that tho it were his u&s;ual Cu&s;tom in Summer-time to &s;leep five or &s;ix Hours after Dinner, yet to &s;erve her Goodne&s;s, he would endeavour to break his Cu&s;tom for once, in obedience to her Com|mands. The Duke al&s;o at the &s;ame time went forth to give new Orders to his People concerning the farther entertainment of <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> with di|rections not to &s;werve a Tittle from the Ancient Language of <HI>Knight-Errantry.</HI></P>
</DIV3>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="3" TYPE="book">
<PB N="449" REF="242">
<HEAD>THE THIRD BOOK Of the Ingenious KNIGHT Don Quixote DE LA MANCHA. PART II.</HEAD>
<DIV3 N="1" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. I.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing the Plea&s;ant Di&s;cour&s;e between the Dutche&s;s, her Dam&s;els and <HI>Sancho Pancha,</HI> worthy to be read with Attention.</HEAD>
<P>THE Story afterwards relates, that <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;lept not a wink all that day, but in ob&s;ervance of his Promi&s;e, went to attend the Dutche&s;s, who &s;tay'd for him in the Parlour; where as &s;oon as he enter'd, the Dutche&s;s bid him take a low Chair and &s;it down by her, which <HI>Sancho</HI> refus'd, like a Man who under&s;tood what was what: But the Dutche&s;s told him, that he might be allow'd to &s;it as a Governour, and talk as a Squire, for that in both tho&s;e re&s;pects, he de&s;erv'd the Seat of the Famous Champion <HI>Cid Ruydias</HI> him|&s;elf. Thereupon <HI>Sancho</HI> bow'd his Head and obey'd; at what time all the Dutche&s;&s;es Dam&s;els and Maids of Honour flockt about him with great Silence and Attention.</P>
<P>Then the Dutche&s;s fir&s;t beginning, now we are alone, &s;aid &s;he, I would de&s;ire yee, <HI>Mr. Governour,</HI> to re&s;olve me certain Doubts, which I find very difficult to be under&s;tood, in the Hi&s;tory of the Famous <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha.</HI></P>
<P>Fir&s;t, it appears that <HI>Sancho</HI> never &s;aw Madam <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o,</HI> nor ever carry'd her the Letters, which his Ma&s;ter <HI>Don Quixote</HI> wrote her from the <HI>Black Mountain,</HI> as having left the Table Book behind him; which be|ing true, how dur&s;t <HI>Sancho</HI> be &s;o audacious as to fain an An&s;wer, and &s;ay
<PB N="450" REF="243"> that he had &s;een the Lady &s;ifting of Oats, which was not only a Lye, but a Scandal to the Honour of &s;uch a Peerle&s;s Lady, and an Impo&s;ture beneath the Sincerity of a Loyal Squire.</P>
<P><HI>Sancho</HI> having heard the Que&s;tions propounded, ro&s;e from his Seat with|out &s;peaking a word, lay'd his Finger upon his Lips, and creeping &s;oftly round the Room &s;tep by &s;tep, like a Nur&s;e in a Sick Man's Chamber, he took up the Hangings every where, to &s;ee that no body li&s;ten'd; and then returning to his Seat, Madam, &s;aid he, 'tis good to be &s;ure, the Walls have Ears, but now knowing my &s;elf to be as &s;afe as a Thief in a Mill, you &s;hall have my very Heart out of my Belly; I am ready to an&s;wer all your Que&s;tions, tho as numberle&s;s as the Sand of an Hour-Gla&s;s, without fear, &s;cruple or he&s;itation; <HI>But not a word o' the Pudding,</HI> Madam.</P>
<P>Fir&s;t then, I mu&s;t tell your Highne&s;s that I take my Ma&s;ter for a mo&s;t ac|compli&s;h'd Cuccow-brains, tho &s;ometimes he will utter &s;uch things, which not only in my Opinion, but in the Judgment of better Schollards then my &s;elf, are directed &s;till &s;o well to the purpo&s;e, and all Extrumpre as they &s;ay, that <HI>Satan</HI> him&s;elf with all his Knowledge could never &s;peak better. Ne|verthele&s;s my Con&s;cience will not give me leave to think otherwi&s;e, but that he had a Confounded Knock in his Cradle. And becau&s;e I am pretty confident of this weakne&s;s of his, faith I take upon me &s;ometimes to put the Sham upon him, and tell him Stories of Cocks and Bulls, that have nei|ther head nor tayl; &s;uch as was the An&s;wer of his Letter; and that &s;ame Lye in Pickle which I was forc'd to invent the other day, concerning the Enchantment of Madam <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> whom I made him believe to be enchan|ted, tho &s;he's no more enchanted, before <HI>George,</HI> then <HI>Mahomet</HI>'s Tomb.</P>
<P>Thereupon the Dutche&s;s de&s;ir'd the Governour to tell her the whole Story of the Enchantment. Which he did without omitting the lea&s;t Circum&s;tance, to the great &s;atisfaction of his Auditors: Only the Dut|che&s;s having heard him out; by my truly, Mon&s;ieur <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo &s;he, you have rais'd another mo&s;t terrible Scruple i' my Con&s;cience; for me thinks I hear &s;omething whi&s;per me i' the Ear and &s;ay; If <HI>Don Quixote de la Man|cha</HI> be &s;uch a Fool pa&s;t recovery, wherefore do's <HI>Sancho Pancha</HI> who knows him &s;o well, &s;till continue in his Service upon the hopes of his vain Pro|mi&s;es. Certainly the Squire mu&s;t be more a Sot then the Ma&s;ter; and if &s;o, what will be &s;aid of Madam the Dutche&s;s, to be guilty of Conferring an I&s;land upon <HI>Sancho Pancha?</HI> For he that knows not how to Govern him &s;elf, can never be able to Govern others. Upon my Virginity, Madam, this Scruple came into the World with the Head formo&s;t: Your <HI>Whi&s;perer</HI> is not altogether mi&s;taken; nay you may a&s;&s;ure him from Me, that I know he &s;peaks Truth&mdash; for had I been but as wi&s;e as <HI>Waltham</HI>'s <HI>Calf,</HI> I had left my Ma&s;ter long a go. But it is my hard Fate; <HI>Where the Goat is ty'd, &s;he mu&s;t brow&s;e;</HI> and then again I mu&s;t tell yee, we are both of us Town&s;-born Children; I have eaten his Bread; he is a good Ma&s;ter, and I love him; he has given me his Colts; more then all this, I am naturally Faithful, &s;o that 'tis impo&s;&s;ible there &s;hould be any other &s;eparation between us, then that of the Pickaxe and Spade; then indeed God-den, and good Night: friends mu&s;t part, as King <HI>Dagobert</HI> &s;aid to his Hounds. But as for the Govern|ment; if your <HI>Tallne&s;s</HI> think it not fit to be&s;tow it upon me, however 'twill be a Government &s;till for all that; 'twas no burthen of my Mothers Womb that came along with me into the World&mdash; It may be for the good of my Con&s;cience to go without it: I am a Bea&s;t 'tis true, but what &s;ays the Proverb, <HI>They ow'd the Pi&s;mire a Spleen that would have given her Wings;</HI> and I am of Opinion, that <HI>Sancho</HI> the Squire may enter Paradi&s;e as &s;oon as
<PB N="451" REF="243"> <HI>Sancho</HI> the Governour. <HI>We feed upon Bread here as well as in</HI> France; <HI>and i' the Dark all Cats are Grey. He mu&s;t be very unhappy that goes without his Break|fa&s;t till Two a Clock i' the Afternoon; and there is no Man that has a Stomach twice as big as another; but let it be never &s;o big, there will be Straw or Hay enough left to fill it. 'Tis God that feeds the little Birds of the Air; and &s;ix Ells of Sarge are as long as &s;ix Ells of Velvet; and when our time is come to crawle out of this World, the Road is no fairer for a Prince then a Labouring Man; nay the Popes Body lyes in as little room as a Sexton's; we are all equal in the Grave, whether we mu&s;t all go in &s;pite of my Teeth, and in &s;pite of your Teeth, and in &s;pite of all our Teethes; and when that time comes, 'tis ju&s;t like letting down the Curtain when the Play's done.</HI> So then Madam if your Lady|&s;hip think it not fit to give me the I&s;land becau&s;e I am a Fool, I &s;hall be &s;o wi&s;e as not to care whether yee do or no, that's the &s;hort and the long on't. I have heard &s;ay the Devil &s;tands behind the Cro&s;s; and all is not Gold that gli&s;ters: <HI>Bamba</HI> a poor Farmer was hurry'd from the Plough-tail to the Throne of <HI>Spain;</HI> on the other &s;ide, King <HI>Rodorick</HI> was hal'd from his Pomp, his Pa&s;times and his Riches, and thrown to be devour'd by Snakes and Adders, if the Ballad be true. I dare &s;ay 'tis true, quo Mrs. <HI>Dorothy,</HI> that had formerly quarrel'd with <HI>Sancho;</HI> For the Story &s;ays, that they threw King <HI>Rodorick</HI> into a Ditch full of Toads, Serpents and Efts, by the &s;ame token that two days after he was heard to cry out with a pitiful Voice, <HI>Oh, how they tear, devour and gnaw my Sinning Part;</HI> and if &s;o I had rather be a poor Labourer &s;till, then a King to be devour'd of Vermin.</P>
<P>The Dutche&s;s laugh'd at the Comment which her Woman had made upon <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Text. But being no le&s;s tak'n with <HI>Sancho</HI>'s way of Arguing by Proverbs and pithy Sentences, like the Ancient Jews; Friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo &s;he, you know that when a Knight makes a promi&s;e once, he ought to keep his promi&s;e though it co&s;t him his Life. The Duke, my Lord and Husband, is no Knight Adventurer 'tis true, however he is no le&s;s a Knight for all that, and therefore thou may&s;t rely upon his word, mauger all the Envy and Malice of the World. Pluck up a good heart therefore, hone&s;t <HI>Sancho</HI>&mdash; Thou &s;halt &s;uddenly &s;ee thy &s;elf in full po&s;&s;e&s;&s;ion of thy Go|vernment, lodg'd like a Prince, and array'd in Velvet and Cloth of Ti&s;&s;ue. All the Charge that I lay upon thee is only to be careful of well Governing a People which thou wilt find Obedient and Loyal.</P>
<P>Puh, is that all? reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> as to the bu&s;ine&s;s of Governing, there's no need of laying that Injunction upon me; for I am naturally Cha|ritable, and was always compa&s;&s;ionate to the Poor, and &s;corn to take the Meat out of another Man's Mouth.&mdash; On the other &s;ide, by my Holine&s;s, they mu&s;t not think to put their fal&s;e Dice upon me&mdash; I am an old Dog not to be twice bitten; I am pa&s;t a Baby&mdash; Teach me to Govern! Teach your Grannam to grope Ducks&mdash; Zookers&mdash; I want no body to drive the Flies from my No&s;e&mdash; There's no body can tell me where the Shoe rings me&mdash; that is to &s;ay, I am re&s;olv'd to know who and who's together&mdash; and for all your true Hearts that drink fair and keep the Commandments, they &s;hall be a' my &s;ide and be welcome to my Table&mdash; But for your Factious Rebels, and &s;mooth-fac'd Fanatick Di&s;&s;emblers I defie 'em all&mdash; For in reference to Government I am per&s;waded that the main Bu&s;ine&s;s is to lay a good Foundation; &s;o that I make no doubt in fifteen days to be as expert in Governing as ever I was in Mowing an Acre of Gra&s;s, to which I ha' been bred up from my Infancy.&mdash;</P>
<P>You &s;ay very true <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd the Dutche&s;s; for no Man is born a Schollar; nor are Bi&s;hops and Popes made of Stones, but of Men. But,
<PB N="452" REF="244"> <HI>Mr.</HI> Governour, to return once more to Madam <HI>Dulcinea</HI>'s Enchantment, I hold it for a certain Truth, that <HI>Sancho</HI>'s making <HI>Don Quixote</HI> believe his Mi&s;tre&s;s was Enchanted, was meerly the wicked Contrivance of tho&s;e Enchanters that per&s;ecute him. For I am convinc'd in good part that the Country Blowze that skipp'd &s;o nimbly upon the A&s;&s;es back, was the Real <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o</HI> her &s;elf; &s;o that <HI>Sancho,</HI> who thought to deceive his Ma&s;ter, was him&s;elf beguil'd. For you mu&s;t know Friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> that we have &s;everal Necromancers and Figure-Ca&s;ters in this Country, who make it their Bu&s;ine&s;s to inform us of every thing that happens remarkable in the World; and by them we under&s;tood that the Country Puzzle was <HI>Dulcinea;</HI> that &s;he is Enchanted, and that when we lea&s;t expect it, we &s;hall &s;ee her again in all her Glory, and then &s;hall <HI>Sancho</HI> find 'twas he him|&s;elf that was bubbl'd.</P>
<P>By my Faith, Madam, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> all this might well be; and I begin to believe My Ma&s;ters Story of <HI>Monte&s;inos</HI>'s Cave, where, as he &s;ays, he &s;aw Madam <HI>Dulcinea</HI> in the &s;ame Habit and Condition wherein I told him I had &s;een her, when it came into my Brain to Enchant her. I &s;ee now 'twas quite another thing and that I was the fir&s;t that was Conycatch'd, as your Greatne&s;s well ob&s;erves. For now I think on't, 'tis plain I never had &s;o much Wit for &s;uch a &s;udden Contrivance; nor do I believe my Ma|&s;ter &s;uch a Woodcock to be over reach d by &s;uch an <HI>Ignoramus</HI> as my &s;elf. However Madam, I would not have you think me to be a Knave neither, &s;eeing that &s;uch an Ideot, as I am, is not able to defend him&s;elf from the Ma|lice of the&s;e Enchanters. I invented that &s;ame tale of a Tub, only to avoid my Ma&s;ters Importunities, and not to abu&s;e him; and if it fell out contrary to my Intention. God is in Heaven the Judge of all Hearts. 'Tis hone&s;tly &s;aid, reply'd the Dutche&s;s, but tell me <HI>Sancho,</HI> what is that Ad|venture of <HI>Monte&s;inos</HI>'s Cave? I would fain under&s;tand the bottom of it. Whereupon <HI>Sancho,</HI> having made a full Relation of the whole Story, the Dut|che&s;s thus proceeded. Look yee, &s;aid &s;he, here's the very thing that confirms what I told yee, friend <HI>Sancho;</HI> for &s;eeing the famous <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;aw the &s;ame Country Pu&s;s that <HI>Sancho</HI> met coming from <HI>Tobo&s;o,</HI> 'tis apparent 'twas <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> and that the <HI>Necromancers</HI> are very &s;wift in their Intelligence.</P>
<P>Well, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> if Madam <HI>Dulcinea</HI> be Enchanted, 'tis &s;o much the wor&s;e for her; what's that to me, I am not bound to quarrel with all my Ma&s;ters Enemies, which I find are many, and too powerful y'faith for me to deal with. This I am &s;ure of, &s;he whom I &s;aw was a Country Wench, I took her for a Country Wench, and I left her a Country Wench&mdash; But whether that Country Wench were Madam <HI>Dulcinea</HI> or no, is no Bread and Butter of mine; I &s;hall neither be the better nor wor&s;e for it. Be&s;ides I mu&s;t tell yee, I don't like the&s;e odd kind of Repetitions&mdash; <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;ays one thing, <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;ays another; <HI>Sancho</HI>'s a' this &s;ide, <HI>Sancho</HI>'s a that &s;ide&mdash; <HI>Sancho</HI> did this, and <HI>Sancho</HI> did that&mdash; as if <HI>Sancho</HI> were not the &s;ame <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;o famous already over all the World in Hi&s;tory, as the Student <HI>Samp&s;on Carra&s;co</HI> told me not long ago; and I know he would not lye for all the Gold within or without the Bowels of the Earth. And therefore let not me be plagu'd with your Enchantments, I wa&s;h my Hands of 'em all; I'me &s;ure no body can &s;ay but that I'me hone&s;t; and a good Name is better then a Gold Chain about a Man's Neck. Let me but have this Government once, and then you &s;hall &s;ee Miracles&mdash; a good Squire will make a better Gover|nour.</P>
<P>I' my Con&s;cience, <HI>Sancho,</HI> cry'd the Dutche&s;s, you are a mo&s;t incom|parable Man&mdash; You &s;peak nothing but Sentences&mdash; according as we &s;ay
<PB N="453" REF="244"> in our Country, <HI>a Tatter'd Cloak may cover a good Drinker</HI>&mdash; Upon my Credit Madam Dutche&s;s, an&s;wer'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> I never drink out of malice; for thir&s;t perhaps I may: for I have nothing of the Hypocrite in me. I drink when I have occa&s;ion; and &s;ometimes when I have no occa&s;ion, e&s;pecially when the Liquor is offer'd me; for why &s;hould I go about to affront an ho|ne&s;t good Fellow. Really Madam, he mu&s;t be very hard hearted that re|fu&s;es to pledge his Friend, when it co&s;ts him nothing to open his Mouth. Nor indeed is it well done to upbraid the Squires of <HI>Knights-Errant;</HI> poor Creatures, God wot, that are always in De&s;arts or Forre&s;ts, Woods or Mountains, without ta&s;ting &s;o much as one merciful drop of Wine, would they give one of their Eyes for a Thimble-full.</P>
<P>I believe it <HI>Sancho,</HI> cry'd the Dutche&s;s, but now it grows late, and there|fore go to your repo&s;e&mdash; another time we'll have the t'other Me&s;s of chat&mdash; I' the mean time I'le take order that you &s;hall have your Govern|ment, and that &s;peedily too. Thereupon <HI>Sancho</HI> made his obey&s;ance once more to the Dutche&s;s, and be&s;ought her to give command that particular care might be taken of his <HI>Grizzle,</HI> which was no le&s;s dear to him then the Light of his Eyes. What <HI>Grizzle</HI> do&s;t mean? quo the Dutche&s;s. My A&s;s, Madam, with reverence be it &s;poken, reply'd <HI>Sancho;</HI> but becau&s;e I am unwilling to call him A&s;s, which is common both to Man and Bea&s;t, I gave him the name of <HI>Grizzle.</HI> 'Tis very well <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo the Dutche&s;s, take no care for <HI>Grizzle</HI>&mdash; now I find him to be one of my good friends Mo|veables, I'le take him into my Bo&s;om rather then fail. Not &s;o neither I be|&s;eech yee, Madam Dutche&s;s, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> 'tis &s;ufficient that he has a warm Stable&mdash; neither he nor I are worthy a Moment's Repo&s;e in your Bo&s;om: Nor would I harbour &s;uch an unmannerly thought for all the A&s;&s;es in the World, tho I might have 'em bridl'd and &s;addl'd to boot&mdash; Nay, quo the Dutche&s;s, I am not &s;o fond of your <HI>Grizzle</HI> neither, but that you may take him along with yee to your Government, where you may feed him with <HI>Panada's,</HI> and make him as fat as you plea&s;e. Ah Madam, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> there's many a true word &s;pok'n in jea&s;t&mdash; 'Tis not the fir&s;t A&s;s that I have &s;een go to a Government, and if I carry mine, 'tis no &s;uch new thing.</P>
<P>The Dutche&s;s could not choo&s;e but laugh at <HI>Sancho</HI>'s An&s;wer; and &s;o &s;ending him to his natural Re&s;t, &s;he went to the Duke and gave him an account of the plea&s;ant Colloquies between her and <HI>Sancho.</HI> Which done, they contriv'd together to put <HI>Don Quixote</HI> upon a mo&s;t famous Adven|ture, the like&s;t to a Romantick Piece of <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI> that ever was in the World, and which if the Reader be but never &s;o little Ingenious, he mu&s;t confe&s;s to be one of the mo&s;t delightful Pa&s;&s;ages in the whole Book.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="34" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XXXIV.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Relating the method that was taken to Di&s;inchant Madam <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o,</HI> which is one of the mo&s;t famous Adventures in this Book.</HEAD>
<P>THE Duke and the Dutche&s;s were greatly delighted with the humours of their Gue&s;ts, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho Pancha;</HI> which made 'em &s;tudy all the Contrivances imaginable to make the be&s;t of &s;uch a plea&s;ing diverti&s;ement. To which end, the Story that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> had told 'em of <HI>Monte&s;inos</HI>'s Cave furni&s;h'd their invention with matter &s;ufficient; and <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Simplicity, who was now coax'd to believe <HI>Dulcinea</HI>'s Enchantment
<PB N="454" REF="245"> to be real, tho he him&s;elf were the fir&s;t contriver of the delu&s;ion, made 'em confident they &s;hould pro&s;per in their de&s;ign.</P>
<P>To this purpo&s;e, at the end of &s;ix days, which they &s;pent in in&s;tructing the Actors in this Comedy, they carry'd <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho</HI> to hunt the Wild Boar, with &s;uch a Retinue of Hunt&s;men and Attendance as might have become a Crown'd Prince. For <HI>Don Quixote</HI> him&s;elf they provided a Hunting Suit rich and noble, and another for <HI>Sancho</HI> of fine green Cloth. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> refus'd to accept of his, alledging that he was in a &s;hort time to return to the &s;evere Exerci&s;e of Arms, and could not carry along with him Sumpters and Wardrobes: but as for <HI>Sancho,</HI> he willingly accep|ted of his, de&s;igning it for the Broker upon the fir&s;t occa&s;ion.</P>
<P>The wi&s;h'd for Morning being come, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> put on his ru&s;ty Ar|mour, and <HI>Sancho</HI> his Gra&s;s-green Breeches and Coat, and mounting his <HI>Grizzle,</HI> which he would not leave for a good Hor&s;e that was offer'd him, crowded in among the re&s;t of the Hunt&s;men. At length appear'd the Dutche&s;s al&s;o, gayly and richly habited like the Picture of <HI>Diana;</HI> at what time <HI>Don Quixote</HI> out of pure Court&s;hip would needs hold the Reins of her Bridle, till &s;he were fix'd in her Saddle, tho the Duke &s;eem'd very unwil|ling, and fain would have di&s;&s;waded him from &s;o mean an Office. In &s;hort, away they &s;et forward, the Dutche&s;s riding between the Duke and <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> till they came to a Wood that grew between two high Moun|tains. Where being arriv'd, the Toyles were &s;et, the Hounds uncoupled, the Hunters took their &s;tands, and the Chace began with &s;uch a hideous noi&s;e, what with the Dogs, what with the Horns, what with the hollow|ing and hooping of the Hunt&s;men, that a Man could hardly hear the Per&s;on that &s;tood next him. Pre&s;ently the Dutche&s;s alighted, and with a Javelin in her Hand, plac'd her &s;elf where it was mo&s;t likely the Boar would take his flight. The Duke and <HI>Don Quixote</HI> alighted at the &s;ame time, and en|clos'd the Dutche&s;s on each &s;ide. But <HI>Sancho</HI> glad he had &s;uch a Defence between him and Danger, kept a loof off, behind his Illu&s;trious Rampart, not daring to alight from his <HI>Grizzle,</HI> for fear of &s;ome untoward Misfor|tune.</P>
<P>Nor was it long before the hideous Boar appear'd with the Dogs and the Hunters clo&s;e at his Heeles. At what time <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;houldring his Buckler, and with his drawn Sword in his Hand, prepar'd to receive the fu|rious Mountaneer. The Duke al&s;o ha&s;ten'd with his Boar-Spear to have the fir&s;t &s;troak: the Dutche&s;s likewi&s;e would have advanc'd before 'em both, had not the Duke prevented her. Only <HI>Sancho</HI> beholding the enrag'd Animal with di&s;mal Tusk and foaming Chaps, as his fears &s;ugge&s;ted, making to|ward him alone, skipp'd from his Pack-&s;addle, and fell a running as fa&s;t as his thick Legs could carry him, toward a high Oak which he had in his view, to the top of which he endeavour'd to have clamber'd out of harms way. But being heavy and unus'd to climb, he was not got much above half way before one of the Boughs broke, and he had had a fatal &s;quelch, had not a more merciful Stump of another Bough caught hold of his new Breeches, and entring the Cloath behind, pre&s;erv'd him from the fall. How|ever there he hung, quite contrary to Men hang'd in Chains, with his Heels up, and his Head down, within a Foot of the Ground. In this Condition, finding his Breeches torn, and every Minute fancing the Boar to be tearing his Scull, he made &s;uch Out-cries, and baul'd out &s;o loud for help, that they who heard him and &s;aw him not, verily believ'd him between the Teeth of &s;ome devouring Bea&s;t. But there he mu&s;t hang, for the Hunters were bu&s;ie till they had kill'd their Game, which they were not long a doing
<PB REF="245">
<FIGURE>
<FIGDESC>Don Quixote hunting; Sancho Panza falling out of a tree</FIGDESC>
<P><HI>The Duke, Dutche&s;s, and Don Quixot hunting the wild Boar; Sancho Pancha falling out of a Tree is catch'd by the Breech. page 454.</HI></P>
</FIGURE>
<FIGURE>
<FIGDESC>Don Quixote and Sancho Panza ride blindfolded</FIGDESC>
<P><HI>Don Quixot and Sancho Pancha ride blindfold through the Air upon a woodden Hor&s;e, page 477.</HI></P>
</FIGURE>
<PB REF="246">
<PB N="455" REF="246"> with their Spears and Javelins; and <HI>Don Quixote</HI> hearing <HI>Sancho</HI>'s cryes, made ha&s;te to relieve his di&s;tre&s;&s;ed Squire. Nor was it long before he di&s;|cover'd him hanging like a Calf in a Butchers Slaughter-hou&s;e, and his Pa|tient <HI>Grizzle</HI> by him, that never de&s;erted him in his Calamity. For <HI>Cid Hamet</HI> ob&s;erves, that you &s;hould never &s;ee <HI>Sancho</HI> but you &s;hould &s;ee <HI>Grizzle,</HI> never <HI>Grizzle</HI> but you &s;hould &s;ee <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;uch was the con&s;tant Friend&s;hip and faithful Unity between them two. Well in &s;hort, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> took him down; but if <HI>Sancho</HI> were overjoy'd to find him&s;elf &s;afe and at liberty, he was no le&s;s griev'd to behold the hole in his fine hunting Suit, that he valu'd equal to a Coppihold Farm.</P>
<P>In the mean time the Boar being lay'd upon a Mule, and cover'd with Branches of Ro&s;mary and Mirtle, the Victorious Hunt&s;men carry'd their new conquer'd Spoils in Triumph to a fair Tent in the middle of the Wood, where they found a Table ready &s;pread, and a Collation be&s;eeming the Mag|nificence of him that be&s;tow'd it.</P>
<P>Pre&s;ently <HI>Sancho</HI> with a Melancholy Countenance drew near the Dut|che&s;s, and &s;hewing her his rent Breeches; had this been a bare &s;urprize of a Hare, or a Poaching after Partridges, quo he, this Misfortune had never befallen me: I wonder what plea&s;ure there is in waiting for a Wild Bea&s;t, that if he do but &s;trike a Man into the Guts with one of his Tu&s;hes, &s;ends him pre&s;ently into the other World? I &s;hall never forget an Old Song that runs thus: <Q><L>May&s;t thou be eaten by the Bears</L>
<L>Like <HI>Fabila</HI> in former Years;</L></Q> That <HI>Fabila,</HI> cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> was an Antient King of the <HI>Goths,</HI> who going a Hunting was devour'd by the Bears. That's what I &s;ay, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> or at lea&s;t what I mean&mdash; For I would not that Kings and Princes &s;hould run the hazard of their Lives, for the vain Plea&s;ure of killing a poor Animal that never offended the Law. You are mi&s;taken, <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;aid the Duke, Hunting is an Exerci&s;e more convenient and nece&s;&s;ary for Kings and Princes then any other. For Hunting is a Repre&s;entation of War: It teaches us how to make u&s;e of Stratagems, Policy and Ambu&s;cades, and to van|qui&s;h an Enemy without detriment to our &s;elves; it expo&s;es us to Heat and Cold; enures us to Labour and Hard&s;hip; encrea&s;es Strength, and renders the whole Body active and vigorous, and more then all this, it is a prejudice to no body. And therefore Friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> when you are once &s;ettl'd in your Government, I advi&s;e yee to u&s;e the Sport of Hunting; for then you will find the benefit of it.</P>
<P>I beg your Pardon, good my Lord Duke, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> a good Gover|nour &s;hould have his Legs broken, that he may &s;tay at home. 'Twould be a fine thing indeed, that when People come about bu&s;ine&s;s weary and tyr'd with long Journeys, and think to find Mr. Governour at home, he &s;hould be gone a Hunting for his Plea&s;ure for&s;ooth i' the Country&mdash; y' good faith Bu&s;ine&s;s would be finely di&s;patch'd at that Rate, would it not? May I never enjoy the Ble&s;&s;ing of Bag-Pudding more, if I don't think that Hun|ting is fitter for tho&s;e that have nothing to do, then for a Governour. For my part I am re&s;olv'd that a little Recreation &s;hall &s;erve my turn&mdash;a Game or two at <HI>All-Foures,</HI> or Twenty or Thirty, more or le&s;s for Chri&s;tma&s;&s;es, Ea&s;ter's and Whit&s;ontides; and upon common Sundays and Holidays, a lit|tle Pa&s;time at Kettle-pins; but for your Hunting, as yee call it, it neither agrees with my Humour nor my Con&s;cience. In good time, reply'd the Duke; but between &s;aying and doing there's a va&s;t di&s;tance. Let it be as
<PB N="456" REF="247"> va&s;t as it will, quo <HI>Sancho, a Good Pay-ma&s;ter never grudges his Wages. He whom God a&s;&s;i&s;ts, does better then he that ri&s;es betimes in the Morning: 'Tis the Belly makes the Feet amble, not the Feet the Belly.</HI> My meaning is, that if Heaven a&s;&s;i&s;ts me, and that I do my endeavour with a good Intention, I make no doubt but to Govern better then a Gerfaulcon. They that won't believe me, let 'em put their Fingers i' my Mouth and trye whether I can bite or no&mdash; No, no&mdash; believe me 'tis not the Coule makes the Monk&mdash; and when.&mdash; Accurs'd of Heaven and all the Saints, accur&s;ed <HI>Sancho,</HI> cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> interrupting him, when &s;hall I hear thee talk a Quar|ter of an Hour without a Company of Mangy Proverbs? I be&s;eech your Excellencies, let &s;ome body &s;titch up the Mouth of this Eternal Dolt&mdash; pre&s;umptuous Slave, that thus dares teaze your Ears with his Impertinen|cies. <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Proverbs, reply'd the Dutche&s;s, are nere a whit the more to be di&s;lik'd for their number&mdash; Wi&s;e Men have thought their time not ill &s;pent in Collecting of Proverbs&mdash; but <HI>Sancho</HI>'s a Collection of Proverbs him|&s;elf&mdash; He has by heart what other Men mu&s;t pore for in Indexes&mdash; And whether he &s;peaks to the purpo&s;e or no, that's not a Straw matter&mdash; I'le a&s;&s;ure yee he plea&s;es his Friends, if I may be &s;aid to be one.</P>
<P>After the&s;e and &s;uch like Di&s;cour&s;es, they re-enter'd the Wood, to &s;ee whether any Game had fallen into the Nets. Where while they continu'd eager at their Sport, they were of a &s;udden &s;urpriz'd by a dark Night; more dark indeed then u&s;ual, but as it happen'd more favourable for the Duke and Dutche&s;&s;es de&s;ign. For as they &s;tood wondering what was be|come of the Stars, in a Moment all the Forre&s;t &s;eem'd to be of a light Fire; and by and by they heard a loud noi&s;e of Trumpets and other Warlike In|&s;truments, as if &s;everal Regiments of Hor&s;e had been marching through the Wood. This unexpected Light and amazing Noi&s;e &s;urpris'd the Eyes and Ears of all that were pre&s;ent; but far greater was their wonder when the medley of Sounds increas'd, by the Intermixture of Cornets, Fifes, ratling of Gridirons, Keys and Tongues, Trumpet-Marines, <HI>Lanca&s;hire</HI> Hornpipes, in dreadful Con&s;ort with <HI>Iri&s;h Ohones,</HI> that made &s;uch a di&s;|mal Chiurm i' the clouded Air, as threatn'd &s;ome &s;udden di&s;a&s;ter to the whole World. The Duke &s;hiver'd, the Dutche&s;s quak'd, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> him&s;elf was in a cold Sweat, <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Bones rattl'd in his Skin; and in a word, all that were pre&s;ent were at their private Ejaculations. By and by, upon the cea&s;ing of this &s;ame <HI>Black Santus,</HI> a kind of a Po&s;t, that look'd like one of the Devils Po&s;tillions, upon a round Gallop bru&s;h'd by the Company, &s;oun|ding a Horn of a prodigious bigne&s;s, and as terrible for the noi&s;e it made as a &s;peaking Trumpet; to whom the Duke, calling after him, hold Bro|ther Po&s;t, quo he, who art, whether &s;o fa&s;t&mdash; what Sons of <HI>Mars</HI> are they that &s;eem to cro&s;s the Wood?&mdash; I am the Devil, cry'd the Po&s;t, in a dreadful tone, that look for <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> and tho&s;e People that you take for Warriours, are &s;ix Troops of <HI>Necromancers,</HI> that bring along th' Enchanted <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o</HI> in a Tryumphant Chariot, accom|pany'd by the famous Knight Sir <HI>Francis Monte&s;inos,</HI> who comes to teach <HI>Don Quixote</HI> the way to Di&s;inchant her. If thou be&s;t the Devil, as thou &s;ay&s;t thou art, reply'd the Duke, thou art a Mope-ey'd Devil not to &s;ee <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who &s;tands here before thee. Before Heaven and by my Con&s;cience, cry'd the Devil, I have &s;o many things i' my Head, that I forgot my main Errand. Body a me, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> this Devil mu&s;t be an hone&s;t Fellow, and a good Catholick, he could never &s;wear el&s;e, before Heaven and by his Con&s;cience. But now I find that even in Hell it &s;elf there are &s;ome good People, as well as in other places. At the &s;ame time, the
<PB N="457" REF="247"> Devil keeping his Saddle, and fixing his Eyes upon <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> To thee Sir <HI>Kinght of the Lyons</HI> (and I wi&s;h thee fa&s;t i' their Claws for the trouble thou giv'&s;t me) to Thee am I &s;ent by the Valiant, but unfortunate <HI>Monte&s;i|nos,</HI> to bid thee wait his coming where ever I &s;hould find thee, for that he brings along with him an acquaintance of thine, one <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o,</HI> and can tell thee how to di&s;inchant her&mdash; that's my Errand and all I have to &s;ay&mdash;and &s;o may Devils like my &s;elf be always thy Companions, and Angels guard the re&s;t of this good Company. And &s;o &s;aying he blew his dreadful Horn, and di&s;appear'd without &s;taying for an An&s;wer.</P>
<P>At this the Hunters were more a&s;toni&s;h'd then before, but mo&s;t of all affrighted <HI>Sancho</HI> and <HI>Don Quixote; Sancho,</HI> to &s;ee that in de&s;pight of what he knew to be true, they would have <HI>Dulcinea</HI> &s;till to be Enchanted, and <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> to find that what he had only dream'd of <HI>Monte&s;inos</HI>'s Cave, &s;hould prove to be Truth. To whom, while he was pondring the&s;e things in his imagination, What think yee Sir, cry'd the Duke, are yee re&s;olv'd to expect your friends? Why not, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I'le wait their coming with my wonted Courage, tho I were &s;ure to encounter all the Devils in Hell. You may do what you plea&s;e, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> but if any more Devils or Horns come hither, they &s;hall as &s;oon find me in <HI>Flanders</HI> as here.</P>
<P>By this time the Night being far &s;pent and very dark, they di&s;cover'd a great number of Lights, like &s;o many <HI>Jack in a Lanthorns;</HI> and immediate|ly after they heard a mo&s;t dreadful noi&s;e, like that of a Cart laden with Bars of Iron cro&s;&s;ing forty Kennels one after another, and the ungreas'd Wheels creaking at the &s;ame time; which is a &s;ort of Melody, they &s;ay, will fright the very Woolves and Bears them&s;elves if they hear it. But that which ren|der'd this Diabolical Harmony the more terrible, was another &s;ort of noi&s;e of &s;o many Battels joyn'd in all the four Corners of the Wood, where Peals of Cannon, Volleys of Mu&s;quets; the Cryes of the wounded; Groans of the dying &s;tupify'd your Ears; &s;o that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> him&s;elf, notwith|&s;tanding all his Courage, began to find his Hair &s;tand an end. <HI>Sancho</HI> had no lei&s;ure to &s;ummon up his Re&s;olution; for &s;uch were his fears that he fell down in a &s;woon at the Dutche&s;&s;es Feet: And whether he would ever have come to him&s;elf agen, is a que&s;tion, had not the Dutche&s;s been &s;o kind as to bid her Servants throw good &s;tore of Water in his Face.</P>
<P>The Poor Soul began to open his well wa&s;h'd Eyes, ju&s;t as one of the creaking Carts happen'd to pa&s;s along, drawn by four &s;low-pac'd Oxen, cover'd with Mourning, and carrying upon each Horn a lighted Torch. At the upper end of the Cart, was erected a kind of a Throne, where &s;ate a Venerable Old Man with a Beard as white as a Par&s;on's Band, and reach|ing down to his Girdle, wrapt up in a Gown of black <HI>Buckram.</HI> The Oxen were lead by two Devils very black and &s;o very deformed, that <HI>Sancho</HI> ha|ving &s;een 'em once, was forc'd to &s;hut his Eyes that he might not &s;ee 'em agen. When the Waggon came near the Duke, the Venerable Old Man ro&s;e up, and with a loud and deep Voice cry'd out, <HI>I am the Necromancer Lirgand,</HI> and &s;o the Waggon went forward. After this follow'd another Waggon with another grave old Man &s;itting in it, who when he came neer the Duke, cry'd out in a hoar&s;e tone, <HI>I am the Necromancer</HI> Alquift, <HI>the great Friend of</HI> Urganda <HI>the &V;ngrateful.</HI> Then follow'd a third Cart, but he that &s;ate upon the Throne was a &s;trong &s;turdy &s;tern &s;ower-fac'd Fellow, and he cry'd out with a Voice more Inward and Devil-like, <HI>I am the Necromancer</HI> Arcalaus, <HI>the Mortal Enemy of</HI> Amadis de Gaule <HI>and all his Race;</HI> and having &s;o &s;aid, he follow'd the re&s;t of the Waggons. All the&s;e three Waggons made a &s;top, after they had gone &s;ome few Paces only. And then the unplea|&s;ing
<PB N="458" REF="248"> wicked noi&s;e of the Wheels cea&s;ing, a plea&s;ant &s;ort of Mu&s;ick began to &s;trike up, which <HI>Sancho</HI> taking for a good Omen, Madam, quo he, to the Dutche&s;s, from whom he would not budge an Inch, where there's Mu&s;ick, there's generally good Chear. Very true, reply'd the Dutche&s;s, Mu&s;ick delights the Ear, as Light rejoyces the Eye. Peranter I, Peranter no, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> Light proceeds &s;ometimes from Flame, and a Man may &s;et his Hou&s;e a Fire and run away by the Light on't; but Mu&s;ick is always a &s;ign of Jollity and Revelling. That will be &s;een by and by, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and &s;o we go on to the next Chapter.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="2" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. II.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing the Meanes that were us'd to di&s;inchant <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> with other Admirable Pa&s;&s;ages.</HEAD>
<P>AS the Mu&s;ick drew near, they beheld a Tryumphant Chariot coming towards 'em, drawn by &s;ix Mules, cover'd with White, and upon eve|ry Mule a Penitent &s;ate in the &s;ame Colour, bearing a great Torch in his Hand. The Chariot was three times as big as any of the Waggons, car|rying twelve other Penitents in White, with their Torches likewi&s;e; and at the farther end upon a Throne &s;ate a Nymph, &s;hining all in glittering Tin&s;el; &s;o that tho &s;he were not in &s;uch a Condition as to be &s;old to her worth, yet to the outward Eye no Queen could be more gloriou&s;ly array'd; be&s;ides that her Face was cover'd with a Tran&s;parent Gau&s;e, through which you might di&s;cern a mo&s;t Lovely Beauty between Sixteen and Seventeen Years of Age. Clo&s;e by her &s;ate another Figure, clad in a long &s;ide-Gar|ment of black Bayes reaching down to her Feet, her Head being cover'd with a Mourning Vail. So &s;oon as this Chariot came before the Duke and <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> the Mu&s;ick ceas'd, and this &s;ame Figure &s;tanding upright up|on her Feet, di&s;play'd her Garment, and throwing away her Vail, di&s;co|ver'd a meer Skeleton, that repre&s;ented the deformed and gha&s;tly Figure of Death, which put <HI>Don Quixote</HI> into a Melancholy Dumps, and terrify'd poor <HI>Sancho</HI> in &s;uch a manner, that he began to be &s;omewhat offen&s;ive; nor were the Duke and Dutche&s;s without their &s;eeming di&s;turbances. At what time Death ob&s;erving &s;till the &s;ame Po&s;ture, with a Faint utterance and Langui&s;hing Tone thus began.</P>
<Q><L><HI>I Merlin</HI> am whom Story's fain</L>
<L>To be the Devils Father,</L>
<L>For on my Learning &s;o profound</L>
<L>This Lye did former Ages ground.</L>
<L>Sole Monarch o're Magicians all I Reign;</L>
<L>All <HI>Fau&s;tus</HI>'s and <HI>Bacons</HI> &s;ecrets I</L>
<L>Can tell, commanding Fate and De&s;tiny.</L>
<L>I Rule the Demons and the Stars them&s;elves,</L>
<L>King <HI>Oberon,</HI> and his Fairy <HI>Elves;</HI></L>
<L>And for Knights-Errant have a tender Love,</L>
<L>As being favour'd from above;</L>
<L>Their honour I uphold, and &s;till at hand</L>
<L>Their Lives from vile Enchanters I defend.</L>
<PB N="459" REF="248">
<L>Within my dark abode</L>
<L>In gloomy Caverns of the Stygian God,</L>
<L>Where I was drawing Circles, crownd</L>
<L>With Names of Saints and Avemaries round,</L>
<L>I heard the doleful Lamentations</L>
<L>Of Matchle&s;s <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> Queen of Nations;</L>
<L>Which drew me from my Re&s;t</L>
<L>To Succour her that lyes &s;o &s;ore di&s;tre&s;t.</L>
<L>Oh Thou of wandring Chivalry,</L>
<L>The Glory and the Ornament;</L>
<L>Thou that for&s;ak'&s;t the &s;oft repo&s;e</L>
<L>Of Downy Beds where Drones and Cowards lye;</L>
<L>Renowned Knight that never dofft'&s;t thy Cloaths,</L>
<L>But under Oaks or Beeches, wet or drye,</L>
<L>In pondrous Armour &s;leep&s;t upon the Ground,</L>
<L>Seeking Adventures never to be found;</L>
<L>To thee Fam'd Hero, that ha&s;t long deplor'd</L>
<L>Thy Lady's Fate, by thee &s;o much ador'd,</L>
<L>Tho now Transform'd into a Country Dowdy,</L>
<L>To thee I come, not with a Formal How d' yee;</L>
<L>But to re&s;tore her to her Former State,</L>
<L>And make her happy that's unfortunate.</L>
<L>Six hunder'd Stripes upon his naked Bum,</L>
<L>Thy Peerle&s;s Squire mu&s;t fir&s;t receive,</L>
<L>And then by Fates unalterable Doom,</L>
<L>Then <HI>Dulcinea</HI> &s;hall return and live</L>
<L>For thy Embraces Fit,</L>
<L>And never more &s;halt thou have cau&s;e to grieve.</L></Q>
<P>Very finely contriv'd, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> me thinks three La&s;hes might &s;erve turn, gently lay'd on with my own Hand&mdash;the Devil take thee for a Pedagogue of a Devil for thy manner of Di&s;inchantment; what have my Buttocks to do with Sorcery? Before <HI>George</HI> Mr. <HI>Merlin,</HI> if you have no better way of di&s;inchanting Madam <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> let her een go Enchanted as &s;he is into the other World for me.</P>
<P>How Rogue! cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> all in fury, Scoundrel Garlick-eater&mdash; refu&s;e the Oracle, and I'le take thee my &s;elf and tye thee as naked to a Tree as ever thy Mother bore thee, where I'le make up the three thou&s;and three hunder'd, yee Varlet, &s;ix thou&s;and &s;ix hunder'd, at &s;ixcore to the hunder'd&mdash; an&s;wer me a word yee Dog and I'le tear out thy Soul.&mdash;</P>
<P>Soft and fair, quo <HI>Merlin,</HI> for the Stripes that hone&s;t <HI>Sancho</HI> is to receive, mu&s;t be with his own con&s;ent, and he may take his own time, for he is not ty'd to a Day: Nay, he may be exempted from one half of the La|&s;hes too, provided they be lay'd on by another Hand, which perhaps may not indeed be &s;o Compa&s;&s;ionate. Neither another Hand nor my own, neither heavy nor light, neither hard nor &s;oft, reply'd <HI>Sancho:</HI> Did I be|get Madam <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o,</HI> that my Tayl mu&s;t pay for the Sins of her Eyes? Een let my Ma&s;ter <HI>Don Quixote</HI> whip him&s;elf, 'tis his own bu&s;ine&s;s; he that calls her every foot his Life, his Soul, and his Support, let him, if he plea&s;es, try to di&s;inchant her at the expence of his own Fle&s;h and Blood&mdash; but for any whipping of me, I beg his Diver&s;ion.</P>
<P><HI>Sancho</HI> had no &s;ooner made an end of &s;peaking, but the Lady in the Throne &s;tood upon her Feet, and lifting up her Vail, di&s;cover'd a Beauty
<PB N="460" REF="249"> altogether Extraordinary; and then with a Countenance full of anger and di&s;dain, addre&s;&s;ing her &s;elf to <HI>Sancho,</HI> Shame to thy Profe&s;&s;ion, quo &s;he, with no more Soul then a Black-jack, and no more Heart then a Mu&s;cle, Poor Entrails of a Gudgeon, had&s;t thou been commanded, Varlet of a Hangman, to throw thy &s;elf from the Top of &s;ome high Tower to the Ground; had&s;t thou been reque&s;ted, Enemy of Mankind, to have eaten a dozen of Toads, two dozen of Efts, and three dozen of Adders; or had&s;t thou been per&s;waded to &s;aw off the Necks of thy Wife and Children, it had been no wonder to have &s;een thee ob&s;tinate and Melancholy; but to boggle at three thou&s;and three hunder'd Sla&s;hes of a Whip, that every pitiful Clout-pricker of a Religious Virgin gives her &s;elf once a Month, and every old Cripple of a Fornicator &s;uffers from the flogging Hand of a Brawny Baud, &s;trikes admiration into all that hear it, and will be the A&s;toni&s;hment of all &s;ucceeding Ages. See here, perpetual Ragamuffin, look upon the&s;e Eyes of mine, more bright then glittering Stars, and but ob&s;erve how my hot Tears in&s;en&s;ibly furrow the Flowry Meadows of my lovely Cheeks, that were before a Paradi&s;e Terre&s;trial. Die cruel Mon|&s;ter; drop into the Earth for &s;hame, to &s;ee a Prince&s;s of my Years con|&s;ume the Flowr of her Age, and pine away under the Disfigurement of a Country-puzzle, tho at pre&s;ent my former Charms are for a while re|turn'd me, by Gracious <HI>Merlins</HI> Art, in hopes the &s;ight of &s;o much Beauty would have mollify'd thy Heart. Relent, relent, inexorable Mon&s;ter; be not &s;o &s;paring of that wrinkl'd Skin of thine, th' enclo&s;ure of thy Dirty Soul; vanqui&s;h for once that pa&s;&s;ionate love of thy Belly, and forbear to li&s;ten to that greedy Worm that's always bawling to thee for Kitchen Con&s;olati|on; vanqui&s;h I &s;ay this exorbitant Self-love, and a&s;&s;ume to thy &s;elf the honour, by a little Mortification of thy Fle&s;h, to re&s;tore me the Delicacy of my Skin, the &s;weetne&s;s of my Di&s;po&s;ition, and the incomparable Beauty of my Complexion: Or if I am not yet &s;ufficiently mi&s;erable to move thy Pity, do it for the &s;ake of that poor Knight who &s;tands by thy &s;ide, con|&s;uming him&s;elf in &s;orrow, I mean thy tender Ma&s;ter, who&s;e very Soul I &s;ee ju&s;t at his Throat, not above ten Fingers breadth from his Lips, rea|dy upon thy kind or rugged an&s;wer, to flye out of his Mouth, or return back to his Midriff.</P>
<P>Upon the&s;e words <HI>Don Quixote</HI> felt his Throat, and then turning to the Duke, By the Body of <HI>Cae&s;ar,</HI> &s;aid he, <HI>Dulcinea</HI> has &s;poken nothing but the Truth; for I feel my Soul lye cro&s;s my Throat, like a Bullet in a Cro&s;s-Bow. Well, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo the Dutche&s;s, and what &s;ay you to all this? I &s;ay, Madam, as I &s;ayd before, that as to the bu&s;ine&s;s of La&s;hing, I renounce the Devil and all his Firkirs&mdash; and therefore I beg your <HI>Rever&s;ion;</HI> Diver&s;ion you mean, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo the Duke. Hoyday! what agen! I be&s;eech your Grandeur to let me alone; is this a time to trouble a Man with Niceties, and Spelling of Letters, when he's in danger of lo&s;ing his Skin? Therefore I would fain know of my Lady, Madam <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o,</HI> where &s;he learnt to beg Kindne&s;&s;es of people after &s;uch a rude man|ner? She de&s;ires me that for her &s;ake I would &s;uffer my Skin to be flead from my Back, and at the &s;ame time calls me <HI>Savage Mon&s;ter, Soul of a Black-jack, Tiger</HI> and <HI>Ragamuffin,</HI> with a hunder'd other reproachful Names, which the Devil him&s;elf would never endure. It may be I might have a Body of Bra&s;s, if I might gain any thing by di&s;inchanting her. If &s;he had brought along with her a dozen of Shirts, half a &s;core Night-Caps, and three or four new Pair of Shoes, by Gud's Deins I &s;hould ha' known what to ha' &s;aid to her. But &s;he for&s;ooth to get me into a good humour, pre&s;ents me with
<PB N="461" REF="249"> a Bu&s;hel of Injuries and Reproaches, as if &s;he intended to Hector me out of my Skin&mdash; No&mdash; no&mdash; &s;he's too young I &s;ee to know that an A&s;s laden with Gold mounts the more nimbly up the Hill, and that Pre&s;ents mollifie Stones: But I can tell her, <HI>a Bird i' the Hand's worth two i' the Bu&s;h; and he's a Fool that will not give an Egg for an Ox.</HI> And then again, my Ma&s;ter too, who one would think &s;hould make it his Bu&s;ine&s;s to &s;peak me fair, and coax me up, as being the only Per&s;on that can &s;erve him, threatens to tye me to a Tree, and to make me pay double the Price which the Devil de|mands for his Mi&s;tre&s;&s;es Ran&s;om. Be&s;ides, they ought to con&s;ider, 'tis not a Squire only, but a Governour whom they would have to whip him&s;elf&mdash; Be&s;hrew their Hearts, let 'em know to whom they prate, and what they Petition for&mdash; Let 'em learn Civility with a Murrain, and under&s;tand times and &s;ea&s;ons&mdash; for all days are not alike, nor are Men, always in a good Hu|mour. They &s;ee me pen&s;ive and greiv'd for having torn my new Suit, and they would have me tear my own Fle&s;h too, when I have no more mind to it then to turn <HI>Turk. Sancho,</HI> quo the Duke, I mu&s;t tell yee, y'are too nice&mdash; and therefore in &s;hort, you mu&s;t either become as &s;oft as a ripe Fig, or renounce your Government. For it would be ill done of me to impo&s;e upon my I&s;landers a Governour &s;o Savage and Cruel, that neither the Tears of di&s;tre&s;&s;ed Ladies, nor the Admonitions of the wi&s;e&s;t Necromancers can move him. Once more therefore, <HI>Sancho,</HI> you mu&s;t either be La&s;h'd, or La&s;h your &s;elf, or el&s;e you can be no Governour. My Lord, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> may I not be allow'd two days to con&s;ider what I had be&s;t to do? By no means, reply'd <HI>Merlin,</HI> you mu&s;t re&s;olve one thing or other immediately, and that in this very place too, or <HI>Dulcinea</HI> mu&s;t return to <HI>Monte&s;inos</HI>'s Cave, whence in her Pri&s;tin Form of a Country Wa&s;tcoteer, &s;he mu&s;t be hurry'd to the <HI>Ely&s;ian</HI> Fields, till the Devil has given her an Acquittance for the La&s;hes impos'd upon thy Buttocks; three thou&s;and for <HI>Belzebub</HI> the Ma&s;ter Jaylour, and three hunder'd for the Turnkeys Fees.</P>
<P>Come <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo the Dutche&s;s, fye for &s;hame, pluck up a good Courage; what is thy Heart &s;unk i' thy Belly for fear of a few School-boy jerks? Why thou art a &s;en&s;ible Creature, and me thinks &s;hould&s;t have a little more gra|titude for the Bread thou ha&s;t eaten from thy Ma&s;ter <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Table, whom we all Admire and Reverence for his Genero&s;ity and renowned Feats of Arms. Were I a man as thou art, and had &s;uch a Whitleather Skin as thou ha&s;t, I'de defie the Devil, and bani&s;h fear to the Wretched&mdash; Come <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;trip and to work&mdash; Madam, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> your Arguments might convince a Dray-man, were he to be whipt with his Leather Jacket on, but Madam the naked Skin is tender, and therefore addre&s;&s;ing him&s;elf to the Chariot, Mr. <HI>Merlin,</HI> quo he, the Po&s;t that rode by ju&s;t now, told us that Signor <HI>Monte&s;inos</HI> him&s;elf was a coming, and bid my Ma&s;ter &s;tay for his In&s;tructions about this Di&s;inchantment; but as yet we have neither &s;een <HI>Monte&s;inos,</HI> nor any body like him.</P>
<P>That &s;ame Devil, reply'd <HI>Merlin,</HI> was both a Fool and a Knave&mdash; 'Twas I that &s;ent him in &s;earch of your Ma&s;ter, not by any Warrant of <HI>Monte&s;i|nos,</HI> but of my own Head. <HI>Monte&s;inos</HI> lyes &s;till in his Cave, expecting the di&s;&s;olution of his Enchantment, which perhaps may be when two Sun|days come together; but if he ow's yee any Money, or that you have any que&s;tion to ask him, I'le bring him either hither or to any other place: In the mean time I advi&s;e yee to undergo this petty Penance, which I'le a&s;&s;ure yee, you will find no le&s;s beneficial for your Souls Health then the Wel|fare of your Body. For your Souls Health, by the Con&s;equences of an Act of Charity: and for the Welfare of your Body, becau&s;e I know you are of a
<PB N="462" REF="250"> hot Sanguine Complexion, and the lo&s;s of a little Blood can be no prejudice to yee. In good Faith, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I don't find there is &s;uch a &s;carcity of Quacks i' the World at this time, that <HI>Necromancers</HI> &s;hould turn Mounte|banks. Nor &s;hould all your <HI>Twittle cum Twattle</HI> per&s;wade me to be angry with my own Fle&s;h and Blood, in de&s;pite of my own Natural Affection to my &s;elf. But I mu&s;t confe&s;s I do begin to feel my own &s;oft and ten|der Inclinations, and the innate goodne&s;s of my Di&s;po&s;ition begin to work upon me: So that in complyance with my Lady Dutche&s;s, and becau&s;e it &s;hall not be &s;aid that ever I &s;poyl'd Madam <HI>Dulcinea</HI>'s Marriage, who I mu&s;t confe&s;s to be much more Beautiful then ever I thought her, I am content to give my &s;elf the three thou&s;and three hunder'd La&s;hes, provi|ded I be not limited to a Minute, or a day, or a Month. And I will have the&s;e Conditions moreover i' my Bargain, that I will not be oblig'd to whip my &s;elf till the Blood come; and that if any of the Sla&s;hes happen to fall be&s;ide, they &s;hall be reck'n'd into the Tale. <HI>Item,</HI> that if I &s;hould happen not to tell right, Mr. <HI>Merlin,</HI> who knows all things, &s;hall be oblig'd to take care that I do not exceed my number. There's no danger of that, reply'd <HI>Merlin;</HI> for &s;o &s;oon as the la&s;t La&s;h &s;hall be given, the Spring of your Arm will &s;top of it &s;elf; and at the &s;ame moment &s;hall Madam <HI>Dulcinea</HI> be di&s;in|chanted, and &s;hall come and acknowledge <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Kindne&s;s, not only in airy words, but with &s;ub&s;tantial Pre&s;ents. And therefore never &s;tand upon more or le&s;s&mdash; but for that tru&s;t to my Con&s;cience; nor indeed will Heaven per|mit me to deceive any Man whatever of the lea&s;t Hair of his Head.</P>
<P>Go too then, cry'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> I &s;ubmit to my Misfortune, and accept my Pennance upon the Conditions and Covenants agreed upon. <HI>Sancho</HI> had no &s;ooner &s;poken the la&s;t words, but the Fiddles &s;trook up again, and three Volleys of &s;mall Shot te&s;tify'd the general joy of Madam <HI>Dulcinea</HI> and her Friends, for her approaching freedom: <HI>Don Quixote</HI> al&s;o threw him&s;elf about his Pious Squires Neck, and Ki&s;s'd his Cheeks and Forehead a hunder'd times; the Duke and Dutche&s;s were well pleas'd; and then the Chariot beginning to move, the fair <HI>Dulcinea</HI> bow'd her Head and made a low obey|&s;ance to <HI>Sancho.</HI> And now the Sun began to guild the tops of the Moun|tains; at what time the Duke and the Dutche&s;s infinitely &s;atisfy'd that their de&s;ign had &s;ucceeded &s;o well, return'd to the Ca&s;tle with their Gue&s;ts, re&s;olv'd to continue the Pa&s;time which had hitherto given 'em &s;o much content.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="3" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. III.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing the &s;trange and wonderful Adventure of the Lady <HI>Dolorida,</HI> otherwi&s;e Counte&s;s of <HI>Trifaldi,</HI> with a Letter which <HI>Sancho</HI> wrote to his Wife <HI>Tere&s;a Pancha.</HI></HEAD>
<P>THe Duke had a Sreward who was a very Witty Per&s;on, full of Conceit and Fancy; and he it was that had invented this whole Comedy, compos'd the Ver&s;es, repre&s;ented <HI>Merlin</HI> him&s;elf, and order'd one of the Dutche&s;&s;es Pages to act Madam <HI>Dulcinea.</HI> And he it was that by the Dukes appointment compos'd another Scene of Mirth, more Artifical and Plea&s;ant then the former.</P>
<PB N="463" REF="250">
<P>The next day the Dutche&s;s ask'd <HI>Sancho</HI> whether he had begun his Jer|king Exerci&s;e? To whom <HI>Sancho</HI> reply'd, that he had, and the Night be|fore had given him&s;elf five La&s;hes. The Dutche&s;s ask'd him with what? with my hand, quo <HI>Sancho.</HI> Your hand! quo the Dutche&s;s&mdash; That's ra|ther a Plea&s;ure then a Pain; you do but tickle your &s;elf I find; and I'm afraid the <HI>Necromancer Merlin</HI> will not be &s;o &s;atisfy'd. He expects that Ho|ne&s;t and Ju&s;t <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;hould di&s;cipline him&s;elf with Brambles, or a good Hor&s;e-whip at lea&s;t: Alas, the freedom of &s;o great a Prince&s;s as Madam <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> will never be purchas'd at &s;o mean a Price. Madam, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> I'le leave it to your Lady&s;hip to give me what &s;ort of di&s;ciplining Whip or Ropes-end you &s;hall think fit, and I'le make u&s;e of it, provided it do not put me to Pain: For I mu&s;t tell your Lady&s;hip, tho I'm a plain Country Bumkin, my Fle&s;h is not made of Canva&s;s, but of Tiffany; nor is it rea&s;onable that I &s;hould flea my &s;elf for anothers Benefit. Well, well, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo the Dutche&s;s, if that be all, I'le provide yee a Top &s;courge to Morrow, that &s;hall agree with the tenderne&s;s of your Skin, as if the very Thong and that were Cou&s;en-germans. But you mu&s;t be &s;ure to be true to your Word; let me have no foul play; no Favour or Affection to your Fle&s;h. I'le warrant your Lady&s;hip for that Madam, quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> or if you mi&s;tru&s;t me, Seeing's Believing, I'le &s;trip and whip my &s;elf in your Lady|&s;hips Pre&s;ence. Then <HI>Sancho</HI> proceeding; and now Madam, quo he, you mu&s;t know I have written a Leter to my Wife <HI>Tere&s;a Pancha,</HI> wherein I have giv'n her an Accompt of what has befall'n me from the time that I parted from her: I have it here in my Pocket, wanting nothing but the Su|per&s;cription; and I would that your Di&s;cretion &s;hould have the Honour to read it, becau&s;e methinks it is written as a Governour ought to write. And who &s;ign'd it? quo the Dutche&s;s, Sinner as I am, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> who &s;hould &s;ign it but my &s;elf? Did&s;t write it too? quo the Dutche&s;s: How could that be, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> for I can neither write nor read; how|ever I can make my Mark. Let's &s;ee't, quo the Dutche&s;s, for I dare &s;ay 'tis an Ingenious Piece. Thereupon <HI>Sancho</HI> produc'd the Letter, and pre&s;en|ted it to the Dutche&s;s, who read therein the following Lines.</P>
<LETTER LANG="eng">
<HEAD><HI>Sancho Pancha's</HI> Letter to <HI>Tere&s;a Pancha</HI> his Wife.</HEAD>
<P>'TWas well for me, Wife, that I had a &s;trong Back; for it has been &s;oundly curry'd; but if I get my Government, I value not three thou&s;and La&s;hes no more then &s;o many &s;troaks of a Feather. This my <HI>Tere&s;a</HI> thou wilt not un|der&s;tand at pre&s;ent, another day thou &s;halt. In the mean time, <HI>Tere&s;a,</HI> know I am re&s;olv'd thou &s;halt ride i' thy Coach; for as for all the other u&s;ual ways of riding or walking, thou'd&s;t as good be &s;een to creep abroad upon all four. In &s;hort, thou art a Governours Wife; hence forward let no body tread upon thy Heels. I &s;end thee a Green Hunting Suit, which Madam the Dutche&s;s gave me; let it be &s;o order'd as to make a Petticoat and Wa&s;tcoat for our Elde&s;t Daughter. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> my Ma&s;ter, as I have heard &s;ay i' this Country, is a di&s;creet Fool, and a plea&s;ant Madman, and I am accompted little Inferiour to him. We ha' been at <HI>Monte&s;inos</HI>'s Cave; and the Necromancer <HI>Merlin</HI> has made choice of me for the Di&s;inchanting of <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o;</HI> to which purpo&s;e I mu&s;t give my &s;elf Three thou&s;and three hunder'd La&s;hes wanting five, which I have had alrea|dy, and then &s;he &s;hall be as free as her Mother that bore her: But not a word of this to any of thy Go&s;&s;ips living; for they will be buzzing a hunder'd Shitten cum Shites i' thy Ears, and all to no purpo&s;e. Within the&s;e few days I &s;hall go to my Government; whither I go with an eager de&s;ire to get Money; as all new Go|vernours
<PB N="464" REF="251"> do. I'le fir&s;t &s;ee how things go, and then &s;end thee word whether thou &s;halt come to me or no. <HI>Grizzle</HI> is fat and lu&s;ty, and recommends him&s;elf both to thee and thy Children. I will not leave him, tho I were &s;ure they would make him Grand&s;ignor of <HI>Con&s;tantinople.</HI> My Lady Dutche&s;s ki&s;&s;es thy Hands a thou&s;and times over; return her two thou&s;and, &s;eeing there is no Merchandi&s;e &s;o cheap as Compliments, as I have often heard my Ma&s;te &s;ay. I have not as yet found another Pur&s;e with a hunder'd Crowns in it, tho it has not been for want of &s;eeking I a&s;&s;ure thee. But let not that trouble thee, my dear <HI>Tere&s;a;</HI> the Government &s;hall make amends for all. One thing perplexes me, which is this, that when once I come to ta&s;te this Government, I &s;hall eat my very Fingers, the Sauce is &s;o delicate; which if it &s;hould happen, I &s;hould have a dear Bargain; and yet the Lame and the Maim'd find good returns from the Alms which they beg; &s;o that come what will come, thou art like to be Rich and Fortunate. Hea|ven's Plenty be upon thee, and God pre&s;erve me to &s;erve thee. From this &s;ame Ca&s;tle, <HI>July 20. 1614.</HI></P>
<CLOSER><SIGNED>Thy Husband <HI>Sancho Pancha</HI> Governour.</SIGNED></CLOSER>
</LETTER>
<P>The Dutche&s;s having read the Letter; quo &s;he to <HI>Sancho,</HI> methinks Mr. Governour, you are here mi&s;taken in two things. Fir&s;t, in that you would make the World believe that this Government was given yee for the La&s;hes which you are to endure. Whereas you know that when the Duke my Husband promis'd you this I&s;land, he never dreamt of this Pennance that is now impos'd upon yee. And &s;econdly, you &s;eem to be too much &s;way'd by your own Self-intere&s;t, which in me creates a bad Opinion of any Man; for as they &s;ay Covetou&s;ne&s;s breaks the Sack; and a Covetous Governour will be always doing Inju&s;tice for his private Emolument. Truly, Madam, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> I did not much con&s;ider what I wrote; however if the Let|ter does not plea&s;e your Lady&s;hip, I'le tear it, and write another, tho I'm afraid 'twill be wor&s;e if it be left to my enditing. No, no, reply'd the Dutche&s;s, 'tis &s;o very well that I intend to &s;hew it the Duke. And &s;o &s;ay|ing &s;he went into a Garden, where they were to Dine that day, and gave the Epi&s;tle to her Husband, who read it three or four times over with great delight.</P>
<P>After Dinner they divertiz'd them&s;elves awhile with <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Ripartee's, when on a &s;udden they heard the mournful &s;ound of Flute in con&s;ort with an ill-brac'd Drum, that made a very unplea&s;ing &s;ound. While this &s;ad and doleful Mu&s;ick di&s;compos'd their Ears, all the Company &s;eem'd to be amaz'd: <HI>Don Quixote</HI> him&s;elf &s;hew'd Trouble in his Countenance; and <HI>Sancho</HI> crept to the Dutche&s;s, his u&s;ual Refuge. Soon after there enter'd the Garden two Men in long Mourning Cloaks that trayl'd a long way up|on the Ground. They had each a great Drum cover'd with black Bays, which they beat after their manner; and of one &s;ide walk'd a <HI>Negro</HI> play|ing upon a Fife. The&s;e three were follow'd by a tall Gyant, in a mon|&s;trous ill &s;hap'd Mourning Ca&s;&s;ock, over which he wore a Belt with a hu|geous Scimitar, the Scabbard of which was blacken'd with Lamb black; his Face was al&s;o cover'd with a long Tran&s;parent black Vail, through which appear'd a Beard down to his Navel, as white as Snow. In his motion he &s;eem'd to keep time with the Drums, ob&s;erving a grave and &s;ober Pace. In a word, his Bulk, his Gate, his Ethiopic Colour and his Company were &s;o &s;ur|prizing, as promis'd no le&s;s then &s;ome &s;trange and uncouth Adventure. At length this Gyant approaching near the Duke, fell upon his Knee's, and was going to open his Lips; but the Duke would by no means permit him
<PB N="465" REF="251"> to &s;peak till he had rais'd him upon his Feet. Which done, the prodigi|ous Specter, after he had three or four times &s;troak'd his Yard-long broad white Beard, the like to which no Mortal Eye had e're before beheld, fix'd his Goggles upon the Duke, and with a deep &s;onorous Voice that came from the bottom of his &s;pacious Che&s;t, Mo&s;t Noble and Potent Lord, &s;aid he, my Name is <HI>Trifaldin</HI> with the white Beard, Squire to the Coun|te&s;s <HI>Trifaldi,</HI> otherwi&s;e call'd the Lady <HI>Dolorida,</HI> from whom I am &s;ent with a Me&s;&s;age, that your Highne&s;s would be pleas'd to hear the &s;trange and unheard of Story of her Misfortune; to which purpo&s;e &s;he begs the Favour to be admitted into your Pre&s;ence. But fir&s;t &s;he de&s;ires to know whether the Valiant and Invincible <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha</HI> be at this time in your Ca&s;tle; for he it is my Mi&s;tre&s;s &s;eeks, and for who&s;e &s;ake &s;he has taken a tedious Journey a foot, and without &s;o much as Bayting by the way, from the Kingdom of <HI>Cambaya</HI> to the&s;e your Graces Territo|ries; a thing that only can be attributed to a Miracle, or the force of En|chantment; and &s;he waits at your Highne&s;&s;es Ca&s;tle Gate, till I bring her your permi&s;&s;ion to enter. Which &s;aid, he concluded coughing and &s;troak|ing his Beard from the Top to the Bottom, and with a mo&s;t &s;olemn and formal Gravity expected the Dukes An&s;wer, which was this. 'Tis now a long while &s;ince, mo&s;t Noble Squire with the white Beard, that we under|&s;tood the Misfortune of my Lady the Counte&s;s <HI>Trifaldi,</HI> call'd by the Ne|cromancers Madam <HI>Dolorida;</HI> and therefore mo&s;t &s;tupendious Squire, you may go and tell her, &s;he is freely welcom, and at &s;uch a lucky time, that &s;he will meet the Peerle&s;s Kinght <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> upon who&s;e Genero&s;ity &s;he may a&s;&s;uredly relye for all manner of Favour and Protection. Tell her al&s;o from me, that if &s;he thinks me capable to do her any Ser|vice, &s;he &s;hall find me equally ready, as being oblig'd by my Profe&s;&s;ion of Knight-hood, to &s;uccour and relieve all Women in di&s;tre&s;s, e&s;pecially La|dies of her tran&s;cending Quality.</P>
<P><HI>Trifaldin</HI> having receiv'd his An&s;wer, made a low Obey&s;ance, and ha|ving given a &s;ign to the Fife and Drums to play and beat as they did before, return'd with the &s;ame &s;low Pace and Gravity as when he enter'd, leaving all the Company in a deep Admiration of his Proportion, and Venerable Deportment.</P>
<P>And then it was that the Duke addre&s;&s;ing him&s;elf to <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> at length, &s;aid he, we find that all the Clouds of Envy and Malice, are not able to ob&s;cure the Beams of true Courage and Vertue. For you have hardly been &s;ix days within this Ca&s;tle, but here we find yee hunted out, by Per&s;ons that come from Regions far remote; not in Coaches or a Hor&s;e-back, but a foot and without eating by the way; &s;o eager are the&s;e poor di&s;tre&s;&s;ed People to find yee out, and &s;uch is their Confidence in the &s;trength of your Arm, and in the Genero&s;ity of your Courage. Thanks to the Repu|tation which your va&s;t Exploits have acquir'd, and that loud Report which Fame has &s;pread of your Valiant Deeds over all the World. Now would I give a Shilling, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that that &s;ame <HI>Wi&s;acre</HI> of a <HI>Chaplain</HI> had been here; he I mean, that t'other day &s;o te&s;tily exercis'd his Gifts again&s;t <HI>Knight-Errants;</HI> for now his own Eyes might have been judges, whether <HI>Knights-Errant</HI> be &s;uch unnece&s;&s;ary things i' this World or no. At lea&s;t he might have been convinc'd that the Di&s;tre&s;&s;ed and Di&s;con&s;olate &s;eek not for the relief of their Misfortunes, nor the redre&s;s of Wrong and Injury done 'em in Mona&s;tries or Colledges, nor repair to Cowardly and Sloath|ful Knights, who only are Dubb'd to plea&s;e their Wives, nere put on Arms i' their Lives, nor gave any Marks of their Courage; nor to Soft and Ef|feminate
<PB N="466" REF="252"> Courtiers, who had rather relate the Stories of other Mens Acti|ons, then Signalize them&s;elves with any Atchievment worth rehear&s;al, or fit to eternize their Memory. And therefore the true Succour of the Di|&s;tre&s;&s;ed, the Support of the Mi&s;erable, the Protection of young Virgins, the Comfort of Widows is no where more certainly to be found, then among your <HI>Knight-Errants.</HI> For which rea&s;on I return innumerable thanks to Heaven for having call'd me to this Noble Profe&s;&s;ion; and as for the Toyls and Labours I have already &s;uffer'd, and whatever I am farther yet to endure, I look upon 'em as the chiefe&s;t Plea&s;ures of my Life. There|fore let this Di&s;tre&s;&s;ed Lady come, and make but known her Complaints, that her Relief may be a&s;&s;ur'd by the force of my Arm, and the unalterable Re&s;olution of that Courage which guides it.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="4" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. IV.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Being a Continuation of the Famous Adventure of the Lady <HI>Dolorida.</HI></HEAD>
<P>THE Duke and the Dutche&s;s were extreamly pleas'd to find that their Contrivance had &s;o well hit <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Humour, nor were they wanting in them&s;elves to act their Parts. But <HI>Sancho,</HI> who carefully ob&s;erv'd all Pa&s;&s;ages, and made his Reflections upon 'em, could not be &s;o ea&s;ily &s;atisfy'd in his Mind. Pox o' the&s;e <HI>Lady Matron's,</HI> quo he; I'le be hang'd if &s;he ben't come to carry my Ma&s;ter a Dog-trot to &s;ome Fag end of the World or other, and &s;o I mu&s;t lo&s;e my Government. I re|member I was once acquainted with an Old <HI>Potecary</HI> that lov'd a Gla&s;s of good Wine, and talk'd like a Starling, who was wont to &s;ay, that where ever your <HI>Lady Matrons</HI> intrude them&s;elves, nothing ever pro&s;per'd i' that Family. So God help me, he knew 'em too well, and therefore hated 'em as bad. Whence I gather, that if all your <HI>Lady Matrons</HI> are &s;uch Im|pertinent trouble&s;ome Go&s;&s;ips, of what Condition or Quality &s;oever, there can be no good expected from the&s;e Di&s;tre&s;&s;ed <HI>Twittle cum Twattles,</HI> that muffle up their wither'd Faces in old Riding-hoods, &s;uch as they de&s;cribe this &s;ame Counte&s;s of <HI>Three-Clacks</HI> to be. Soft and fair <HI>Sancho,</HI> cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for &s;ince this Lady comes &s;o far in &s;earch of me, &s;he can be none of tho&s;e <HI>Matron's</HI> thy <HI>Apothecary</HI> talk'd of, more e&s;pecially being a Counte&s;s: For when Counte&s;&s;es become <HI>Governantes</HI> or <HI>Matrons,</HI> they ne|ver &s;erve any but Queens and Empre&s;&s;es, and are them&s;elves attended by other Servants which are under them. I'le a&s;&s;ure yee, cry'd Madam <HI>Doro|thy,</HI> who was there pre&s;ent, My Lady Dutche&s;s has Women that &s;erve her, who might have been Counte&s;&s;es, had Fortune been &s;o kind as &s;he &s;hou'd ha' been: But Fate Governs the World, and therefore let no body &s;peak ill of <HI>Governantes,</HI> e&s;pecially of Maids at Forty. For tho I ha' been Marry'd my &s;elf, yet I find the advantage that your Maiden <HI>Governantes</HI> have over your <HI>Governantes</HI> that are Widows; but after all's done, he that thinks to &s;heer an Egg has little to do with his Sci&s;&s;ars. However, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> your <HI>Governantes</HI> are not &s;o bare but that they may be &s;horn &s;ometimes, if my Barber &s;poke Truth; but it &s;eems we mu&s;t not <HI>&s;tir the Rice tho it &s;tick to the Pot.</HI> Your Squires, reply'd Mrs. <HI>Dorothy,</HI> are always our Ene|mies; for that being them&s;elves confin'd to the Antichambers, and &s;eeing us whisk in and out every where and at all Times, they &s;pend their idle
<PB N="467" REF="252"> Hours, which are very many God wot, in reviling, and &s;triving to deprive us of our Honour and good Names. But let 'em go to the Ho&s;pital of Fools, we &s;hall live i' the World in &s;pite of their Teeth, and be wanted by Ladies of the be&s;t Quality, tho when we grow Old and turn'd out of Ser|vice for doating, perhaps we may be put to &s;nap at a Cru&s;t, and cover our Winter <HI>John-Apple Skins</HI> with the Tatters of my Lady's old Gown, ju&s;t as they cover a Dunghil with an old peice of Hanging when the Proce&s;&s;ion goes by. And therefore, I would have all you Mr. Do-little Squires to hold your Tongues; For had I time I dur&s;t undertake to make it out, not only to you, but all the World, that there is no Vertue Honour'd among Men, which is not enclos'd within the <HI>Stays</HI> of a <HI>Governante.</HI></P>
<P>Truly, quo the Dutche&s;s, I am apt to believe my Woman is in the Right; and therefore we mu&s;t have another time to bring about this di&s;pute agen, as well to confute this Heatheni&s;h <HI>Apothecary,</HI> as to root up that &s;ame bad Opinion which the great <HI>Sancho</HI> has &s;o unwarily fix'd in his Brea&s;t. Faith Madam, change of Condition alter's Manners&mdash; I don't know my own Opinion my &s;elf; for ever &s;ince the Thoughts of being a Governour have &s;team'd up into my Brains, I ha' layd a&s;ide my petty Title of Squire, &s;corn Di&s;putes with <HI>Governantes,</HI> and care not a Fig for a whole Ships Loading of &s;uch &s;ort of Cattel.</P>
<P>The&s;e words had bred ill Blood, and the Storm had ri&s;en higher, but that the &s;ound of the Drums and Fife returning, gave 'em to under&s;tand that Madam <HI>Dolorida</HI> was at hand. The Dutche&s;s ask'd the Duke, whe|ther it might not be convenient to go and meet her, &s;ince &s;he was a Coun|te&s;s and a Per&s;on of worth. To which <HI>Sancho</HI> made an&s;wer, That as &s;he was a Counte&s;s, it might be proper for her Lady&s;hip to meet her; but as &s;he was a <HI>Matron Governante,</HI> his Opinion was that neither of their Excel|lencies ought to &s;tir an Inch.</P>
<P>Good-man Coxcomb, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> what do&s;t thou trouble thy &s;elf for, who requires thy Advice? Why do I trouble my &s;elf? reply'd <HI>Sancho</HI>&mdash; I trouble my &s;elf as it is my bu&s;ine&s;s to trouble my &s;elf in the&s;e Af|fairs&mdash; I trouble my &s;elf as being a Squire bred up in your Wor&s;hip's School, who is a Knight the be&s;t bred of any in the World, the very Mirrour and Quinte&s;&s;ence of Curte&s;ie and Court&s;hip it &s;elf; and I have heard you often &s;ay, that in the&s;e matters a Man may as well lo&s;e a Card too much as a Card too little, and a word to the Wi&s;e is &s;ufficient. <HI>San|cho</HI> &s;peaks Truth, reply'd the Duke, let's fir&s;t &s;ee how the Lady deports her &s;elf, and then we &s;hall know how to entertain her. And then it was that the Fife and the Drums enter'd the Garden after the &s;ame doleful man|ner as before.</P>
<P>Here al&s;o the Author concluded this &s;hort Chapter to begin the next; pro&s;ecuting the &s;ame Adventure, which is one of the mo&s;t remarkable in the whole Hi&s;tory.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="5" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. V.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Wherein Madam <HI>Dolorida</HI> recounts her Misfortunes.</HEAD>
<P>THe &s;ad and di&s;mal Drummers were attended by twelve Dam&s;els in two Files, marching two and two together, clad in large Mourning ha|bits, cover'd with white Vails of white Linnen, that reach'd down to their
<PB N="468" REF="253"> very Feet. After them follow'd the Counte&s;s of <HI>Three-Skirts,</HI> led by her Squire, <HI>Trifaldin with the White Beard,</HI> in a long Garment of Black Bays, with three Trains carry'd up by three Pages in Mourning. This &s;ame threefold Train of Hers, made all the Company believe &s;he had borrow'd her Title from &s;ome new Fa&s;hion of her own Invention then lately come up, for the Ladies to have three Skirts to one Gown, and therefore call'd her &s;elf the Counte&s;s of <HI>Three-Skirts.</HI> Which <HI>Benengeli</HI> confirms, and &s;ays moreover that &s;he was call'd the Counte&s;s of <HI>Wolf-Land,</HI> by rea&s;on of the great number of Wolves that bred in her Territories. However it were, the Counte&s;s and her Dam&s;els march'd a Proce&s;&s;ion Pace, with clo&s;e Vails over their Faces, that hinder'd the &s;ight of their Countenances; only the Vail which the Counte&s;s her &s;elf wore was Tran&s;parent.</P>
<P>So &s;oon as the Black Squadron drew neer, the Duke, the Dutche&s;s, and <HI>D. Quixote</HI> ro&s;e up; at what time the twelve Dam&s;els ranging them&s;elves in two Rows, Madam <HI>Dolorida</HI> advanc'd with a &s;low Pace toward the Duke, who &s;tepping forward to meet and receive her, &s;he threw her &s;elf upon her Knees, and with a Tone of Humility, I am utterly a&s;ham'd, quo &s;he, of the Honour which your Excellency does me; I be&s;eeeh yee therefore give your &s;elf no farther trouble, for being di&s;tre&s;s'd to the degree that I am, my Mind is not at Liberty to make Returns of &s;o many Civilities, &s;ince my Misfortunes have bereav'd me of my Sen&s;es. Rather Madam, you might &s;ay that we had lo&s;t our own, did we not in your Per&s;on di&s;cover your high Merit, and pay tho&s;e Honours due to your Tran&s;cending worth: And &s;o &s;aying, he rais'd her from the Ground, and &s;eated her by the Dut|che&s;s, who fail'd not to Complement her according to her Quality. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> lookt on, but &s;aid not a word, his Complements were all lockt up for the pre&s;ent; and as for <HI>Sancho</HI> he was mad to &s;ee the Counte&s;&s;es Face, or of &s;ome of her Dam&s;els; but 'twas impo&s;&s;ible, till they them&s;elves were willing.</P>
<P>At length the Complements on both &s;ides being over, Madam <HI>Dolorida</HI> made a profound Reverence, and thus be&s;pake the Company. I make no que&s;tion, &s;aid &s;he, mo&s;t High and Potent Lord; thrice Beautiful and mo&s;t Excellent Lady; and mo&s;t Prudent and Illu&s;trious Auditors, but that I have met with a favourable Reception in the Genero&s;ity of your Hearts; &s;ince my Misfortunes are &s;uch as would mollifie Marble, &s;often Diamonds, and melt Bra&s;s and Steel into a Ha&s;ty-Pudding. But before the Rehear&s;al of my unutterable Adventures reach your Courteous Ears, I would fain be &s;atis|fy'd whether the mo&s;t Magnanimous Knight <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> and his mo&s;t Illu&s;trious Squire of Squires, <HI>Pancha,</HI> be a part of this Company, or no. <HI>Pancha,</HI> cry'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> interrupting her, is here in proper Per&s;on; and &s;o is my Lord <HI>Don Quixote</HI> likewi&s;e: Proceed therefore mo&s;t <HI>Dolorous Metron,</HI> and tell out your Teale at large to tho&s;e that are willing to learn, and rea|dy to &s;erve your Metron&s;hip to the <HI>itmo&s;t</HI> of their <HI>Ebilities.</HI> But then <HI>Don Quixote</HI> Maje&s;tically approaching the Di&s;tre&s;&s;ed Lady, Oppre&s;&s;ed Prince&s;s, quo he, if you have any de&s;ign to be reliev'd in your Misfortune by the Strength and Valour of any Knight-Errant, I offer yee my Force and Cou|rage, and &s;uch as they are, I dedicate 'em to your &s;ervice. I am <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> who&s;e Profe&s;&s;ion it is to take care of all per&s;ons in nece&s;&s;ity&punc; and being &s;o, you need not put your &s;elf to the trouble of Pream|bles, or &s;tudied &s;lights of Eloquence to circumvent my favour; but utter your Calamities in down-right Terms without far-fetch'd Speeches; for they that hear yee, will be ready to redre&s;s your Grievances with all the willing|ne&s;s, that your Compa&s;&s;ion or Genero&s;ity can claim.</P>
<PB N="469" REF="253">
<P>At tho&s;e words Madam <HI>Sorrowful</HI> threw her &s;elf at <HI>Don Quixotes</HI> Feet; and &s;triving to embrace his Knees, maugre all the kind re&s;i&s;tance of the Knight; mo&s;t invincible Champion, cry'd &s;he, at the&s;e mo&s;t Indefatigable Feet I throw my &s;elf, the Foundations and Pillars of Chivalry-Errant; the&s;e Feet, that I can never too much adore, &s;ince their &s;teps mu&s;t ha&s;ten the Succour of my Misfortunes, remedile&s;s by any other then your Potent Arm, mo&s;t Valiant <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> who&s;e real Atchievements ob&s;cure the Fables of all the <HI>Amadis's, Guy's</HI> of <HI>Warwick, Bevis's</HI> of <HI>Southampton,</HI> and <HI>Belia|nis's</HI> i' the World. Then turning to <HI>Sancho,</HI> and taking him by the Hand; And thou, mo&s;t Faithful Squire that ever attended the Magnanimity of <HI>Knight-Errantry;</HI> who&s;e goodne&s;s is of a larger extent then the broad and long Beard of <HI>Trifaldin</HI> my Squire, well may&s;t thou accompt thy &s;elf mo&s;t Fortunate in &s;erving the Great <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> paying thy duty to all the Va|lour and Courage of all the whole Rabble of <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> that ever handl'd Arms, epitomiz'd in one &s;ingle Per&s;on. I conjure thee mo&s;t noble Squire, by that un&s;potted Loyalty of all thy careful Services, to be a Courteous Interce&s;&s;our to thy Ma&s;ter, for a mo&s;t Unfortunate Counte&s;s, and thy Humble Servant.</P>
<P>Madam Counte&s;s, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> whether my Goodne&s;s be as large as your Squires Beard or no, that's nothing to the purpo&s;e. I &s;hall have a Beard and Mu&s;tachio's to boot, let me die &s;oon or late; nor do I mea&s;ure my Goodne&s;s by any Man's Beard. And therefore without guilding my Pills with your Flatteries, which I de&s;erve not, I &s;hall de&s;ire my Ma&s;ter (who I know loves me, and at this time &s;tands in &s;ome need of me upon a particu|lar occa&s;ion) to a&s;&s;i&s;t yee to the uttermo&s;t of his Power. In the mean time, dear Madam, di&s;charge your burthen'd Soul, let us under&s;tand what it is that perplexes your Spirits, and leave the re&s;t to Us.</P>
<P>The Duke and the Dutche&s;s were ready to bur&s;t with Laughter, to &s;ee their Project take &s;o good Effect; for <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho</HI> were very &s;erious upon the Matter, and the Counte&s;s of <HI>Three-Skirts</HI> acted her part to a Miracle. Returning therefore to her Seat, after &s;ilence commanded, &s;he began her Story thus.</P>
<P>Queen <HI>Maguncia,</HI> King <HI>Archipiela's</HI> Widow, was Empre&s;s of the Famous Kingdom of <HI>Candaya,</HI> lying between the Great <HI>Tabrobana;</HI> and the Sea of <HI>Sur,</HI> Six Leagues more or le&s;s from <HI>Cape Comorin.</HI> By the King the Queen had a Daughter named <HI>Antanoma&s;ia,</HI> who remain'd under my Charge, as being Mother of the Maids to the Queen. In proce&s;s of Time the young Prince&s;s arriv'd at the Age of Fourteen Years, with more Beauty then Na|ture had ever be&s;tow'd upon any of her greate&s;t Favourites. But notwith|&s;tanding her Youth, &s;he was ripe in Knowledge and Judgment: She was no le&s;s di&s;creet then fair, and the faire&s;t Creature in the World, and is &s;o &s;till, if Jealous De&s;tiny and the Marble-hearted Si&s;ters have not cut the Thread of her Life. Which certainly they have not done, for Heaven could nere permit &s;o great an Injury to be done the Earth, to pluck the unripe Grapes before their time, from the Lovelie&s;t Vinyard under the Skie. Of this &s;ame Peerle&s;s Beauty, not to be expre&s;s'd by my unpoli&s;ht Tongue, an infinite number of Princes, as well Natives as Forreigners, became en|amour'd; and among the re&s;t of the&s;e great Per&s;onages, a Private Knight was &s;o pre&s;umptuous as to advance his Thoughts to this Ninth Heaven of Beauty, born upon the rapid Wings of his Inordinate Ambition, and confid|ing in his Youth, his Court&s;hip, his goodly A&s;pect, and the Vivacity of his Wit.</P>
<PB N="470" REF="254">
<P>I may &s;ay without telling an untruth, that this young Knight was en|du'd with wonderful Qualities, not only capable to move the Heart of a young Lady, but al&s;o to &s;hake Mountains. He play'd with that Skill up|on the Guittar, that he made it &s;peak &s;everal Languages; he made Ver|&s;es like another <HI>Ovid,</HI> and out-caper'd a <HI>French</HI> Dancing Ma&s;ter: And he was &s;o great an Arti&s;t at making of Straw Bird-cages, that had he had nothing el&s;e to live upon, he could have kept his Coach and &s;ix Hor&s;es meerly by that Trade. Yet all the&s;e great Parts and Endowments could never have prevail'd to win the Fortre&s;s of which I was made the Com|mandre&s;s, if this &s;ame Hangman of a Knight had not made u&s;e of all his cunning Shifts and Contrivances to en&s;nare me fir&s;t. To that purpo&s;e he fir&s;t be&s;ieg'd me at a di&s;tance, then making his Approaches nearer and nearer, he began to undermine my Fidelity, and wrought &s;o deeply undi&s;|cover'd, that what with Sugar words, what with his Gold and his Jewels, he blew me up of a &s;udden, and per&s;waded me to deliver him the Keys of the Fort wherewith I was intru&s;ted. But that which chiefly brought me to &s;urrender, was a Copy of Ver&s;es that he Sang one Night under my Win|dow, of which I remember the fir&s;t four Lines to this Effect.</P>
<Q><L>From the fair Eyes of my adored Saint,</L>
<L>A Hurt I feel that wounds me to the Heart;</L>
<L>Which the &s;lye Gyp&s;ie, for my greater &s;mart</L>
<L>Would have me feel, without the lea&s;t Complaint.</L></Q>
<P>The&s;e Ver&s;es Charm'd me, and his Voice Enchanted me to that degree, that I lo&s;t my Rea&s;on, and from that time forward every time I reflected upon the Crime I had committed, I concluded that <HI>Plato</HI> was in the Right, in giving his Advice that all Poets, e&s;pecially your Wanton and La&s;civious Rhimers, &s;hould be bani&s;h'd out of all well Govern'd Common Wealths; their Compo&s;itions being &s;uch, as like that &s;ort of Thunder which melts the Sword without any hurt to the Scabberd, con&s;ume and wa&s;te the Soul, never &s;o much as touching the Body. Another time he bewitch'd me with the following Lines.</P>
<Q><L>Come quickly, Death, but come Incognito,</L>
<L>If thou intend&s;t to ea&s;e my pain;</L>
<L>El&s;e in the mid&s;t of all my woe,</L>
<L>The plea&s;ure I</L>
<L>&s;hall take to dye</L>
<L>Will make me covet Life again.</L></Q>
<P>He likewi&s;e repeated to me a great number of other Ver&s;es of that Na|ture, that they Charm yee when they are &s;ung, and Ravi&s;h yee when they are read; and among the re&s;t he &s;hew'd and &s;ung to me &s;everal of his Compo&s;itions, which he call'd <HI>Ballads,</HI> a precious &s;ort of Rhime-doggrel, much in Fa&s;hion in <HI>Candaya,</HI> that will make a Womans Soul to skip in her Belly, tickle her into a Convul&s;ion with laughter, di&s;temper her whole Body, and put Quick-&s;ilver into her very Thoughts: Therefore I &s;ay &s;uch kind of Poets ought to be &s;ent to the <HI>Antipodes.</HI> Tho had I &s;tood upon my Guard as a Faithful Governe&s;s ought to have done, all their Whim&s;eys could never have mov'd me, nor would I have believ'd 'em to be other then a Company of Lyers when they cry,</P>
<P><HI>I live dying&mdash; I burn in Ice&mdash; I tremble in Fire&mdash; I hope without hope&mdash;
<PB N="471" REF="254"> My Heart remains and yet is fled</HI>&mdash; With a number of other Impo&s;&s;ibi|lities of this Nature, with which they &s;hift their Raptures. No le&s;s re|diculous are their vain Promi&s;es of <HI>Arabian Phenixes,</HI> Golden Fleeces, <HI>Ari|adne</HI>'s Gowns, <HI>Gyges</HI>'s Rings, Mountains of Gold and heaps of Diamonds, of which they are very Liberal, &s;ince they know it co&s;ts 'em little to pro|mi&s;e what they ever can, nor ever intend to perform. But whether do I wander, Mi&s;erable as I am? What folly rides me thus to count the Im|pertinences of others, that have committed more my &s;elf then will fill whole Volumes. Alas, alas! Why wail&s;t thou thus abandon'd Wretch! For neither did tho&s;e Ver&s;es deceive thee, nor tho&s;e Sugard per&s;wa&s;ions undo thee; 'twas thy own Simplicity, thy own Ignorance, thy own Weak|ne&s;s and Inordinate Pa&s;&s;ions that open'd the Gap, and levell'd the way for <HI>Don Picklochio</HI>'s de&s;igns (for that was the Name of the Knight.) 'Twas I my &s;elf that introduc'd him, not only once or twice into <HI>Antonoma&s;ia</HI>'s Chamber, rather by me deluded, then by <HI>Don Picklochio</HI>'s Cunning; tho in reallity he has a lawful claim to be her Husband; for had it not been for that, as much a Baud as I was, He could never have ki&s;s'd the Hem of her Garment. No, no, there mu&s;t be fir&s;t a Forenoon Walk to the <HI>Minories,</HI> or <HI>Dukes Place,</HI> or St. <HI>Katherns,</HI> or at lea&s;t a fair Promi&s;e, before I med|dle in &s;uch Affairs. Herein I did the Lady wrong, that I too &s;lightly con|&s;ider'd the Inequality of their Conditions; <HI>Don Picklochio</HI> being but a pri|vate Knight, and the Infanta <HI>Antonoma&s;ia</HI> Heir, as I have &s;aid, of the King|dom. Now for &s;ome time this Intreague continu'd undi&s;cover'd, till at length I perceiv'd a certain Swelling below <HI>Antonoma&s;ia</HI>'s Stomach, and then I fear'd her Treacherous Belly would betray us all. The&s;e fears of ours forc'd us to &s;everal private Con&s;ultations, wherein it was at la&s;t re&s;olv'd, that before the Impo&s;tume broke, <HI>Don Picklochio</HI> &s;hould demand the Prin|ce&s;s in Marriage before a Par&s;on, by vertue of a Promi&s;e or Contract, which I my &s;elf had dictated in &s;uch due form, that all the &s;trength of <HI>Samp&s;on</HI> was not able, as I knew full well, to break it. Great Diligence was us'd, the Par&s;on &s;aw the Contract, Gold raind into his Hand, and he di&s;patch'd the Bu&s;ine&s;s forthwith, de&s;pi&s;ing all Su&s;pen&s;ions.</P>
<P>How, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> be there Par&s;ons and Poets in <HI>Candaya</HI> too? Well, I &s;ee the World's the &s;ame from one Corner to the other&mdash; only I don't be|lieve the Par&s;ons wear Perriwigs in <HI>Candaya</HI> as they do here. But pray go on Madam <HI>Three Skirts,</HI> and make an end as &s;oon as you can, for it grows late, and I long to hear the end of this Story, which as I may tell to you, is a little o' the longe&s;t.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="6" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. VI.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Being a Continuation of the Wonderful Hi&s;tory of the Counte&s;s of <HI>Three-Skirts.</HI></HEAD>
<P><HI>SAncho</HI> &s;poke not a word, which did not infinitely plea&s;e the Dutche&s;s; on the other &s;ide <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was ready to hang him&s;elf every time the Squire open'd his Mouth; in&s;omuch that in a great Pa&s;&s;ion he com|manded him to hold his Tongue; and then the Counte&s;s proceeding, At length, &s;aid &s;he, the Bu&s;ine&s;s was canva&s;s'd in the Civil Court, where the Doctors and Proctors got the Devil and all by replyes and double replyes, till at la&s;t the Judge gave Sentence in favour of <HI>Don Picklochio,</HI> which
<PB N="472" REF="255"> Queen <HI>Maguncia</HI> lay'd &s;o greivou&s;ly to Heart, that within three Days &s;he was bury'd. Then, as far as I find by the Story, the Queen dy'd, quo <HI>Sancho.</HI> 'Tis very clear, reply'd <HI>Trifaldin,</HI> for in <HI>Candaya</HI> they never bury the Living but the Dead. With your good leave, Mr. Squire, an&s;wer'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> I have heard of a Woman that lay in a &s;woon and was bury'd alive; after|wards the Sexton coming i' the Night to rob her of her Shrowd, the Wo|man &s;tarted up in her Coffin, the Sexton ran away, the Woman got to her Friends, recover'd and was Marry'd again. In good faith between you and I, your Queen <HI>Maguncia</HI> was too ha&s;ty in dying &s;o &s;oon; my thinks it had been enough for her to have only &s;hut her Teeth and her Eyes for an Hour or too; for we may help many things while we are alive; nor do I find the Infanta's folly was &s;o great, that the Mother &s;hould take &s;uch a pet at the World, for her Daughters being gotten with Child. Had &s;he Marry'd one of her Pages, or the Coach-man, as I have heard many young Ladies of Quality have done, that had been a Scandal indeed; but to E&s;pou&s;e a Knight &s;o rarely well qualify'd as you &s;et him forth, in good &s;ooth Law, tho 'twere a folly, yet was it no &s;uch prodigious Crime as you would make it to be; for according to my Ma&s;ters Maximes, who is here pre&s;ent, and will not &s;uffer me to lye, as learned Men are made of the &s;ame Mould as Bi&s;hops; &s;o Knights, if they be <HI>Knights-Errant,</HI> are made of the &s;ame Materials as Kings and Emperours.</P>
<P>Thou &s;ay'&s;t very true, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for a <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> if he have but two Fingers breadth of good luck, is in a probability to be the Greate&s;t Monarch i' the World. But pray let Madam Counte&s;s go on; certainly the wor&s;t of the Story's behind; for I profe&s;s I have heard no|thing hitherto but what has been very plea&s;ant. You &s;ay very right, the bitter is to come, and indeed far more bitter then <HI>Wormwood</HI> and <HI>Aloes.</HI></P>
<P>The Queen being Dead, and not in a Swoon, we buried her; but no &s;ooner had we cover'd her with Earth, and taken our la&s;t leaves, when&mdash; <HI>Ah! who rehear&s;ing woes like the&s;e from &s;orrow can refrain?</HI> When mounted on a Woodden Hor&s;e, there appear'd upon the Grave the Gyant <HI>Malambrune,</HI> Cou&s;in German to the decea&s;ed Queen, ca&s;ting upon all that were pre&s;ent &s;uch Wild and Cruel looks, as were more peircing then pointed Arrows. This Gyant, as he was cruel to exce&s;s, &s;o was he likewi&s;e a great <HI>Necro|mancer,</HI> and came to revenge the Death of his Cou&s;in German; and therefore to cha&s;ti&s;e <HI>Don Picklochio</HI>'s Pre&s;umption, and puni&s;h <HI>Antonoma&s;ia</HI> for being &s;o ha&s;ty, he left 'em both Enchanted upon the &s;ame Tomb; the one being turn'd into a Bra&s;s Female Monkey, and the other into a dread|ful <HI>Crocodile</HI> of an unknown Mettal, with a Pillar between both, on which were engrav'd the&s;e words in <HI>Syriac</HI> Letters.</P>
<P><HI>The&s;e incon&s;iderate Lovers &s;hall never recover their pri&s;tin &s;hape, till the Vali|ant</HI> Manchegan <HI>&s;hall come to Encounter me in &s;ingle Combat; for only for him it is, that th' unalterable De&s;tinies re&s;erve this Adventure &s;o Extraordinary.</HI></P>
<P>Which done, he drew from his Scimitar a hugeous, broad, &s;winging Cutlace, and catching me fa&s;t by the Hair, made as if he would have par'd off my Head. I &s;tood immoveable as a Statue, not &s;o much as daring to cry out Murder, till at length making a Vertue of Nece&s;&s;ity, I wept &s;o bitterly, and gave &s;uch melting good words, that he &s;urceac'd the rigorous execution of his intended Puni&s;hment. At length he caus'd to be dragg'd before him all the Ladies of the Palace, who are the&s;e that you &s;ee here before yee; and after he had aggravated upon us our breach of Tru&s;t, reproach'd us with the vile Conditions of <HI>Ma|trons</HI>
<PB N="473" REF="255"> and <HI>Governantes,</HI> upbraided 'em with their Procurations and Pande|ri&s;ms, charging all with the wickedne&s;s of which I was only Guilty; he told us he would lay a puni&s;hment upon us that &s;hould be wor&s;e then Ca|pital, for that it &s;hould be a kind of continual dying; and having &s;o &s;aid, we felt of a &s;udden the Pores of our Skins open, and &s;uch a vehement pricking and itching over all our Faces, like the pricking of &s;o many Needles; and then laying our Hands upon our Faces, we felt our &s;elves as you &s;hall pre&s;ently &s;ee; and &s;o &s;aying, Madam <HI>Sorrowful</HI> and the re&s;t of the Dam&s;els lifting up their Vails, di&s;cover'd their Chins and Lips over|grown with thick Beards of &s;everal Hews; &s;ome black, &s;ome white, &s;ome Carrot colour'd, and others Motley. A &s;ight that greatly a&s;toni&s;h'd the Duke and the Dutche&s;s, put <HI>Don Quixote</HI> into a cold Sweat, and had like to have layd Poor <HI>Sancho</HI> in another Swoon, but that he was more afraid of being buri'd alive. Thus, &s;aid the Counte&s;s of <HI>Three-Skirts,</HI> continuing her Story, did this &s;ame Barbarous Villain of a Gyant, <HI>Malambrune,</HI> dis|figure the Beauty of our Cheeks with the&s;e rough Beards, &s;o unu&s;ual to our Sex; far more happy, had he taken our Heads from our Shoulders with his dreadful Scimitar, then to let us live di&s;grac'd before all the World with the&s;e Furbu&s;hes upon our Chins, like &s;o many Cloven footed Satyrs. For if your Excellencies con&s;ider it, Where &s;hall a Lady dare to appear with &s;uch a Rubbing-Bru&s;h about her Chaps? What will the World think of her? What will bu&s;ie and &s;candalous Tongues &s;ay of her? What Pa|rents will acknowledge her? Or who will be &s;o Charitable as to pitty her? Women, we find, have much ado already, with their Paints, their Wa&s;hes and their Puppy dog Waters to pre&s;erve their Complexions, &s;o as to win the Love of nice Mankind&mdash; What then will become of us with our Faces like Bears Ar&s;es? O Deare&s;t Ladies, and Companions of my Mi&s;ery, what unfortunate Stars were we born under! In what unlucky Hour did our Fathers beget, and our Mothers bring us forth! and &s;o &s;aying &s;he fell into a Swoon.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="7" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. VII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing &s;everal Matters that appertain and belong to this Remarkable Adventure.</HEAD>
<P>BY the Faith of a Living Man, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;eeing Madam <HI>Sorrowful</HI> in a Swoon, and by the Life of all the <HI>Pancha</HI>'s, my Ance&s;tours, never in all my Life did I ever &s;ee or hear of the like Adventure; nor did my Ma&s;ter ever tell me or think of the like. A thou&s;and Satans hale him to the bottom of the Aby&s;s, for a Dog of a <HI>Necromancer;</HI> could he find no other Puni&s;hment for the&s;e poor Creatures, then by All-to-be-grandfathering their Muzzles. By the <HI>Lord Harry,</HI> he had better have &s;plit their No&s;trils, tho they had &s;nuffl'd through the No&s;es, like &s;o many Pockify'd Daughters of <HI>Venus</HI>&mdash; For now I'le be hang'd if the poor Souls have Money enough to pay a Baber for &s;having 'em.</P>
<P>'Tis very true, Sir, reply'd one of the twelve, we have not Money enough to pay for &s;having; and therefore &s;ome of us are con&s;train'd for &s;aving of Charges, to lay on Play&s;ters of Pitch upon the places affected, which pull away roots and all, and leave our Chins as &s;mooth as the bot|tom
<PB N="474" REF="256"> of a Stone-Morter. Not but that there are Women in <HI>Candaya,</HI> that go about from hou&s;e to hou&s;e, to rectifie over-grown Beards, and Beetle Brows: Nay, and as there are &s;ome Women that are as bald as Death's Heads, there are another &s;ort of Female Barbers, that will make yee a whole head of hair, or a Tower for the Forehead only, which &s;ets a Woman out extreamly; but we that are Ladies of Honour, never make u&s;e of the&s;e kind of Cattel, becau&s;e they are generally Women of bad fame. So that if my Lord <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> do not relieve us, we mu&s;t carry our Beards to our Graves. I'le fir&s;t give the <HI>Moors</HI> leave, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> to tear off mine hair by hair, but I'le have your di&s;gui&s;es off without any other &s;having, then &s;having off the Sorcerers head who thus bewitch'd yee.</P>
<P>By this the <HI>Counte&s;s of Three-skirts</HI> being come to her &s;elf, Mo&s;t valiant Knight, quo &s;he, the grateful &s;ound of your promi&s;e reach'd my Ears in the mid&s;t of my Fit, and re-call'd both my &s;trength and &s;en&s;es. I be&s;eech yee therefore once more, renowned and Invincible Champion, to let your Deeds be an&s;werable to your Words, with all the &s;peed that may be. That &s;hall be none of my fault, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote:</HI> Tell me but what I mu&s;t do, and you &s;hall find me wholly at your &s;ervice.</P>
<P>Your Magnanimity then mu&s;t under&s;tand, reply'd the Lady <HI>Sorrowful,</HI> that from hence to the Kingdom of <HI>Candaya</HI> it is about &s;ome five thou&s;and Leagues by Land; I will not &s;tand with your Wor&s;hip for a League over or under. But if you ride through the Air, in a direct Line, 'tis not above three thou&s;and two hundred twenty &s;even Leagues: and the Giant <HI>Ma|lambrune</HI> told me, that &s;o &s;oon as it &s;hould be my good fortune to meet the Champion that was to di&s;&s;olve our Enchantment, he would &s;end him an excellent Steed, much better, and with far le&s;s re&s;ty Jades tricks, then any of your Common <HI>Hackney</HI> Po&s;t-hor&s;es, as being the &s;ame Woodden Hor&s;e that carried the Valiant <HI>Pedro,</HI> and the fair <HI>Magalona</HI> double, when he &s;tole her away. A peaceable creature, and govern'd with ea&s;e, only by turning a Pin which he has in his Forehead, but &s;uch a one as flies i' the Air with that &s;wiftne&s;s, that you would &s;wear the Devil was at his heels with a hunting Whip. This &s;ame Hor&s;e, according to ancient Tradition, was the Ma&s;ter-piece of the Necromancer <HI>Merlin,</HI> who lent him to <HI>Peter</HI> of <HI>Pro|vence,</HI> his great friend, who rode him many a long journey through the Air; and when he had &s;tolen <HI>Magalona,</HI> &s;et her behind him, and carried her away with a jerk, while his Enemies, and her Friends, in vain &s;tood gaping after him, like people that gape after a Paper Kite with a Candle and Lanthorn, but are never the nearer; even &s;o gap'd they till their hearts ak'd, and then left off. After that <HI>Merlin</HI> lent this Hor&s;e to no bo|dy but his be&s;t Friends, or &s;uch as paid him well, and a Crown a day was his lowe&s;t price. Since that, <HI>Malambrune</HI> found a way to get him into his Stable; &s;o that he &s;aves a world of Hor&s;e fle&s;h, con&s;idering how many Stone he rides, and how he po&s;ts about to all the Fairs i' the world. You &s;hall have him here to day, to morrow in <HI>France,</HI> the next day in <HI>China,</HI> to morrow in <HI>America:</HI> for as he is a great Giant, &s;o is he a great Merchant. And being &s;o, he could never have met with &s;uch a convenient Bea&s;t, for he neither eats nor drinks, nor &s;leeps, nor wears out any Shooes, and paces &s;o plea&s;antly through the Air, that you may carry a Gla&s;s of Wine i' your hand without &s;pilling a drop: Which was the rea&s;on the fair <HI>Magalona,</HI> by her good will, would ne're be off of his Back.</P>
<P>As for a delicate <HI>Pacer,</HI> quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> commend me to my <HI>Grizzle,</HI> tho I confe&s;s he cannot fly i' the Air; but upon plain ground I defie all the Am|blers
<PB N="475" REF="256"> i' the world. Which &s;et 'em all a laughing; but then Madam <HI>Sorrow|ful</HI> proceeding,</P>
<P>This &s;ame Hor&s;e quo &s;he, if it be <HI>Malambrunes</HI> plea&s;ure to put an end to our Misfortunes, will be here within half an hour after 'tis dark: for it was agreed between us, that as &s;oon as I had found the Knight, he would &s;end the Hor&s;e.</P>
<P>Pray now, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> how many people will this Bea&s;t carry? Two Per&s;ons, reply'd Madam <HI>Sorrowful,</HI> one in the &s;eat, and the other behind: and the&s;e two per&s;ons are generally the Knight and the Squire, unle&s;s &s;ome &s;tollen Lady be to be whirl'd out of humane reach, like <HI>Ganymed</HI> upon the Eagles back.</P>
<P>Pray Madam <HI>Sorrowful,</HI> how d' yee call this Hor&s;e's Name? To which the Lady reply'd, neither <HI>Pega&s;us</HI> like <HI>Bellerophon</HI>'s, nor <HI>Bucephalus</HI> like <HI>A|lexander</HI> the Great's; nor <HI>Golden Bridle,</HI> like <HI>Orlando</HI>'s; nor <HI>Bayard,</HI> like <HI>Rinaldo</HI>'s; nor <HI>Frontin,</HI> like <HI>Rogiero</HI>'s; nor <HI>Bootes</HI> nor <HI>Pirithous,</HI> like the Hor&s;es of the <HI>Sun;</HI> nor <HI>Otelia,</HI> that unfortunate Hor&s;e, upon who&s;e back King <HI>Rodorigo</HI> lo&s;t both his Life and his Kingdom. I do not ask yee, Ma|dam, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> negatively, how he was not call'd; for that I know as well as another. More then that, I'le hold my life his name is not <HI>Ro&s;inan|te</HI> neither; for &s;o is my Ma&s;ter's Hor&s;e call'd, according to his worth; which is &s;uch, that I'le be hang'd if all the Hor&s;es with hard names that you have reckon'd up, could ever match him either for heels or courage. I believe that, reply'd the Counte&s;s; neverthele&s;s he has a Name too, very proper and &s;ignificant; for he is call'd <HI>Screw-Pegg</HI> the <HI>&s;wift,</HI> which an&s;wers to the &s;wiftne&s;s of his heels, and the Pegg in his forhead. I like the name well, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> but how d' yee rein him, with a Bridle or a Head&s;tall? I have told yee already, reply'd Madam <HI>Three-skirts,</HI> with a Peg, which be|ing turn'd this way or that way, the Hor&s;e moves accordingly, either aloft i' the Air, or bru&s;hing the tops of the gra&s;s with his Hoofs, or el&s;e &s;o in the middle between both, as to avoid the trouble of leaping hedges: he is the be&s;t for a Fox-cha&s;e in the world. I would willingly &s;ee this bea&s;t, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> not that I have any thoughts to ride either behind or before. I don't &s;ay &s;o neither; for they that expect any &s;uch thing from me, may as well <HI>expect Pears from an Elm.</HI> Is it likely that I, who can hardly &s;it my own <HI>Grizzle</HI> upon a Pack-&s;addle as &s;oft as Silk, will &s;uffer my &s;elf to be hors'd upon a hard piece of inchanted Timber, without either Pillow or Cu&s;hion? Not I by my faith, I thank yee, I'le not gaul my Buttocks to di&s;-inchant the be&s;t Ladies Beard i' the world&mdash;Let them that have Beards wear Beards, or el&s;e &s;have them&s;elves as well as they can. For my part, if my Ma&s;ter intends to go this long journey, let him een go by him|&s;elf; he mu&s;t not think to concern me in his Beard &s;having, as he has done in the Di&s;inchantment of <HI>Dulcinea.</HI> Oh dear, Sir, reply'd the Lady <HI>Sorrowful,</HI> your pre&s;ence is &s;o requi&s;ite that we can do nothing without yee. Pray &s;eek another Champion, I be&s;eech yee, good <HI>Madam,</HI> where d' you find the Squires coupl'd with their Ma&s;ters in their Adventures? Only they get all the Profit, and we all the Trouble.&mdash;Body a' me, when &s;hall yee hear any Hi&s;torian &s;ay, <HI>Such a Knight perform'd &s;uch an Adventure indeed, but it was with the a&s;&s;i&s;tance of &s;uch a one, his Squire, without who&s;e help he could never have accompli&s;h'd it?</HI> No, before <HI>George,</HI> but barely and &s;ingly, <HI>Don Paralipomenon, of the three Stars, fini&s;h'd the Adventure of the Hobgob|lins,</HI> making no more mention of the Squire, then if there were no &s;uch per&s;on i' the world, tho he were pre&s;ent, and were well &s;trapp'd for his pains. For once therefore let my Ma&s;ter een go by him&s;elf, and much good
<PB N="476" REF="257"> may his Honour do him; For my part, I'le keep my Lady Dutche&s;s Com|pany, and it may be by that time he returns, he may find Madam <HI>Dulcinea</HI>'s bu&s;ine&s;s in a good forwardne&s;s; for whenever I have nothing el&s;e to do, I intend to lick my &s;elf &s;oundly. However, hone&s;t <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo the <HI>Dutche&s;s,</HI> if there be a nece&s;&s;ity, you mu&s;t accompany your Ma&s;ter; for 'tis unrea&s;on|able the&s;e Ladies &s;hould remain in this Monkey-fac'd condition, becau&s;e of your vain fears. With reverence be it &s;poken, Madam, quo <HI>Sancho, Mu&s;t is for the King</HI>&mdash;Were it to do a kindne&s;s for an hone&s;t vertuous Kin&s;woman, or the whole Bevy of Blew coat-Girls, 'twere a deed of Charity; but to hazard the breaking of a mans bones, to unbeard a parcel of Baudy <HI>Gover|nantes,</HI> the Devil &s;hall do it for me; let 'em een &s;eek out other Shavers; for <HI>Sancho Pancha</HI> will be none of their Barber. By this light I had rather &s;ee 'em hairy all over, like Goats, from the Lady to the Kitchin-wench. I wonder you &s;hould be &s;o angry with <HI>Governantes,</HI> friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd the Dutche&s;s&mdash;In truth, you do 'em wrong&mdash;Among the Re&s;t I have a <HI>Governante</HI> of my own; &s;uch a pattern of fidelity, that I'le put my life in her hands, and I'le go no farther then Mi&s;tre&s;s <HI>Dorothy.</HI> Your Excellen|cy may &s;ay what you plea&s;e, reply'd Mi&s;tre&s;s <HI>Dorothy,</HI> but God knows the truth of every thing&mdash;and whether bad or good, bearded or not beard|ed, we were all the Daughters of our Mothers, as well as others; and &s;ince God has &s;ent us into the World, he knows wherefore, and 'tis in his Mercy, and my Ladies Favour and Charity that I mu&s;t tru&s;t, and I hope I have learnt to wink at &s;mall faults: 'tis a good Hor&s;e that never trips.</P>
<P>Mrs. <HI>Dorothy</HI> is in the right, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote:</HI> And as for you, Ma|dam Counte&s;s, with the re&s;t of your illu&s;trious Company, I make no que|&s;tion but Heaven will look upon your misfortunes with a propitious Eye, and that <HI>Sancho</HI> will do what I command him. In the mean time, I wi&s;h that <HI>Screw-Peg</HI> were come, and that I were at <HI>cut and &s;la&s;h</HI> with <HI>Malam|brune;</HI> there's no Razor &s;hould &s;have your Lady&s;hips Beard with that ea&s;e as I would &s;have his head from his &s;houlders, and teach him at the price of his life to furbu&s;h Counte&s;&s;es Chins, and challenge Knights Errant. High Heaven, cry'd Madam <HI>Sorrowful,</HI> with Eyes of Favour behold your Gran|deur, and may all the Stars of the Cele&s;tial Regions, &s;hed down their In|fluence upon your Valour, and ble&s;s with all <HI>pro&s;perity your Highne&s;s,</HI> the <HI>Buckler</HI> and &s;upport of the forlorn Society of <HI>Waiting-women</HI> and <HI>Chamber|maids,</HI> &s;o contemn'd by <HI>Pothecaries,</HI> accurs'd by <HI>Squires,</HI> and revil'd by <HI>Pages.</HI> Mo&s;t unfortunate among Females, better were it for us to Cloy&s;ter our &s;elves in the flower of our Age, then thus to be the &s;corn of all Man|kind. Di&s;grace of the Earth, as we are, were we de&s;cended in a direct Line from <HI>Hector</HI> of <HI>Troy,</HI> I que&s;tion whether exa&s;perated men would al|low us to prove our Pedigrees&mdash;And thou mo&s;t mighty Giant <HI>Mam|bruno,</HI> as much an Enchanter as thou art, be faithful however to thy word, and &s;end away the peerle&s;s <HI>Screw-Peg,</HI> that &s;o at la&s;t we may &s;ee an end of our misfortunes. For &s;hould the hot weather &s;urpri&s;e us with &s;o much <HI>Goats wooll</HI> about our No&s;es, woe be to us and all our Progeny; &s;ince we can expect no other, then to bring a Race of Baboons into the world.</P>
<P>The&s;e la&s;t words the Lady <HI>Three-Skirts,</HI> wringing her hands, utter'd with &s;uch a lamentable tone, that &s;he drew tears from all the Company; and among the re&s;t caus'd <HI>Sancho</HI> al&s;o to water his plants, who now, compa&s;&s;i|on having melted his heart, re&s;olv'd in his mind to follow his Ma&s;ter to the farthermo&s;t parts of the Earth, &s;o he might any way contribute
<PB N="477" REF="257"> to clear away that venerable Camomile which be-&s;pread the Ladies Cheeks.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="8" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. VIII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing the Arrival of <HI>Screw-Peg,</HI> and the End of this Tedious Adventure.</HEAD>
<P>BY this the Night was come, and with it, the appointed hour for <HI>Screw-Peg</HI>'s arrival, for which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> waited with an extraordinary impatience; believing that becau&s;e <HI>Malambrune</HI> delay'd &s;o long the &s;ending him, that either he was not the Knight for whom this Adventure was re|&s;erv'd, or el&s;e that the Giant was afraid to grapple with him. But when he lea&s;t expected it, behold of a &s;udden four <HI>Savages,</HI> cover'd with green Ivy, enter'd the Garden, bearing a huge Wooden Hor&s;e upon their &s;houl|ders. Which as &s;oon as they had &s;et down upon the ground, pre&s;ently one of the Savages cry'd out, Now let him that has the Courage, mount this woodden Animal. I'le mount no <HI>mounts,</HI> quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> for neither have I &s;o much Courage, neither am I, God be thanked, a <HI>Knight-Errant.</HI> Then the Savage proceeding, and let the Squire, quo he, if there be any &s;uch per&s;on here, get up behind; and let the Knight be a&s;&s;ur'd from <HI>Malam|brune</HI>'s own Mouth, that he intends nothing but a fair Stage, and fair Play, and that only with his tru&s;ty Sword. As for the Hor&s;e, let the Knight but turn the Peg in his Forehead, and he will carry his Riders in a trice to the place where <HI>Malambrune</HI> expects 'em. And le&s;t the va&s;t height of the way &s;hould turn their brains, let 'em only bind a Kerchief about their Eyes till the Hor&s;e neighs, and then they may be &s;ure they're at the end of their journey. Which &s;aid, the Savages skipp'd and frisk'd out of &s;ight, the &s;ame way they came.</P>
<P>And then it was that Madam <HI>Sorrowful,</HI> beholding the Hor&s;e with tears of gladne&s;s; Mo&s;t valiant Knight, quo &s;he, addre&s;&s;ing her &s;elf to <HI>Don Quixote, Malambrune,</HI> you &s;ee, has fulfill'd his promi&s;e, the Hor&s;e is come, our Beards grow, and therefore we be&s;eech both thee and thy Squire, by all the hairs upon our Chins, to get up, and &s;et forward with all &s;peed, that we may be rid at la&s;t of this &s;ame trouble&s;ome Stool-ball-&s;tuffing which thus disfigures the &s;eat of Beauty.</P>
<P>Di&s;tre&s;&s;ed Lady, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> &s;uch is my impatience to &s;erve yee, that you &s;hall &s;ee I will not &s;o much as &s;tay for a Cu&s;hion, or to put on my Spurs. For to tell ye truth, I long to &s;ee what pretty dimpl'd Chins, and &s;oft lips, you had before this deformity &s;eiz'd yee.</P>
<P>With your good leave, Madam Counte&s;s, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I am in no &s;uch ha&s;te; and therefore if you cannot be trimm'd without a Squire gets up behind, my Ma&s;ter mu&s;t hire another Squire, and the&s;e fair Ladies mu&s;t &s;eek another Barber; for I am no Conjurer, to fly among the Clouds upon a Broom&s;tick. What will my I&s;landers &s;ay, when they hear their Gover|nour rides a Witch-hunting i' the Air? Be&s;ides, 'tis three or four thou&s;and Leagues from hence to <HI>Candaya;</HI> &s;o that if either the Hor&s;e &s;hould tire by the way, or the Giant grow humour&s;ome, it may be &s;ix or &s;even years be|fore we return; and by that time there will be neither I&s;lands nor Dry-lands i' the world, that will know me agen. I have heard &s;ay, <HI>Delay breeds
<PB N="478" REF="258"> dangers; and when thou ha&s;t a Cow giv'n thee, never run to fetch a Cord.</HI> Therefore the&s;e Ladies Beards mu&s;t pardon me; St. <HI>Peter is at</HI> Rome, <HI>and I am here,</HI> where I am well us'd, I know when I am well; and where my Lord Duke has promis'd me the Government of an I&s;land.</P>
<P><HI>Sancho, Sancho,</HI> reply'd the Duke, the I&s;land which I promis'd thee is no moving I&s;land, nor going to run away; the Foundations of it are layd in the deep Aby&s;&s;es of the Earth. And therefore, &s;ince you know as well as I, that there is no Office of moment in this Age which is not purchas'd with &s;ome kind of you know what I mean; all that I &s;hall demand for your Government is only to ride behind your Ma&s;ter, that there may be an end of this perillous Adventure. For whether you return &s;o &s;peedily as the &s;wiftne&s;s of the Hor&s;e promi&s;es, or whether you be forc'd to foot it back like a Hermite, begging from Inn to Inn, and Door to Door, you will find the I&s;land &s;till where you left it, and your I&s;landers as ready to receive you for their Governour as ever they were. And for my own part I'le give thee my Oath, if requir'd, never to recede a Tittle from my word.</P>
<P>No more, my Lord Duke, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I am a poor Squire, that am not able to bear the burden of &s;o many favours, let my Ma&s;ter get up, then blind my Eyes; and &s;o good People pray for me till I am got above the Clouds, for then I intend to call upon the Angels my &s;elf. That you may &s;afely do, reply'd the Counte&s;s of <HI>Three-Skirts;</HI> for tho <HI>Malambrune</HI> be a <HI>Necromancer,</HI> he's a kind of a Mungrel Chri&s;tian, that contrives all his En|chantments with great Prudence to avoid all manner of Scandal. Go too then, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> let's away, and the <HI>Lady of Loretta</HI> be our Guide.</P>
<P>Since the Remarkable Adventure of the Fulling Mills, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> never did I &s;ee poor <HI>Sancho</HI> in &s;uch a bodily fear as at this time, and were I as &s;uper&s;titious as other People, I cannot tell but that I might be ala|rum'd at his fears. But come hither <HI>Sancho,</HI> for with their Excellencies leave, I have a word to &s;ay to thee in private. And &s;o &s;aying, he led <HI>San|cho</HI> into a thicket of Trees, on the other &s;ide of the Garden, and there ta|king him by the Hand,</P>
<P>Friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;aid he, thou &s;ee&s;t we have a long Journey to ride, and God only knows when we &s;hall return, or what Hard&s;hips we may meet with, and therefore I would have thee make an excu&s;e, and retire to thy Chamber, where I de&s;ire thee to give thy &s;elf, if it be but five hunder'd La&s;hes of the three thou&s;and three hunder'd, to which thou ha&s;t oblig'd thy &s;elf; <HI>for a thing once begun is half ended.</HI> By this Light, very fine, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;urely Ma&s;ter you are turn'd Changeling&mdash; This is ju&s;t as they &s;ay, <HI>you &s;ee me in ha&s;te, and ask for my Daughter;</HI> I am going to ride the Wooden Hor&s;e, and you wou'd have me flea my Po&s;teriours. In truth, in truth Ma&s;ter, you are out of the way. Let's fir&s;t go and get the&s;e Ladies unbearded, &s;ince the Devil has found us an Employment, and when we return, we'll tell yee more of our mind; let that &s;uffice at pre&s;ent. Well, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I tru&s;t to thy Promi&s;e, and make no que|&s;tion but thou wilt keep thy Word, for tho th' art a Fool I know th' art Ho|ne&s;t. Ay, Ay, relye upon me, cry'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> and never undertake too much Bu&s;ine&s;s at once.</P>
<P>After this &s;hort Parley they return'd to the Company, and <HI>Don Quixote</HI> being ju&s;t ready to get up, blind my Eyes, &s;aid he, to <HI>Sancho,</HI> and mount boldly: For 'tis not likely that he who &s;ends &s;o far for us, has any intenti|on to deceive us; &s;ince he can get no benefit by deluding People that relye upon him; and tho Fortune &s;hould cro&s;s our expectations, yet is it impo&s;|&s;ible that Envy &s;hould ob&s;cure the Honour we &s;hall gain by having under|taken
<PB N="479" REF="258"> &s;o glorious an Enterprize. Di&s;patch, Sir, then, Di&s;patch, quo <HI>San|cho,</HI> for methinks I feel the&s;e Ladies Beards now &s;ticking in my Heart; and I'me re&s;olv'd not to put a Mor&s;el of Bread i' my Mouth, till I &s;ee their Chins as &s;mooth as a Looking-gla&s;s. Therefore I &s;ay, get up fir&s;t and bind your Eyes; for if I mu&s;t ride behind 'tis clear you mu&s;t get up fir&s;t. 'Tis very true, <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and pre&s;ently pulling a Handkerchief out of his Pocket, he de&s;ir'd Madam <HI>Sorrowful</HI> to bind it fa&s;t about his Eyes. Which being done, if my Memory fail me not, &s;aid he, I have read in <HI>Virgil,</HI> of the <HI>Trojan Palladium,</HI> that was a Woodden Hor&s;e, which the <HI>Greeks</HI> pre&s;ented to <HI>Pallas,</HI> and carry'd a Company of Armed Knights in his Belly, who were the Total Ruin of <HI>Troy:</HI> Which makes me think it not ami&s;s, to examin what our <HI>Screw-Peg</HI> al&s;o carry's in his Guts. There's no nece&s;&s;ity for that, an&s;wer'd Madam <HI>Sorrowful,</HI> I'le warrant yee no &s;uch thing; I know <HI>Malambrune,</HI> that I dare affirm him to be neither Mi&s;cheivous, nor Treacherous; get up, Sir, upon my word, and if any harm befal yee, I'le be bound to make yee amends. Thereupon <HI>Don Quixote</HI> believing it a Scandal to his Courage to make any farther Scruples, got up without more ado; and becau&s;e his Legs hung down for want of Stirrups, he lookt like a <HI>Roman</HI> Con&s;ul a Hor&s;e-back in an old Fa&s;hion'd piece of Arra&s;s. <HI>Sancho</HI> al|&s;o mounted la&s;t, like one that had been going up a Ladder to be hang'd, and fixing him&s;elf upon the Crupper, felt it &s;o hard and uneven, that he de&s;ir'd the Duke to lend him one of the Dutche&s;&s;es Pillows; for, quo he, I'me afraid this Hor&s;e Trots damnable hard. To which Madam <HI>Sorrowful</HI> made an&s;wer, that <HI>Screw-Pin</HI> would endure no &s;uch thing upon his But|tocks, only for his ea&s;e, he might if he pleas'd ride &s;ideways like a Wo|man; which he did, and then, after they had bound his Eyes, he bid the Company farewel. But he had not &s;ate a Moment in that Condition, be|fore he unbound him&s;elf, and looking round about him, be&s;ought the Company, with Tears in his Eyes, to be&s;tow a certain number of <HI>Pater No|&s;ters</HI> and <HI>Avemaries</HI> upon him, in that &s;ame di&s;mal danger he was in, as they hop'd for &s;uccour in the &s;ame di&s;tre&s;s. Dog in a Doublet, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> what! do&s;t think th'art going to the Gallows, that thou art begging the Prayers of the People? Ra&s;cal as thou art, do&s;t thou not &s;it where for|merly the fair <HI>Magalona</HI> &s;ate, and from whence &s;he alighted to be Queen of <HI>France?</HI> And am not I &s;ufficient to put Life into thee, that now po&s;|&s;e&s;s the place of old po&s;&s;e&s;s'd by <HI>Peter of Provence.</HI> Blind thy &s;elf, blind thy &s;elf, &s;encele&s;s Brute, and let me hear no more of the&s;e thy Womani&s;h Complaints, e&s;pecially in my Pre&s;ence.</P>
<P>Blind me then, blind me, cry'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> and &s;eeing 'tis &s;o, that I mu&s;t neither be Pray'd for by others, nor &s;uffer'd to Pray for my &s;elf, in an ill Hour lets go on, and a Fig for all the Devils in Hell.</P>
<P>And now all things being ready, and due leave taken, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> be|gan to turn the Pin; at what time all that were pre&s;ent &s;et up their Throats, crying out, Heaven pro&s;per thee mo&s;t Valiant Knight, Heaven protect th' undaunted Squire; &s;it fa&s;t Couragious Squire, have a care of falling, for the Squelch will be far more fatal then his that mi&s;guided the Chariot of the Sun: See how they cut the Clouds&mdash; what a hight are they moun|ted already, and now quite out of &s;ight.&mdash;</P>
<P>All this while <HI>Sancho</HI> got clo&s;e to his Ma&s;ter, and cla&s;ping his Arms about his Wa&s;t, Sir, &s;aid he, why do they cry below that we are &s;o high, &s;ince we can hear 'em &s;o plainly, that one would think they were clo&s;e at our Ears? Nere trouble thy &s;elf for that, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> for the&s;e things being extraordinary beyond the Common Cour&s;e of Nature, I know
<PB N="480" REF="259"> no rea&s;on but that if we were a thou&s;and Leagues off, we might hear 'em, and &s;ee 'em too, if our Eyes were at Liberty, and that as plainly and di|&s;tinctly, as if they were but three Paviers Feet from us. But prithee don't gra&s;p me &s;o hard, le&s;t thou pull me out of the Saddle. For my part I ad|mire at thy frights and thy fears, for the Duce take me, if ever I rid a Hor&s;e that went more ea&s;ie i' my Life; a Man would &s;wear he never &s;o much as mov'd at all. Bani&s;h therefore tho&s;e idle Fancies of thine, for as far as I can find, all things go very well, and we have the Wind in our Poop, as they &s;ay. So we have by my Faith, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> for I feel &s;uch a brisk Gale at my Back, as if no le&s;s then four Smiths Pair of Bellows were blowing Wind i' my Tayl. And he had rea&s;on enough to &s;ay &s;o; for there were no le&s;s then four or five Men &s;tood behind continually puffing, with each a large Pair of Kitchin Bellows in his Hands; &s;o well had the Dukes Steward order'd his Bu&s;ine&s;s to perfect his de&s;ign.</P>
<P>At length <HI>Don Quixote</HI> feeling the Wind, Certainly, &s;aid he, <HI>Sancho</HI> we are now in the Middle Region of the Air, where all the Meteors are produc'd, as Wind, Hail, Thunder, Lightning, Snow, Rain, and the Like; &s;o that if we mount a little longer at this rate, we &s;hall be by and by in the Region of Fire; neither do I know how to govern this Peg to prevent our being burnt in tho&s;e Ethereal Flames. At the &s;ame time they began to warm their No&s;es with lighted Tow, that made a &s;udden blaze, and as &s;oon went out agen, ty'd at the end of long Cains, le&s;t they &s;hould be perceiv'd.</P>
<P>I'le be hang'd, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> if we be not come to that place you la&s;t &s;poke of, or at lea&s;t very near, for my Chin is half roa&s;ted, and my Beard confoundly &s;ing'd already&mdash; Pray let me unbind my &s;elf, to &s;ee where we are. Take heed, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> take heed what thou do&s;t; and remember the Story of the Curate <HI>Toralva,</HI> whom the Devils carry'd a Pick-back through the Air, with a Muffler before his Eyes; and in twelve Hours they brought him to <HI>Rome,</HI> where they &s;et him down upon the Tower of <HI>Nona;</HI> from whence after he had beheld the hideous Tu|mult, A&s;&s;ault, and Death of the Con&s;table of <HI>Bourbon,</HI> the next Morning by break of day they return'd him back to <HI>Madrid,</HI> where he gave an Ac|count of what he had &s;een. He farther &s;aid, that when he was in the Air, the Devil bid him unbind his Eyes, and then he &s;aw him&s;elf &s;o near the Body of the Moon, that he could have taken hold of her Horns; but that he dur&s;t not look down for fear his Brains &s;hould turn round. Thus <HI>Sancho,</HI> thou &s;ee'&s;t Curio&s;ity may be dangerous, and therefore let this &s;atis|fie, that he who has taken charge of us, will be an&s;werable for our &s;afe|ties: Nay, my Mind gives me that we are ju&s;t Towring over the Kingdom of <HI>Candaya,</HI> where we &s;hall come &s;tooping down upon our Enemies, like a <HI>Saker</HI> upon a <HI>Heron;</HI> for tho we have not been a Hor&s;e-back much above half an Hour, believe me, we have di&s;patch'd a va&s;t deal of Ground. As for that, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> I know not what to think on't; but this I am &s;ure of, that if Madam <HI>Magalona,</HI> as you call her, could &s;it this confoun|ded Crupper without a good Cu&s;hion under her Tayl, &s;he had a harder pair of Buttocks then mine.</P>
<P>All this while the Duke, the Dutche&s;s, and all the re&s;t of the Compa|ny were very attentive to this delightful Dialogue, and now being willing to put an end to this &s;o well manag'd Adventure, order'd a Fellow to give Fire to the Hor&s;es Tail; at what time the Nimble <HI>Screw-Pegs</HI> Belly being full of Squibs, Crackers, and other Fireworks that rumbl'd in his Guts, gave &s;uch a Curvet i' the Air, that with the Jolt upon his downfal, he threw
<PB N="481" REF="259"> his Riders <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho</HI> to the Ground, &s;moak'd and &s;ing'd, and &s;melling of burnt Bri&s;tles like two Bacon-Hogs.</P>
<P>Now by this time Madam <HI>Sorrowful</HI> with her Bearded Regiment were de|parted the Garden; and they that remain'd behind lay all like &s;o many Dead People, &s;tretch'd forth upon the Green&s;od. At what time <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho</HI> got upon their Legs, half doaz'd with their fall, and looking round about 'em, were amaz'd to find them&s;elves in the &s;ame Garden agen, and &s;o many People lying upon the Ground without Life or Mo|tion. But they were much more a&s;toni&s;h'd when they &s;py'd a Lance &s;tuck up in the Ground, and a fair piece of green Parchment hanging by two Sil|ken Strings that were fa&s;ten'd to the upper end, wherein were the&s;e words.</P>
<P><HI>Th' Illu&s;trious and Valiant Knight,</HI> Don Quixote de la Mancha, <HI>has put an End to the Adventure of the Counte&s;s of</HI> Three-Skirts, <HI>otherwi&s;e Madam</HI> Sorrowful, <HI>and her Companions in Di&s;tre&s;s, only by undertaking it. The Gyant</HI> Malambrune <HI>is &s;atisfy'd; the Ladies have lo&s;t their Beards; and</HI> Don Picklo|chio <HI>the King, and</HI> Antonoma&s;ia <HI>the Queen, have re&s;um'd their former &s;hapes: And &s;o &s;oon as the Squire &s;hall have fulfill'd his Pennance of three thou&s;and &s;ix hunder'd Stripes, the White Dove &s;hall be deliver'd from the pernicious Poun|ces of her Adver&s;aries, and be receiv'd into the Arms of her beloved Adorer. This the</HI> Necromancer Merlin, <HI>King of the</HI> Magicians <HI>has ordain'd.</HI></P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> had no &s;ooner read tho&s;e words, but finding a new Confir|mation of <HI>Dulcinea</HI>'s Di&s;inchantment, in the fir&s;t place he &s;hewd his Piety, by returning a thou&s;and Thanks to Heaven, that he had fini&s;h'd &s;uch a de&s;perate Adventure with &s;o little trouble, and then care&s;&s;ing him&s;elf with the Obligation he had lay'd upon tho&s;e poor Bearded Ladies, who now ap|pear'd no more, he went where the Duke and Dutche&s;s lay as it were in a &s;woon, and taking the Duke by the Hand; Wake, Sir, wake, quo he, pluck up a good Heart, all's well, the Adventure is at an end, and all the Danger's over, as you may &s;ee by this Writing.</P>
<P>Thereupon the Duke, as it were wak'd out of a deep &s;leep, began by lit|tle and little to recover him&s;elf, as did the Dutche&s;s and all the re&s;t of the Company that were in the &s;ame Po&s;ture, drow&s;ie and heavy, like People that had been in a Trance, and hardly knew where they were, and look|ing as if they had all been bewitch'd. Pre&s;ently the Duke fell a reading with his Eyes half open and half &s;hut, rubbing his Forehead at every Line; which when he had done, he threw his Arms about <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Neck, a&s;&s;uring him, that he was the be&s;t and mo&s;t renowned Knight that ever had been in all the&s;e Latter Ages. As for <HI>Sancho</HI> he &s;tar'd about for Madam <HI>Sorrowful,</HI> to &s;ee how &s;he look'd now her Beard was off, and whe|ther &s;he were &s;o Beautiful as &s;he pretended to be before &s;he was Chin|bri&s;tl'd. But they told him, that as &s;oon as <HI>Screw-Peg</HI> was fallen to the Ground, all of a light Fire, the Counte&s;s with all her Company vani&s;h'd without &s;o much as the &s;ign of any Beards, or the lea&s;t appearance that ever they had any. Then the Dutche&s;s ask'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> how he found him|&s;elf after &s;o long a Journey. To whom <HI>Sancho,</HI> I find my &s;elf, &s;aid he, in|different well, thanks be to Heaven, only a little Shoulder &s;prain'd with my fall. As for the Journey it &s;elf, 'tis very true as my Ma&s;ter &s;aid, that we were in the Middle Region of the Air: for to tell yee the Truth, ha|ving naturally &s;ome Chips of Curio&s;ity within me, and being willing to look about me when I Travel, I thru&s;t up the Handkerchief from my Eyes a little above my No&s;e, and look'd down upon the Earth. God's Pre|cious! Judge you now whether we were not got a prodigious height; for the Earth &s;eem'd to me no bigger then a Mu&s;tard-Seed, and the Men
<PB N="482" REF="260"> walking to and fro, no bigger then Hazle-nuts. Have a care what you &s;ay Friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo the Dutche&s;s, for if the Earth were no bigger then a Mu&s;tard-Seed, and the Men as big as Hazle nuts, 'twas impo&s;&s;ible thou could&s;t &s;ee the Earth for one &s;ingle Man. That's nothing, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> for I &s;py'd fir&s;t one little &s;ide of it, and then I &s;aw it all. The&s;e are Riddles, <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd the Dutche&s;s, for how can a Man &s;ee the whole of what he &s;ees but a part. I don't under&s;tand your Vi&s;ions nor your Philo&s;ophies, but I &s;aw as I &s;aw, reply'd <HI>Sancho.</HI> Your Highne&s;s knows we flew i' the Air by Enchantment, and by Vertue of that Enchantment, I &s;aw the Earth and the Men, which way &s;oever I turn'd my Head. And if you wont believe that, you will le&s;s believe, that when I pull'd down my Blinder and look'd up, I found my &s;elf &s;o near Heaven, that I was within a Foot of the Main Skie. And I can &s;afely &s;wear 'tis a very large Place; and by and by we came to the <HI>Seven Goats.</HI> Before Heaven and upon my Soul, if I don't believe we were above two Leagues above <HI>Pen men Maure;</HI> and in regard I had in my younger days been a Goat-herd, I had a long|ing de&s;ire to have a little Di&s;cour&s;e with tho&s;e pretty Creatures, and had I not done it, i' my Con&s;cience I had been dead of a Con&s;umption ere this, as &s;hort a while as it is. And therefore by my Life 'tis true; without &s;ay|ing a word to my Ma&s;ter, I &s;lid down &s;oftly from <HI>Screw Pegs</HI> Crupper, and went and twattl'd for three quarters of an Hour with tho&s;e pretty Crea|tures, that are made and &s;mell ju&s;t like Clove gillow flowres, and all the while <HI>Screw-Peg</HI> &s;tood as &s;till as a <HI>Dormous,</HI> never moving an Inch.</P>
<P>And while <HI>Sancho</HI> was di&s;cour&s;ing the Goats, how did my Lord <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;pend his time? cry'd the Duke. Truly, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> it is a thing &s;o frequent for me to meet with &s;trange Adventures, contrary to the u&s;ual Cour&s;e of Nature, that I dare not que&s;tion <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Relation in the lea&s;t; but for my own part, I mu&s;t needs &s;ay that I never unblinded my &s;elf, and con&s;equently &s;aw neither the Heavens nor the Earth, nor Sea nor Mountains; only I found that when we had pa&s;s'd the middle Region of the Air, we were very neer the Region of Fire, but that we were in it I cannot believe. For the Region of Fire lying between the Sphear of the Moon and the upper Region of the Air, we could not get to the Sphear of the Seven <HI>Pleiades</HI> or <HI>Goats,</HI> as he call's 'em, without being burnt to Charcoal; and therefore <HI>Sancho</HI> mu&s;t either lye or dream.</P>
<P>I neither lye nor dream, reply'd <HI>Sancho;</HI> if you think otherwi&s;e, let any body ask me the Marks of the <HI>Seven Goats,</HI> and then you &s;hall &s;ee whether I &s;peak truth or no. There need no Interrogatories, reply'd the Dutche&s;s, you may tell what you know of your own accord. Why then, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> I &s;ay there are two Green, two Carnation, two Blew, and one Motley co|lour'd. Very pretty colour'd Goats indeed, quo the Duke, we ha' no &s;uch upon Earth. Is that &s;uch a wonder, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> that the Goats upon Earth &s;hould be of one Colour, and the Goats in Heaven of another? Prithee tell me <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo the Duke, did'&s;t thou &s;ee ne're a Hee Goat among the She Goats? No indeed, Sir, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> and be&s;ides I have heard that neither Hee Goats nor Tups are permitted to go beyond the Horns of the Moon.</P>
<P>Thus ended the Memorable Adventure of Madam <HI>Dolorida,</HI> to the great &s;atisfaction of the Duke and all the re&s;t of the Spectators; as being that which found 'em &s;port not only for the pre&s;ent, but matter to laugh at du|ring all the re&s;t of their Lives.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="9" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="483" REF="260">
<HEAD>CHAP. IX.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing the Coun&s;el which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> gave <HI>Sancho,</HI> before he went to his Government.</HEAD>
<P>AFter this &s;ame lucky Succe&s;s of Madam <HI>Sorrowful</HI>'s Adventure, the Duke and Dutche&s;s, finding they could &s;o ea&s;ily impo&s;e upon their Gue&s;ts, re&s;olv'd not to want Pa&s;time, but to be &s;till contriving new Inven|tions for deverti&s;ement. To which purpo&s;e the Plot was layd, and In|&s;tructions given to all the Servants how to behave them&s;elves towards <HI>Sancho.</HI> The next day therefore the Duke told <HI>Sancho,</HI> that he mu&s;t now prepare him&s;elf to take Po&s;&s;e&s;&s;ion of his Government, for that his I&s;landers expected him with the &s;ame impatience as the Earth gapes for May Dew. Upon which, <HI>Sancho</HI> bow'd him&s;elf almo&s;t to the Ground, and with a &s;trange &s;udden fit of Indifferency told the Duke, that ever &s;ince he de&s;cen|ded from Heaven, and had view'd the Earth no bigger then a Mu&s;tard-Seed, he had no great Stomach to be a Governour. For, &s;aid he, what a great piece of Bu&s;ine&s;s it is to Govern a Point of a Grain of Mu&s;tard, and half a dozen Men no bigger then the end of my Little Finger; for I could not &s;ee any more i' the whole World. If your Excellency would give me a &s;mall Canton in Heaven, tho it were but half a League or &s;o, I'de rather have it then all the I&s;lands in the World. Look yee <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd the Duke, I can di&s;po&s;e of no part of Heaven, tho 'twere no bigger then my Nail. But what I am able to be&s;tow I give thee, that is to &s;ay an I&s;land as &s;mooth as a Dye, as round as a Bulru&s;h, and as fertile as the Ely&s;ian Fields, where with Pious Care and good Management thou mai&s;t get Wealth on Earth to purcha&s;e the Riches of Heaven. 'Tis very well, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> then let me have the I&s;land, and I'le endeavour &s;o to govern here, that if I han't a Corner of Heaven to my &s;hare, it &s;hall go hard: For I don't quit my own homely Cottage, Ambitious of being a Governour, but only to know what the&s;e Governments are, &s;o thir&s;ted after i' this World. Oh&mdash; <HI>Sancho,</HI> cry'd the Duke, when y' have once ta&s;ted the Sweets of one, you'l never leave licking your Fingers&mdash;'tis &s;uch a bewitch|ing thing to command and to be obey'd; and this I mu&s;t tell yee when <HI>Don Quixote</HI> comes to be an Emperour, as he cannot fail to be in a &s;hort time, according to the Cour&s;es he takes, he'll be ready to bite his Nails off, for refu&s;ing the Empre&s;s of <HI>Micomicon.</HI> You &s;ay very true, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> 'tis a very delightful thing to Command, tho it be but over a Flock of Sheep. Let me dye, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo the Duke, if thou ha&s;t not an In&s;ight into every thing. But no more at pre&s;ent&mdash; to Morrow's the day for ta|king Po&s;&s;e&s;&s;ion&mdash; This Evening therefore prepare thy Equipage, and get all things in a readine&s;s.&mdash;</P>
<P>Let 'em Robe me, and Scarlet me, as they plea&s;e them&s;elves, quo <HI>San|cho,</HI> that's no care of mine&mdash; For whether in Red, or in Yellow, or both together, I &s;hall be the &s;ame <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;till. However, reply'd the Duke, the Habit mu&s;t be conformable to the Place and Dignity of the Per&s;on; Governours mu&s;t not go like Soldiers, nor Soldiers like Prie&s;ts. For your part <HI>Sancho,</HI> you are to wear the Habit as well of a Soldier as of a Civil Magi&s;trate; for that to a Governour Learning and Valour are equally nece&s;&s;ary. As for Learning, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I mu&s;t confe&s;s I am not over plentifully &s;tor'd with it; for without Di&s;&s;imulation, I never read my
<PB N="484" REF="261"> A B C. But I can &s;ay my <HI>Pater No&s;ter</HI> backward and forward, and that's as much as needs for a Governour. As for Weapons, I &s;hall make u&s;e of &s;uch as they give me, till they fall out of my Hands&mdash; <HI>Sancho</HI> for the King, and God for us All. Well&mdash; well&mdash; quo the Duke, with &s;o much Knowledge <HI>Sancho</HI> can never mi&s;take in any thing.</P>
<P>As the Duke and <HI>Sancho</HI> were thus di&s;cour&s;ing, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> arriv'd, and under&s;tanding that <HI>Sancho</HI> was to depart the next Morning, after leave obtain'd of the Duke, he took him by the Hand, and carry'd him into his Chamber, there to give him &s;ome In&s;tructions how to behave him&s;elf in his Government. To which purpo&s;e, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> having lock'd the Chamber Door within &s;ide, and caus'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> tho again&s;t his will, to &s;it down by him, with a Grave and &s;erious Tone,</P>
<P>Infinite are the Thanks which I return to Heaven, &s;aid he, that Fortune thus is pleas'd to Crown thee with her Kindne&s;&s;es, before &s;he has be&s;tow'd on Me the lea&s;t of her Favours. I that was labouring my own Advancement, that I might be in a Condition to recompence thy Services, now find my &s;elf behind the Lighter, and thou contrary to the order of Nature, enjoy'&s;t the Fruit of thy de&s;ires. Others bribe, &s;ollicit, importune, ri&s;e early, go to Bed late, wait all day long in Great Men's Antichambers, and all to no purpo&s;e. With thee, that art neither Laborious nor Vigilant, 'tis pre|&s;ently, unexpectedly, and of a &s;udden nothing but <HI>up and ride;</HI> &s;o that 'tis a True &s;aying, there's nothing but good and bad luck i' this World; and all this becau&s;e thou only &s;mell'&s;t of <HI>Knight-Errantry.</HI> I &s;peak, this my dear <HI>Sancho,</HI> not to upbraid thee, nor out of Envy; but only to let thee know, that thou art not to a&s;cribe thy good Fortune to thy Merit, but only to the kindne&s;s of Heaven. Acknowledg therefore the Favours of Providence, and above all things be &s;ure to reverence the Profe&s;&s;ion of <HI>Knight-Erran|try,</HI> which includes within it &s;elf whole Magazines of Honour and Preferment. And now thy Mind and Thoughts being thus prepar'd, li&s;ten with the Attention of a Scholler that de&s;ires to learn; li&s;ten I &s;ay to the In&s;tructions of thy Ma&s;ter, and the Precepts of thy <HI>Cato,</HI> who is willing to be thy <HI>North-&s;tar</HI> and <HI>Pilot</HI> in that perillous Sea, where thou art going to imbark thy &s;elf, that &s;o thou mai&s;t arrive &s;afe in the Port of Honour. For Offices and Great Employments are but a profound Gulph of Con|fu&s;ion.</P>
<P>In the fir&s;t place, fear God and Love him; for the fear of God is the beginning of Wi&s;dom; and Wi&s;dom will never &s;uffer thee to go a&s;tray.</P>
<P>In the next place, look backward what thou wer't, and endeavour to know thy &s;elf; which is the mo&s;t difficult Knowledge i' the World. That Knowledg will in&s;truct thee, not to &s;well like a Toad, which Envying the Stature of an Ox, &s;trove to be as big as he, and bur&s;t. For if thou do&s;t, what will Men &s;ay? They'l &s;ay, he need not be &s;o proud, for the Time was when he kept Hogs in his own Country. That was only when I was a little Boy, reply'd <HI>Sancho;</HI> for when I came to. be bigger I kept Gee&s;e, and not Hogs. But that's nothing to the purpo&s;e, all Governours did not come from the Loyns of Princes. 'Tis very true, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and therefore Men of mean de&s;cent, ought &s;o much the rather to behave them&s;elves with Curte&s;ie and Civility, to avoid the Reproaches of Envy and Malice, which el&s;e they will never e&s;cape.</P>
<P><HI>Sancho,</HI> never deny thy Parents, nor be a&s;ham'd of the meanne&s;s of thy Birth; for when no body &s;ee's thee run, no body will run with thee. 'Tis better to be virtuou&s;ly Humble, then a proud Tran&s;gre&s;&s;our. Innumerable are the Examples of tho&s;e that have been rais'd almo&s;t from the Dunghil
<PB N="485" REF="261"> to the Papal Chair and Imperial Throne; but I pa&s;s 'em over in &s;ilence for want of Time.</P>
<P>Let Vertue be the Guide of all thy Actions; and prize thy &s;elf for do|ing Vertuous Actions, and never envy Kings and Princes their Dignity. For Nobility is Hereditary; Vertue is acquir'd; Vertue is valu'd for its &s;elf; &s;o is not Nobility.</P>
<P>If any of thy poor Kindred come to &s;ee thee, never di&s;own 'em, nor re|fu&s;e to &s;ee 'em, but entertain 'em withal the Re&s;pect imaginable: So, thou wilt fulfill the Will of Heaven, and &s;atisfie the Law of Nature.</P>
<P>If thou &s;end'&s;t for thy Wife, as it is but rea&s;onable &s;he &s;hould partake of thy good Fortune, Poli&s;h her the be&s;t thou can&s;t; In&s;truct, Admoni&s;h and Advi&s;e her, and keep her from appearing much in Company, till &s;he has &s;hook off her Ru&s;tical behaviour, that &s;he may not appear ridiculous in Company; and what &s;he wants in dancing and talking out of <HI>Grand Cyrus,</HI> let her make out in Mode&s;ty and &s;ober Behaviour, and then let all the Giggling-prying Go&s;&s;ips talk what they will.</P>
<P>If thou happen'&s;t to be a Widower, and that the Cares of thy Family and thy Employment oblige thee to Marry again, have a care of Marrying a Hook and a Line; &s;uch a one, I mean, as will be taking with both Hands, and is all for making Hay while the Sun &s;hines. For a Judges Wife ought not to be a Sollicitre&s;s; nor to be her Husbands Conduite Pipe for the more cleanly conveyance of Bribes.</P>
<P>Have a care of Ob&s;tinate Self conceit; for that's the only folly of igno|rant People, that will pre&s;ume to be wi&s;er then they are.</P>
<P>Let the Tears of the Poor move thy Compa&s;&s;ion, but no more Ju&s;tice to them, then to the Informations of the Rich.</P>
<P>Let not the Pre&s;ents of the Rich blind thee, nor be tir'd out with the Importunities of the Poor; for there may be delu&s;ion in both.</P>
<P>When thou art upon Tryal of Criminals, &s;tand not too nicely upon the Rigour of the Law: For a Judge gets as little Reputation by being too &s;evere, as by being too Indulgent.</P>
<P>If any of thy Enemies have a Cau&s;e before thee, lay a&s;ide thy Re&s;ent|ment, and Proceed only according to the Merits of the Cau&s;e; le&s;t blind|ed by thy Pa&s;&s;ion, thou be forc'd to repair the Injuries of thy Inju&s;tice, by building of Clock-Hou&s;es.</P>
<P>When a Beautiful Woman comes before thee, be not &s;urpriz'd by her Tears or Prayers; &s;hut thy Eyes, and &s;top thy Ears, and &s;tay no longer then to examin the Truth: For Beauty's a dangerous allurement; and there is no Poy&s;on &s;ooner corrupts the Integrity of a Judge.</P>
<P>Neither joke, nor be too &s;evere upon tho&s;e thou condemn'&s;t for their Crimes; for that's to in&s;ult over the Misfortunes of the Mi&s;erable, that ra|ther de&s;erve thy Pity.</P>
<P>Be Merciful in Judgment, for God approves Mercy beyond Judgment.</P>
<P>If thou ob&s;erv'&s;t the&s;e Rules, <HI>Sancho,</HI> thou &s;halt live many Years upon the Earth, and perpetually in the Memory of good Men. Thou &s;halt be happy whil&s;t thou liv'&s;t and ble&s;t in thy Po&s;terity. Thou &s;halt live in Peace and Honour, enjoying lawful Plea&s;ure, and dye in a good old Age, lamented by all the World, to receive eternal Recompence in Heaven. The&s;e are the Precepts which I give thee in reference to thy Reputation, and the Salvation of thy Soul. And now I &s;hall in&s;truct thee in what con|cerns thy Per&s;on, and the Government of thy Family.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="10" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="486" REF="262">
<HEAD>CHAP. X.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Being a Continuation of <HI>Don Quixote's</HI> In&s;tructions to <HI>Sancho.</HI></HEAD>
<P>I Would fain know now whether there be any Man living that had heard this profound Di&s;cour&s;e, but would have thought our Knight not only to have been a Per&s;on of mo&s;t Excellent Morals, but of great Prudence and Po|licy: Only this damn'd <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI> &s;poil'd all, the very &s;mell of a Ro|mance put him quite be&s;ide his Rea&s;on, and di&s;located the whole Frame of his Under&s;tanding. As for his Oeconomics, they were not indeed of that Importance as his Politicks, only they &s;hew'd us, that he had an In&s;ight into the mo&s;t minute of Family Duties. To which purpo&s;e he thus pro|ceeded.</P>
<P>As for the Government of thy Hou&s;e and thy own Per&s;on, my fir&s;t Ad|monition, <HI>Sancho,</HI> is, to go neat and cleanly; to keep thy Nails par'd, and not to let 'em grow like <HI>Or&s;on</HI> the Brother of <HI>Valentine,</HI> who was the mo&s;t na&s;ty and &s;lovenly <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> that ever was i' the World, as having been bred and &s;uckl'd by a Bear: and therefore de&s;ervedly Expung'd out of the Roll.</P>
<P>Never appear in publick with thy Knee&s;trings unty'd, and thy Doublet unbutton'd, as if thou had&s;t been drunk over Night. 'Tis an affected Neg|ligence that will but render thee de&s;picable.</P>
<P>Examin carefully what thy Revenues amount to by the Year, and if they will afford thee &s;ufficient to put thy Servants in Liveries, let 'em be decent and la&s;ting, not for Gaudy Pomp and &s;hew; and for the Overplus of thy Thrift, expend it upon the Poor. If thy E&s;tate will afford thee &s;ix Lacqueys, keep no more then three, and let 'em be Poor Orphans; for by that means thou &s;halt have three Lacqueys in Heaven, as well as upon Earth, which they &s;hall never have that hunt only after vain Glory.</P>
<P>Never defile thy Breath with Onions and Garlick, le&s;t People judge of thy former Condition, and the Ru&s;ticity of thy Manners by the &s;cent of thy Mouth.</P>
<P>Let thy Pace be grave, and thy Speech compos'd; yet not mumbling to thy &s;elf and as it were whi&s;pring i' thy own Ears; for Affectation is Ridiculous.</P>
<P>Eat little at Dinner, and le&s;s at Supper; for the Health of the Body con|&s;i&s;ts in not overcharging thy Stomach.</P>
<P>Be moderate in thy Cups, con&s;idering that exce&s;&s;ive Drinking neither keeps a Secret, nor ob&s;erves any promi&s;e.</P>
<P>Never &s;hew thy &s;elf greedy in Eating; and above all things have a care of <HI>Eructation</HI> before People. That's a hard word, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I don't un|der&s;tand it. That is, reply'd <HI>Don Quxote,</HI> have a care of Belching, which is one of the mo&s;t na&s;ty Words in our Language, tho very &s;ignificant; and therefore I made u&s;e of the <HI>Latin</HI> Word <HI>Eructation,</HI> which is much more cleanly. Upon my Life, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I &s;hall be &s;ure to remember this Ad|monition; for 'twas a Cu&s;tom I had got, to <HI>Belch</HI> very frequently. Fye, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> you mu&s;t not &s;ay <HI>Belch,</HI> but <HI>Eruct.</HI> Well&mdash; quo <HI>Sancho, Eruct</HI> then let it be; tho 'tis a Plaguie Cramp Word, I wi&s;h I may be able to think oupn it.</P>
<P>In the next place have a care of mixing &s;uch a Hodg-podge of Proverbs in thy Common di&s;cour&s;e; for tho they are Conci&s;e and Pithy &s;ayings, yet thou drag&s;t 'em &s;o often by the Hair, that they &s;eem to be rather
<PB N="487" REF="262"> Extravagancies then Maximes. God alone can remedy that, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> for I have a Church Bible full; and they throng &s;o thick, when I talk, to my Teeth, that they quarrel which &s;hall get out fir&s;t; &s;o that my Tongue is forc'd to let go the fir&s;t that comes, tho it be nothing to the purpo&s;e. But I &s;hall take care for the Future to make u&s;e of no more then become the Grandeur of my Imployment. <HI>For in a Rich mans Hou&s;e the Cloath is always layd&mdash;and 'tis a hard Winter when one Wolf eats another&mdash;Scratch my Breech and I'le claw your Elbow&mdash; Money will do more then my Lords Letter&mdash; In giving and taking there is no mi&s;taking&mdash; More to do with one Jackanapes, then all the Bears.</HI>&mdash;</P>
<P>Courage&mdash; hone&s;t friend, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> too't agen, there's no body coming, <HI>My Mother whips me, and I whip the Gigg.</HI> I am correcting thee for a confounded Proverb monger as thou art, and here thou &s;pew&s;t me up a whole Legend of Proverbs, as much to the purpo&s;e, as to give a Goo&s;e Hay. A Proverb is not ami&s;s when pertinent, but dragg'd in by head and Shoulders, renders Conver&s;ation trouble&s;ome, and tyres human Patience.</P>
<P>Be not a &s;lave to thy Bed; for he that ri&s;es not with the Sun, lo&s;es &s;o much Day-light. And I mu&s;t tell thee, Diligence is the Mother of good Fortune, but Sloath brings a Man to Beggary.</P>
<P>Thus <HI>Sancho,</HI> I have be&s;tow'd upon thee the be&s;t In&s;tructions I could call to mind; I might think of others perhaps, but the Time and Sea&s;on will not permit me. And I'me afraid I ha' giv'n thee more already then thou art able to barrel up in thy &s;hallow Memory.</P>
<P>All the&s;e In&s;tructions, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I do believe i' my Con&s;cience to be extreamly profitable as well for this Life as for the next; but what good will they do one, if I &s;hould forget 'em? 'Tis true, that as for the paring my Nails, and marrying agen, if it &s;hould ever be my good luck to be a Widower, they will never out of my Mind; but as for that other Gallimau|frey, and fardel of Stories and Flimflams, I &s;hall no more remember 'em then the Clouds of la&s;t Year, unle&s;s you give 'em me in writing, for my Confe&s;&s;our to read 'em to me, when I have occa&s;ion; for you know I can nei|ther write nor read my &s;elf. Oh&mdash;<HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> what a Gover|nour, and neither write nor read! For certainly, for a Man to be &s;o Illiterate, and to be Left-handed, argues that either his Parents were very poor and mean, or that the Son was &s;uch a Blockheaded thick-Scul'd Dunce, that no Learning would enter his Brains. Poor Soul, I pity thee&mdash; for &s;hame therefore, <HI>Sancho,</HI> learn at lea&s;t to write thy Name. I can &s;et my Name already, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> that is to &s;ay, my Mark; I learnt to do it when I was Churchwarden of our Pari&s;h, and gave in my Account in Round O's that &s;tood for Shillings. Be&s;ides, I may pretend that my right Hand is lame, and let another &s;ign for me; for there is a remedy for all things but Death; and having the Power i' my own hands, I may do what I plea&s;e. <HI>Let 'em handle and &s;ee, and then they'l be &s;atisfy'd&mdash; I de&s;ire no Man to buy a Pig in a Poke&mdash; They buy Honey too dear that lick it off the Brambles&mdash; When God intends a Man a kindne&s;s he comes to his Hou&s;e</HI>&mdash; The Follies of the Rich pa&s;s for Sentences i' the World. So that when I come to be a Gover|nour, and con&s;equently Rich, and Liberal withal, there's no Man will dare to que&s;tion what I do. <HI>Daub your &s;elf with Honey and you'll never want Flies&mdash; What a Man has, &s;o much he's &s;ure of,</HI> cry'd my Old Grandmother&mdash; <HI>Who &s;hall hang the Bell about the Cats Neck&mdash; Muzzled Dogs never bite&mdash; Where e're a Man dwells he &s;hall be &s;ure of a Thorn-bu&s;h neer his own Door&mdash; But 'tis good farting before a Mans own Fire&mdash; A good Stomach is the be&s;t Sauce&mdash; And a &s;calded Cat&mdash;.</HI></P>
<PB N="488" REF="263">
<P>Accurs'd of Heaven, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> interrupting him, &s;eventy thou|&s;and <HI>Belzebubs</HI> take thee, and thy Proverb-Ma&s;ter together&mdash; this hour ha&s;t thou been tormenting me with thy Proverbs; but if the&s;e Proverbs don't bring thee to the Gallows I am no fal&s;e Prophet. I wonder where the Devil thou ha&s;t 'em all&mdash; for to &s;peak One to the purpo&s;e, it makes me Sweat Mill-&s;tones. Why now by my Life, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> you are as Angry as a Cook, for ju&s;t nothing&mdash; for who do I wrong in making u&s;e of my own? My E&s;tate lyes in Proverbs&mdash; nor do I borrow from any bo|dy&mdash; and i' good faith I had four coming out as pat to the purpo&s;e as Mu&s;tard to a Sawcidge; but I'le keep 'em between my Teeth now I think on't, for <HI>Sancho</HI> has always had the Reputation of a Clo&s;e-Mouth'd Squire. <HI>Sancho</HI> the Clo&s;e-mouth'd! cry'd <HI>Don Quixote, Sancho</HI> the Babler, and <HI>Sancho</HI> the Coxcomb, thou mean&s;t&mdash; but <HI>Sirrah,</HI> what Proverbs were tho&s;e thou bragg&s;t of &s;o pat to the purpo&s;e? tell me but one, and I'le forgive thee all the Re&s;t&mdash;Why, what four Proverbs would you have better then the&s;e? Fir&s;t, <HI>An Humble-Bee in a Cowturd thinks him&s;elf a King</HI>&mdash; and agen, <HI>He that Thatches his Hou&s;e with a Turd &s;hall ha' more Teachers then Reachers</HI>&mdash; And agen, <HI>The Hor&s;e thinks one thing, and he that rides him another</HI>&mdash; And agen, <HI>Tickle my Throat with a Feather and make a Fool of my Stomach.</HI> What a de|kins ayls yee, <HI>would yee have better Bread then is made of Wheat? They that &s;o ea&s;ily &s;ee a Mote in another Mans Eye, &s;hould do well to take out the Beam i' their own, le&s;t the Pot call the Kettle Black-ar&s;e.</HI> Now have I rais'd the Devil, and there's no laying him, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> however this is my Comfort, I ha' done my duty like a Man of Honour, and di&s;charg'd my Con&s;cience. God direct thee <HI>Sancho,</HI> and may his Providence pre&s;erve thee, and deliver me from tho&s;e fears that continually di&s;turb me, le&s;t thou &s;hould&s;t ruin this poor I&s;land, and &s;ink in the Ruins; which however I may prevent by di&s;covering in time to the Duke what thou art; a meer Swag-belly, laden with Proverbs and Corruption.</P>
<P>Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> if you think me not fit to do the Duty of a good Go|vernour, I am ready to quit my preten&s;ions without proceeding any far|ther. Alas! the lea&s;t part of my Soul, tho no bigger then a poynt of a Needle, is far dearer to me, then the Guts and Garbage with which you upbraid me, and I hope I &s;hall live Plain <HI>Sancho,</HI> with a Mor&s;el of Bread and an Onion as contentedly, as Governour <HI>Sancho</HI> upon Phea&s;ants and Turkeys. For all Men are equal i' the Grave and when they're a&s;leep; Rich and Poor, High and Low. Only I de&s;ire your Wor&s;hip to remember who put this Go|vernment into my Head. For I knew what belong'd to I&s;lands and Gover|nours no more then an Oy&s;ter; &s;o that if you believe the Devil will have the Governour, I had rather go <HI>Sancho</HI> to Paradi&s;e, then Governour to Hell.</P>
<P>In Truth <HI>Sancho,</HI> the&s;e la&s;t Pious Expre&s;&s;ions of thine de&s;erve the Go|vernment of a hunder'd I&s;lands. Thou art naturally well di&s;pos'd to Ver|tue, without which Knowledge little avails. Recommend thy &s;elf to God, and above all things beware of &s;werving from uprightne&s;s of Intention: For Heaven never fails to favour good de&s;igns; and &s;o lets go and wait up|on their Excellencies; for I believe 'tis now neer Supper time.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="11" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="489" REF="263">
<HEAD>CHAP. XI.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">How <HI>Sancho</HI> went to take Po&s;&s;e&s;&s;ion of his I&s;land; and of the &s;trange Adventure that befel <HI>Don Quixote</HI> in the Ca&s;tle.</HEAD>
<P><HI>DON Quixote</HI> after he had &s;upp'd, wrote down the In&s;tructions which he had given <HI>Sancho,</HI> and deliver'd 'em into his Hands. But it was not long after <HI>Sancho</HI> had receiv'd the Paper before he as careles&s;ly dropt it; &s;o that it was taken up and carry'd to the Duke and the Dutche&s;s, who could not forbear admiring the Wit and Folly of the Knight. And to carry on a piece of &s;port that afforded them &s;o much content, they re&s;olv'd to &s;end away <HI>Sancho</HI> the &s;ame Evening to his pretended I&s;land. Now the Per&s;on that was order'd to accompany <HI>Sancho</HI> was the Dukes Steward, a Witty Man, and of a jocular Humour, and the &s;ame Per&s;on who had acted the part of the Counte&s;s of <HI>Three-Skirts;</HI> &s;o that by means of his copious Fancy, and the In&s;tructions which he had receiv'd from the Duke, he prov'd no le&s;s &s;uc|ce&s;sful in this then in the former Contrivance.</P>
<P>In the mean while <HI>Sancho</HI> having wi&s;tfully view'd the Stewards Face, perceiv'd at length that he extreamly re&s;embl'd the Counte&s;s of <HI>Three-Skirts,</HI> and turning to his Ma&s;ter, Sir, &s;aid he, the Devil mu&s;t immediate|ly carry me away from the place where I &s;tand, unle&s;s you will acknow|ledge the Dukes Steward to be Madam <HI>Sorrowful.</HI> Whereupon <HI>Don Quixote</HI> having exactly &s;urvey'd the Lineaments of his Face; why, <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;aid he, I &s;ee no rea&s;on why the Devil &s;hould be &s;o ha&s;ty to carry thee away; for tho there may be &s;ome Re&s;emblance between the Features of Madam <HI>Sor|rowful</HI> and the Steward, yet cannot the Steward be Madam <HI>Sorrowful;</HI> &s;ince it would imply a Contradiction. But 'tis no time now to di&s;pute this Affair, for fear of bringing an old Hou&s;e upon our Heads. All we have to do is to pray to God to deliver us from Sorcerers and wicked <HI>Necromancers.</HI> Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> you may think perhaps I je&s;t&mdash;upon my Life there's no &s;uch Matter. 'Tis not long &s;ince I heard the Steward &s;peak, and upon my Soul I thought I heard Madam <HI>Sorrowful</HI>'s Tongue. However I &s;hall &s;ay no more at pre&s;ent, but I will take more notice for the future, and trye whe|ther I cannot di&s;cover &s;omething that may give us more Light. That thou mai&s;t do, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and let me know what thou ha&s;t di&s;cover'd, and how thou &s;ucceed&s;t in thy Government.</P>
<P>At length the Hour of his departure being come, <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;et forward with a numerous Train, clad him&s;elf like a Judge in a long Gown of Wa|terd Camblet, and a Bonnet of the &s;ame Colour, and mounted upon a <HI>Spa|ni&s;h</HI> Genet, and attended by hone&s;t <HI>Grizzle,</HI> richly Capari&s;on'd, bridl'd and &s;addl'd like a Hor&s;e of State; upon whom <HI>Sancho</HI> ever and anon lookt back, &s;o well &s;atisfy'd with his own and <HI>Grizzle's</HI> Pomp, that he would not have chang'd Fortunes with the Emperour of <HI>Germany.</HI> Taking leave of the Duke and the Dutche&s;s he ki&s;s'd their Hands, and then ran to embrace his Ma&s;ters Knees, who gave Poor <HI>Sancho,</HI> whimpring at his Feet; his Benedicti|on with Tears in his Eyes.</P>
<P>Thus let the Noble Governour go in Peace; and now expect a Bu&s;hel of Laughter when yee come to hear how he behav'd him&s;elf in his Employ|ment. In the mean time it will not be ami&s;s to under&s;tand how <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;pent the Night after he had parted with his faithful Squire. At
<PB N="490" REF="264"> which, they that cannot laugh out-right, may be pleas'd to draw the Cur|tains of their Lips like Monkeys and &s;hew their Teeth; for I mu&s;t tell yee the famous Atchievments of <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> are to be recounted either with Admiration, or as provocatives to Laughter.</P>
<P>The Story relates, that after <HI>Sancho</HI>'s departure, &s;o &s;oon as <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was alone by him&s;elf; he would fain have recall'd him, to the depriving him of his Government, had it been po&s;&s;ible. But the Dutche&s;s di&s;covering him to look like a Dog that had lo&s;t his Tail, why &s;o Melancholy my Lord <HI>Don Quixote?</HI> quo &s;he. If it be for the lo&s;s of your Squire, I have Squires and Dam&s;els enow, that will &s;erve yee with all the re&s;pect and diligence imagi|nable. I confe&s;s, Madam, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I do mi&s;s my Companion, poor <HI>Sancho,</HI> already; but that is not all that wrings me under the Withers; and therefore as your favours have been hitherto beyond mea&s;ure, &s;o I be&s;eech your Lady&s;hip to permit me that in my own Chamber I may enjoy my So|liloquies, and Contemplations alone by my &s;elf. By no means, quo the Dutche&s;s, I have four Dam&s;els that &s;hall attend yee, as fre&s;h as May Flowers. Such Flowers, Madam, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> will be but as Thornes i' my Soul, and therefore Madam, I be&s;eech yee, let me be troubl'd with no &s;uch Flowers nor Flower-pots i' my Chamber: I will ra|ther lye i' my Cloaths, then &s;uffer any of your Flowry Dam&s;els to &s;ee me Naked. I'le only lock the Chamber Door, and that &s;hall &s;erve me for a Barricado between my De&s;ires and my Cha&s;tity.</P>
<P>'Tis enough, reply'd the Dutche&s;s, &s;ince you will not have it &s;o, there's not &s;o much as a Flie &s;hall enter your Chamber if I can help it: I would not willingly tran&s;gre&s;s the Laws of Civility; e&s;pecially con&s;idering that among all the re&s;t of your Vertues, there is none in which you pride your &s;elf as in your Mode&s;ty. Therefore dre&s;s and undre&s;s, as you plea&s;e your &s;elf&mdash; only you &s;hall have all things nece&s;&s;ary carry'd up into your Cham|ber, that you may not be forc'd to ri&s;e in your Shirt to call for the lea&s;t Trifle. And may the Peerle&s;s <HI>Dulcinea</HI> live a thou&s;and Ages, and may her Fame be &s;pread over all the Earth, &s;ince &s;he has the happine&s;s to be belov'd by &s;uch a Cha&s;t and Loyal Knight: and Heaven incline our Governour <HI>San|cho Pancha</HI>'s Heart to put a &s;peedy end to his Penance, that the World may no longer be depriv'd of &s;o much Beauty. 'Tis your Pencil, Madam, re|ply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that gives the la&s;t Touches to <HI>Dulcinea's</HI> Merit&mdash; For being prais'd by tho&s;e Charming Lips of yours, &s;he mu&s;t needs become more known, and more e&s;teem'd in the World, then if all the Orators i' the Earth had employ'd all their Rhetorick in her Commendations. I can|not &s;peak too much, reply'd the Dutche&s;s; and indeed what Language can &s;uffice to prai&s;e a Creature &s;o Cele&s;tial, who&s;e Vertues are above all Imi|tation?&mdash; But Supper &s;taies, and 'tis but rea&s;on you &s;hould refre&s;h your &s;elf, &s;ince you cannot but be very weary after your tedious Journey to <HI>Can|daya.</HI> I prote&s;t, Madam, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I feel no &s;uch thing, and I can &s;afely &s;wear to your Excellency, that in my Life, I never rid a more ea&s;ie going Nag then gentle <HI>Screw-Peg.</HI> I wonder i' my Heart what came into <HI>Malambrunes</HI> Pate, to lend out &s;uch a plea&s;ant Bea&s;t, and then to &s;plit him in pieces when he had done. I am apt to believe, quo the Dutche&s;s, &s;ome qualm of Repentance came over his Con&s;cience for having injur'd the Coun|te&s;s of <HI>Three-Skirts,</HI> and the re&s;t of her Companions; and for many other Villanies he had committed as a <HI>Necromancer;</HI> and therefore he re&s;olv'd to de&s;troy all the In&s;truments of his illegal Arts, e&s;pecially <HI>Screw-Peg,</HI> that gave him &s;o many opportunities of doing Mi&s;chief; or el&s;e perhaps not deeming him worthy to carry any other Per&s;on, after his having been be&s;trid by the renowned <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha.</HI></P>
<PB N="491" REF="264">
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> a &s;econd time return'd the Dutche&s;s thanks, and after Sup|per retir'd to his Chamber, not &s;uffering any living Soul to attend him, &s;o timorous he was of giving the lea&s;t Crack to that Fidelity which he had wholly dedicated to his Mi&s;tre&s;s <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> taking for his Rule of Imitation the Con&s;tancy and Fidelity of the Great <HI>Amadis de Gaul,</HI> the Mirrour of all <HI>Knights-Errant.</HI></P>
<P>He lockt the Door therefore, and made him&s;elf unready by the light of two &s;earing Candles, that were &s;et up in his Chamber. But oh! the di&s;mal Misfortune that befel him in pulling off his Breeches, nere before ob&s;erv'd to have ever befallen a Knight of his Quality. For &s;training to pull off one of his Stockins, he tore a great hole i' the Seam behind, above a Quarter of a yard long. And then it was that he took mo&s;t impatiently the Ab&s;ence of his Squire, and would have given all the Shoes in his Shop for a Skain of Green Silk.</P>
<P>Here <HI>Benengeli</HI> could not forbear exclaiming, O Poverty, Poverty! which makes me wonder at that &s;ame Goo&s;cap of a Water-Poet that call'd thee a <HI>Sacred Pre&s;ent.</HI> I have learn'd indeed from the Chri&s;tians, that Holine&s;s con&s;i&s;ts in Humility, in Faith, in Obedience, in Charity and Poverty. All which I acknowledge for Truth: But I am apt to believe that this &s;ame Po|verty which is number'd among the Vertues, is only that Poorne&s;s in Spirit, by which we are taught to make u&s;e of our Riches as if we had 'em not, and not that indigency of every thing, which every Hour cau&s;es us to feel nece&s;&s;ity. Cruel Nece&s;&s;ity! Why do&s;t thou trouble the repo&s;e of Men of Honour? Why do&s;t thou con&s;train 'em to their Shifts, and to &s;et the be&s;t Foot forwards? Why do&s;t thou enforce a Knight to mend the only Stockins that he has i' the World, without being able to buy another pair? Con|temptible Poverty, what is Honour in Rags? How &s;illy does a Knight of the <HI>Sun</HI> look, when you may di&s;cover a League off the Darns of his Ho&s;e, the Patches upon his Cloak, the Sweat of his Forhead &s;oakt through his Ru&s;ty Ca&s;tor, and the very hunger of his fami&s;ht Stomach?</P>
<P>The&s;e Reflections enter'd <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s thoughts, when he tore his Stoc|kin, and he mu&s;t have lain abed the next day like a Gentleman of <HI>Furni|val</HI>'s <HI>Inn,</HI> had not <HI>Sancho</HI> left him a pair of Riding Boots, which he re|&s;olv'd to put on, to conceal his Di&s;a&s;ter.</P>
<P>At length full of unquiet and trouble&s;om thoughts, he compos'd him&s;elf to re&s;t; but <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Ab&s;ence, and the Heat of the Weather would not per|mit him. Up he got therefore walk'd about the Room in his Shirt, and then to let in the cool Air he open'd a Window that look'd into the Garden, where he overheard two Females talking together. Says one to the other, why d' yee de&s;ire me to &s;ing, who ever &s;ince this Stranger came to the Ca|&s;tle, have had more cau&s;e to weep, then to be chanting of Carols? Be&s;ides, thou know&s;t, my Lady is very wakeful, and I would not for all the Gold i' the World &s;he &s;hould find us here. But grant &s;he &s;hould &s;leep as fa&s;t as a Dormou&s;e, what would my Singing avail me, if this &s;ame Dangerous <HI>Eneas,</HI> that is come to trouble my repo&s;e, &s;hould be &s;noring at the &s;ame time, and not hear the &s;ound of my Complaints, nor the &s;ad occa&s;ion of my di&s;tur|bances. Never let &s;uch idle thoughts as the&s;e put a Cork i' thy Windpipe, my dear <HI>Joan Tomboy,</HI> reply'd Mi&s;tre&s;s <HI>Gilian a Croyden</HI> (for &s;o were the two Dam&s;els call'd) I'le warrant thee for a <HI>Graves-End-Toa&s;t,</HI> that all the re&s;t of the Hou&s;e are fa&s;t i' their Ne&s;ts, but only the Lord of thy Heart: for, if I mi&s;take not, I heard him open his Window. Therefore never be afraid to &s;ing, my dear Si&s;ter; it may be thy &s;weet Voice and thy Lute together may charm his Adamant Soul, and bring him to thy Lure. Oh!
<PB N="492" REF="265"> my dear <HI>Gilian a Croyden,</HI> reply'd <HI>Joan Tomboy,</HI> there is &s;omething more i' the Ca&s;e then thou dream&s;t of&mdash; for I'm afraid le&s;t my Complaints &s;hould di&s;cover the thoughts of my Heart, and then they that know not the force of Love will take me for a light and indi&s;creet Hu&s;&s;ie. But it behoves me to gratifie thy humour, tho it co&s;t me a little &s;hame to &s;eek the remedy of my tormenting Pains. And &s;o &s;aying &s;he took her Lute and touch'd it to a wonder.</P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> was ravi&s;h'd with what he had heard, and at the &s;ame Moment call'd to mind all that he had read of &s;uch like Adventures, and pre&s;ently fancy'd that &s;ome one of the Dutche&s;&s;es Dam&s;els was fall'n in Love with him; but fearing the danger his Fidelity was in, he prepar'd to re&s;i&s;t all manner of Temptation; and &s;o recommending him&s;elf to his Peer|le&s;s <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> he thought him&s;elf &s;ufficiently guarded, and re&s;olv'd to hear the Mu&s;ick. To which purpo&s;e, as he &s;tood, he fain'd a kind of Sneeze, to let 'em under&s;tand he was awake; which was Nuts to the Ladies, who de|&s;ir'd nothing more: And then Mrs. <HI>Tomboy</HI> thus began.</P>
<Q><LG>
<L>THou that from Ten to Ten &s;leep&s;t on,</L>
<L>With Legs &s;tretch'd out 'twixt Holland Sheets;</L>
<L>Regardle&s;s of my Doleful moan,</L>
<L>And Likelyhood to lo&s;e my Wits.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>So Sweet, &s;o Gentle, Mild and Calm,</L>
<L>Renowned Knight in <HI>Mancha</HI> born,</L>
<L>A Peck of Gold and Quart of Balme</L>
<L>I'de &s;quander, to buy off thy Scorn.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Oh hear the &s;hrill and woful Cries</L>
<L>Of Lady drowned all in Tears;</L>
<L>With thy Alluring Boar-pig's Eyes</L>
<L>In Love, in Love up to the Ears.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Whil&s;t Thou run'&s;t rambling up and down,</L>
<L>O're Mountains, Forre&s;ts, Hills and Dales;</L>
<L>Thy Rigour at a di&s;tance wounds,</L>
<L>For which, no Remedy but failes.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Tell me, O tell me, Heart of Oak</L>
<L>What Savage Mon&s;ter brought thee forth?</L>
<L>Did&s;t thou de&s;cend from Scorpions Womb,</L>
<L>The Prodigie of <HI>Lybian</HI> Earth?</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Or wer't thou lickt by <HI>Greenland</HI> Bear?</L>
<L>Or el&s;e begot by Dragon Father?</L>
<L>No, no, &s;ome Serpent &s;uckled thee</L>
<L>Or Panther of the De&s;ert, rather.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Oh <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> what did&s;t Thou</L>
<L>To vanqui&s;h this &s;ame Savage Tiger?</L>
<L>The &s;ecrets tell; I'le try 'em all,</L>
<L>Were they Ten thou&s;and Millions, by Gar.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<PB N="493" REF="265">
<L>Well mai'&s;t thou boa&s;t thy charming Eyes,</L>
<L>That &s;uch a Conque&s;t ha&s;t obtaind;</L>
<L>For &s;uch a dangerous Bea&s;t as this</L>
<L>Was never by <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> tam'd.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Surrender but thy Right to Me,</L>
<L>I'le fairly give thee in Exchange</L>
<L>My be&s;t Embroider'd Petticoat,</L>
<L>Or t'other with a Golden Fringe.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Genteel and Lovely Son of <HI>Mars,</HI></L>
<L>How happy &s;hould I be to ki&s;s</L>
<L>Thy Velvet Nerves, and Skin that &s;mells</L>
<L>Like <HI>Album-Graecum-Ambergreece.</HI></L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>But &s;tay fond Heart, whether &s;o fa&s;t?</L>
<L>Thou art too ha&s;ty by my Truth;</L>
<L>For &s;uch a Mor&s;el &s;o divine</L>
<L>Was never made to plea&s;e thy Tooth.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Would&s;t thou but &s;pare my dear <HI>Adonis</HI></L>
<L>Thy longing Captive one Nights Lodging,</L>
<L>I have a hunder'd Curious Toys</L>
<L>Which I would give thee without dodging.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>A fine white Beaver and a Feather,</L>
<L>A Silver Sword and Scarlet Cloak;</L>
<L>A Watch and Pendents for thy Ears,</L>
<L>And Guinies always i' thy Poak.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>I'le look thy Head and comb thy Hair,</L>
<L>And come and &s;it upon thy Knee;</L>
<L>Thou &s;halt be my <HI>Marck Antony;</HI></L>
<L>Thy <HI>Cleopatra</HI> I will be.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Alas, in vain I make my Moans</L>
<L>To one that pity's not my &s;mart;</L>
<L>The Cruel Nero laughs to &s;ee</L>
<L>The Conflagration of my Heart.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>And yet my Years might pity move,</L>
<L>For I am young and very fair;</L>
<L>A Maid upon my Honour too;</L>
<L>And not above Eighteen, I'le &s;wear.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>No Bulru&s;h &s;treighter then my &s;elf,</L>
<L>Nor any &s;lenderer in the Wa&s;te;</L>
<L>And for my Hair, more bright then Gold,</L>
<L>It hangs an Ell below my Bre&s;t.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>No glittering Topaz e're out-&s;hind</L>
<L>The dazle of my &s;parkling Eyes;</L>
<L>Then knowing what the Proverb &s;ays,</L>
<L>Gue&s;s by the Proverb at my Thighs.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<PB N="494" REF="266">
<L>Be&s;ides, if thou ha&s;t heard my Voice,</L>
<L>I need not tell thee how I &s;ing;</L>
<L>Thou mu&s;t conclude it better far</L>
<L>Then any Nightingales in Spring.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>I have a thou&s;and other Gifts,</L>
<L>Which I omit for want of Time;</L>
<L>And therefore if thy Heart be good,</L>
<L>Say but the word, <HI>Joan Tomboy's</HI> thine.</L>
</LG></Q>
<P>Thus the Inamour'd Madam <HI>Tomboy</HI> having put up her Pipes, the Indifferent Knight, after he had fetch'd a profound Sigh, what Squint-ey'd Con&s;tellati|on &s;cowld upon me at my Birth, &s;aid he, that no Dam&s;el can look upon me but &s;he mu&s;t fall in Love? And thou tran&s;cendent, yet unfortunate <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o,</HI> how ha&s;t thou offended Heaven that will not let thee enjoy my Con&s;tancy in Peace? Why &s;hould Empre&s;&s;es per&s;ecute her? And why &s;hould Dam&s;els of Fifteen thus &s;tudy to di&s;turb her? Oh&mdash; leave her to en|joy to her &s;elf the Pre&s;ent which Love has made her, in &s;ubduing to her alone, my Heart and Soul. Avaunt Impertinent Crew, for I declare 'tis on|ly for her &s;ake I live; for her alone my Heart is altogether Marchpane and Sugar-Plums, but to all Womankind be&s;ide meer Flint and Bra&s;s&mdash; To her I am Honey, to others bitter Aloes. In <HI>Dulcinea</HI> only there is Beauty, Di|&s;cretion, Debonairne&s;s, Mode&s;ty and Nobility of Birth. All other Wo|men are to me deformed, Fooli&s;h, meer <HI>Town-Cracks,</HI> and meanly de&s;cen|ded. Let Mrs. <HI>Joan Tomboy</HI> &s;ing or weep; let her Heart harbour vain de&s;ires, live in hopes or dye in de&s;pair; let all tho&s;e Ladies, the Cau&s;es of my for|mer Torments, arm in their Enchanted Ca&s;tles, all the Powers of Hell in their Revenge, I live for <HI>Dulcinea</HI>'s &s;ake alone, and her Adorer will I dye, mauger all the Sorceries and Inchantments i' the World. And having thus offer'd this Oblation of his Soul to his Mi&s;tre&s;s, he clapt to the Window, and flung him&s;elf into his Bed with &s;o much Indignation, as if he had re|ceiv'd &s;ome terrible Affront. Where we mu&s;t leave him a while to his Meditations, in regard the Great <HI>Sancho Pancha</HI> calls us now to be Witne&s;|&s;es of the happy Commencement of his Reign.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="12" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">How the Famous <HI>Sancho Pancha</HI> took po&s;&s;e&s;&s;ion of his I&s;land, and how he behav'd him&s;elf in his Government.</HEAD>
<P>O Thou perpetual Surveyour of the <HI>Antipodes,</HI> Torch to the World, and Eye of Heaven; Here <HI>Timbrius</HI> call'd, there <HI>Phoebus,</HI> in one place an Archer, in another a Phy&s;ician, Father of Poe&s;ie, and Inventor of Mu&s;ick: Thou that art always in Motion, never at re&s;t, thee I implore, O Sun, by who&s;e a&s;&s;i&s;tance Men beget Men to the end of the Chapter; thee I be&s;eech to in&s;pire me, and quicken my dull Brains, that &s;o I may be able to give a ju&s;t and faithful accompt of the Great <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Actions, who ra|ther de&s;erves a <HI>Homer,</HI> a <HI>Virgil,</HI> a <HI>Ta&s;&s;o,</HI> or an <HI>Ario&s;to,</HI> to celebrate his Fame, &amp;c.</P>
<PB N="495" REF="266">
<P><HI>Sancho</HI> had not travell'd long with his Train and his Equipage aformen|tion'd, before he arriv'd at a &s;mall Town, containing about a thou&s;and In|habitants; being one of the be&s;t within the Dukes Territories. This they pre&s;ently told him was call'd the I&s;land of <HI>Barattaria</HI> or <HI>Cheap-&s;ide,</HI> and had therefore this Name given it, becau&s;e his Government co&s;t him &s;o little. So &s;oon as he came to the Gates the Inhabitants were drawn up in Arms to receive him; the People &s;houted, the Bells rang, the Conduits pi&s;s'd Wine, and the new Governour was hois'd up like a Relique upon a &s;tout Wine-Porters Shoulders, and &s;o attended to the Great Church, where after the performance of &s;ome Ridiculous Ceremonies, the Keys of the Gates were pre&s;ented him, and &s;o he was &s;worn perpetual Governour of the I&s;land of <HI>Barataria</HI> or <HI>Cheap-&s;ide.</HI></P>
<P>In the mean time the Air, the Meen, the thick Beard, the Tunbelly'd, Crump&s;houlder'd &s;hape of the new Governour, &s;trangely &s;urpriz'd all tho&s;e that knew nothing of the Contrivance, in&s;omuch that they who were ac|quainted with it could hardly believe their own Eyes.</P>
<P>From Church they carry'd him to the Court of Ju&s;tice; where &s;o &s;oon as he had taken his Seat, the Steward making him a low Obey&s;ance; Sir, &s;aid he, 'tis an ancient Cu&s;tom, that when ever any Governour takes po&s;|&s;e&s;&s;ion of an I&s;land, he is bound to unriddle &s;ome difficult Que&s;tions that is propounded to him, to the end that by his An&s;wer, the People may judge of his Abilities, and whether they have rea&s;on to rejoyce or be &s;orry for his coming. All the while the Steward was Speaking, <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Eyes were fixt upon a Writing upon the Wall over again&s;t his Seat in great Letters, which becau&s;e he could not read, he ask'd the next that &s;tood by him, what was the meaning of tho&s;e Pictures upon the Wall? Sir, &s;aid they, 'tis only a Memorandum to let Po&s;terity know when you took Po&s;&s;e&s;&s;ion of this I&s;land.</P>
<Q>This day being &s;uch a day of the Month, in &s;uch a Year, The Lord <HI>Don Sancho Pancha</HI> took Po&s;&s;e&s;&s;ion of this I&s;land: May he enjoy it many Years in all Pro&s;perity.</Q>
<P>Pray who is he, cry'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> whom they call <HI>Don Sancho Pancha?</HI> Your Lord&s;hip, my Lord, reply'd the Steward, for never any other <HI>Pancha</HI> then your &s;elf &s;ate where you &s;it, before. Pray friend, take notice, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> that I' di&s;own the name of <HI>Don;</HI> my Name is <HI>Sancho Pancha,</HI> quick and &s;hort. My Fathers Name was <HI>Sancho,</HI> and my Grandfathers Name was <HI>Sancho,</HI> without any Addition of <HI>Dons,</HI> or <HI>Tons,</HI> or <HI>Cons</HI>&mdash; See the Vani|ty of Men; I'le warrant yee there are in this I&s;land as many <HI>Dons</HI> as Stones&mdash; But God hears me, &s;o God help me, let me but Govern the I&s;land four days, If I don't clear the I&s;land of the&s;e <HI>Dons,</HI> more offen&s;ive then &s;o many Fle&s;h-flies, I'le give yee my Mother for a Maid. And now Mr. <HI>Steward,</HI> let 'em ask me what Que&s;tion they plea&s;e, I'le an&s;wer 'em as well as I can; nor &s;hall it trouble me whether the People be glad or &s;orry.</P>
<P>At the &s;ame In&s;tant two Men came puffing and blowing into Court, the one clad like a Country Fellow, the other &s;eem'd to be a Taylour, both by his Aporn, and his Sci&s;&s;ars, which he carry'd in his Hand. My Lord, cry'd the Taylour, I be&s;eech your Lord&s;hip do me Ju&s;tice; ye&s;terday this Countryman came to my Shop; for under your Wor&s;hips Correction, I am a &s;worn Taylour, and by the permi&s;&s;ion of Heaven free of my Company; whereof, he deliver'd me a piece of Cloath, which he &s;aid was enough to make him a Cloak. Whereof, I lookt upon the Cloath, and an&s;wer'd
<PB N="496" REF="267"> him, an't plea&s;e your Wor&s;hip, &s;o it would. Now an't like your Wor&s;hip, he thought, as I am apt to believe, and perhaps he thought true, that I had a mind to &s;teal &s;ome of his Cloath, grounding his Conjecture upon the bad Opinion which the World generally has of us Taylours. Where|of, he bid me look again, and &s;ee whether there were not enough to make two? I &s;melt, an't like your Wor&s;hip, what the old Fox drove at, where|of, I an&s;wer'd him, yes, there was. Whereof, he pur&s;uing &s;till his fir&s;t de&s;ign, ask'd me again, whether 'twould make no more? Whereof, being &s;till willing to humour my Cu&s;tomer, I an&s;wer'd him all along, yes, and it would, till at length we agreed that the Cloath would make five Cloaks. Whereof, I made five Cloaks, and now the Cloaks are made, and I de&s;ire my Money, he will have me to pay him for his Cloath, or return it him agen.</P>
<P>Is this true, hone&s;t Friend? quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> yes an't plea&s;e yee my Lord, reply'd the Countryman&mdash; But pray my Lord, let him produce the Cloaks which he pretends he has made. With all my Heart, reply'd the Taylour; and &s;o &s;aying, he pull'd his Hand from under his Coat, and held up five leetle Cloaks, as if they had been for &s;o many <HI>Fairies,</HI> hanging as upon &s;o many Pins upon his Thumb and four Fingers; and before Heaven and upon my Con&s;cience, quo the Taylour, I have not wrong'd him of an Inch of his Cloath, and let any Workman be judg. Upon which there was &s;uch a Shout i' the Court, as if it had been at a Baudy Tryal.</P>
<P><HI>Sancho</HI> having ponder'd a while, Methinks, &s;aid he, this Complaint re|quires not &s;o much examination&mdash; and therefore the judgment of the Court is, that the Taylour &s;hall lo&s;e his making, the Countryman his Cloath, and that the Cloaks be divided among the poor Pri&s;oners. Upon which, there was as loud a Shout as before, and &s;o the Sentence was put in Execution.</P>
<P>After this there appear'd two very old Men, the one with a great Cane in his Hand, upon which he re&s;ted him&s;elf; and the other pre|&s;ently addre&s;&s;ing him&s;elf to <HI>Sancho,</HI> My Lord Governour, quo he, it is now &s;ome Months ago that I lent this Man in his Nece&s;&s;ity Ten Crowns in Gold, upon condition that he would pay me again when I ask'd him. I let him alone above a Year, becau&s;e I believ'd he had it not; but when I found that he never took any notice of the Debt, I askt him &s;everal times for my Money; But then he not only refus'd to pay me, but deny'd he ow'd me any; or if I had lent him any, that he had paid me already. Now becau&s;e I have no Witne&s;&s;es of the Loan, nor he of the Payment, I beg your Lord&s;hip to put him to his Oath, and if he will &s;wear he has paid me, I am contented to forgive him before God and all the World.</P>
<P>What &s;ay you to this, Grandfather? quo <HI>Sancho.</HI> Sir, reply'd the Old Man, I confe&s;s this Man did lend me Ten Crowns in Gold, and &s;ince he refers him&s;elf to my Oath, I am ready to &s;wear that I have truly and faith|fully repayd 'em. Pre&s;ently the Governour order'd him to lay his Hand upon the Book; at what time the Old Man giving his Cane to one of his Friends that &s;tood next him, as if it had encumber'd him, layd his Hand upon the Bible, and &s;wore that he had borrow'd the Ten Crowns, 'twas true; but that he had deliver'd 'em into the hands of that hone&s;t Man; which was the rea&s;on that his Creditor being paid by another, had forgot the repayment of the Money. Pre&s;ently the Governour ask'd the Credi|tor what he had to reply? Who made an&s;wer, that &s;ince the old Man had &s;worn it, he was bound to believe him as he was a Chri&s;tian, and ready to drop into his Grave, but that for certain he could not remember that ever he was payd. Thereupon the Debtor took his Cane agen, and after he had made a low obey&s;ance to the Judg, was trudging as fa&s;t as he could out of
<PB N="497" REF="267"> the Hall. But <HI>Sancho</HI> ob&s;erving the fellow's ha&s;te, and his taking care of his Cane, and admiring the Patience of the Creditor, after he had &s;tudy'd a while with his Fore-finger upon his No&s;e, of a &s;udden he order'd the Old Man to be fetch'd back agen; to whom, &s;o &s;oon as he return'd, Prithee friend, &s;aid he, let me &s;ee thy Cane a little? There 'tis, at your Service, an't plea&s;e your Wor&s;hip. <HI>Sancho</HI> took the Cane, and at the &s;ame time giving it the other Old Man, There, &s;aid he, hone&s;t friend, you are now payd, or I'me mi&s;taken. How &s;o, my Lord, reply'd the Old Man, d' yee think this Cane to be worth Ten Crowns in Gold? Or el&s;e, quo the Go|vernour, I am the greate&s;t fool alive; and now you &s;hall &s;ee whether I under&s;tand how to govern or no: Let the Cane be broken, added he. Pre|&s;ently the Cane was broken, and out dropt the Ten Crowns. Which &s;o &s;urpriz'd all the Beholders, that they look'd upon <HI>Sancho</HI> as another <HI>Solon</HI> of <HI>Greece,</HI> and ask'd him how he knew the Ten Crowns were in the Cane? Becau&s;e, &s;aid he, I perceiv'd the owner had put it into his Friends hands while he &s;wore, when he had no occa&s;ion &s;o to do; and when he had &s;worn pre&s;ently took it again, which made me believe he would never have &s;worn with &s;o much Confidence, a thing that the other &s;o po&s;itively deny'd, had he not been upon &s;ure Grounds. Thus the two old Men were di&s;|patch'd, the one to his full &s;atisfaction, the other with that &s;hame and ig|nominy that attended him to his Grave. In&s;omuch that the Regi&s;ter knew not what to think or what to do, believing it a great piece of Ab|&s;urdity to Regi&s;ter &s;o Wi&s;e a Per&s;on for a Fool.</P>
<P>By and by comes a Woman with all her force, haling along into Court a Man that lookt like a Farmer pretty well to pa&s;s. Ju&s;tice, My Lord Governour, Ju&s;tice, cry'd &s;he, and if I can't have it on Earth, I'le have it from Heaven&mdash; This wicked Fellow met me i' the Middle of a Field, and has had the full u&s;e of my Body; he has handl'd me wor&s;e then a Di&s;h-clout, and unfortunate as I am, has robb'd me of that which for above the&s;e three and twenty Years I have defended again&s;t Jews and Chri&s;tians, Natives and Forreigners: No Rock was ever &s;o Con&s;tant as I; nor <HI>Sala|mander</HI> i' the Fire ever &s;o Cha&s;t, till this &s;ame Fornicator with his na&s;ty baudy Fi&s;ts fir&s;t mumbl'd the Po&s;ie which I had &s;o long pre&s;erv'd. Woman, Woman, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> 'tis no matter whether your Gallant's Hands were na|&s;ty or clean&mdash; And then ca&s;ting a &s;cowling look upon the Farmer, he ask'd him what he had to &s;ay to the Womans Complaint. My Lord, re|ply'd the Countryman, looking all the while as if the Hangman had been at his Elbow, I am a poor Shepherd, that keep a Flock of Sheep hard by, and this Morning I went, under your Lord&s;hips Correction be it &s;poken, to &s;ell four Hogs, to pay my Taxes. As I was coming home agen, I met this Woman, and pre&s;ently the Devil enter'd my Codpeice. Truly my Lord, his Temptations were &s;o &s;trong, that he forc'd us to Yoak together, and I think I gave her that which would ha' given any rea&s;onable Woman content: Neverthele&s;s this Strong-dockt Beldame would never leave haw|ling and tugging me till &s;he brought me into Court; and now &s;he &s;ays I ravi&s;h'd her with a Pox to her, but by my Mothers Virginity &s;he lyes like a Quean as &s;he is. And this, as I hope for your Wor&s;hips Compa&s;&s;ion, is the whole Truth of the Story.</P>
<P>Ha&s;t thou any Money about thee hone&s;t Friend? quo <HI>Sancho.</HI> Yes, an't like your Wor&s;hip, about Twenty Crowns in a little Pur&s;e, and that's all&mdash;Give it the Woman, Money and all, quo <HI>Sancho.</HI> The Fellow did &s;o, but with a heavy Heart God wot. On the other &s;ide, the Woman having got the Pur&s;e in her Clutches, fell upon her Marrow-bones, and powr'd
<PB N="498" REF="268"> forth a thou&s;and Prayers for the pre&s;ent Felicity and future Happine&s;s of Mr. Governours Body and Soul, who took &s;uch pity upon di&s;tre&s;&s;ed Orphans and Widows; and &s;treightway tript out of Court. But then it was that <HI>Sancho</HI> commanded the Shepherd, who look'd like death to &s;ee the Departure of his Pur&s;e, to follow the Woman, take the Pur&s;e from her agen by main force, and bring it into Court. Nor was the Shepherd to be twice bid; away he flew like Lightning, and while all the People were gazing to &s;ee what would be the Event of this Judgment, the Woman and the Shep|herd return'd, &s;he tugging and he pulling, &s;he with her Petticoat tuckt up, and holding the Pur&s;e fa&s;t between her Legs, and he u&s;ing all the &s;trength he had to wre&s;t it from her. But the Woman defended her prize &s;o well, that all the Shepherds Manhood little avail'd. At length the Wo|man &s;etting up her Throat, cry'd out, Ju&s;tice, Ju&s;tice, My Lord; &s;ee this Impudent Varlet, that in the Face of the Court would rob me of the Pur&s;e which your Wor&s;hip gave me. And ha&s;t got it hone&s;t Friend? quo <HI>San|cho.</HI> Got it! quo the Woman, I'le fir&s;t lo&s;e all my Bowels and my Life to boot&mdash;Got it! not ten &s;uch Chitterlings as he, poor Peel Garlick as he is, &s;hall get it from me&mdash; Pincers, Mallets, Fire nor Flames &s;hall make me let go my hold; no not the Claws of a Lyon, tho they tore all the Fle&s;h from my Bones.</P>
<P>The Devil helps her, My Lord, I think, quo the Shepherd, the Jade's too &s;trong for me, and at the &s;ame time he let her go. Pre&s;ently, let me &s;ee the Pur&s;e, good Woman, cry'd the Governour; which the Woman had no &s;ooner reach'd him, but he return'd it to the Shepherd, &s;aying withal to the Woman, Mi&s;tre&s;s, Mi&s;tre&s;s, had you guarded your &s;elf this Morning from this Man, with half the &s;trength and courage as you defended your Pur&s;e, not twenty Men together could have been able to have forc'd a Cha&s;tity &s;o well fortify'd. Hence Harlot, hence, and let me find thee no more within &s;ix Leagues compa&s;s of this I&s;land, under the Penalty of two hunder'd good <HI>Bridewell</HI> La&s;hes; and let me hear no more. At which words away &s;neak'd the Woman with a flea in her Ear. <HI>Sancho</HI> al|&s;o bid the Shepherd get him home with his Money, advi&s;ing him withal, to take care another time of &s;porting with &s;uch Strumpets as the&s;e, unle&s;s he intended to lo&s;e not only his Pur&s;e, but &s;omething el&s;e to boot. The Coun|tryman thank'd him in the be&s;t Terms he could; and all the People &s;tood in Admiration of their new Governours Judgments, which his Regi&s;ter fail'd not to &s;end Po&s;t to the Duke, who expected their coming with no le&s;s impatience. And now let us &s;ee what becomes of <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who&s;e thoughts were all in a ferment, ever &s;ince he had heard the Amorous Com|plaint of Mrs. <HI>Joan Tomboy.</HI></P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="13" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XIII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Of the &s;trange Accident that befel <HI>Don Quixote</HI> while he was pondring upon Madam <HI>Joan Tomboy.</HI></HEAD>
<P>WE left the Great <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> as you have heard, not a little troubl'd in mind, perceiving him&s;elf &s;o affectionately belov'd by the young and tender Madam <HI>Joan Tomboy.</HI> He had thrown him&s;elf into his Bed, with the &s;ame Indignation as if he had receiv'd &s;ome affront at her
<PB N="499" REF="268"> Hands, &s;o that the Misfortune of his torn Stockin adding to his affliction, it was impo&s;&s;ible for him to take a wink of re&s;t. In the mean time the Sun having with his u&s;ual &s;wiftne&s;s vi&s;ited the other <HI>Hemi&s;phear,</HI> was now return'd again to our <HI>Horizon,</HI> at what time <HI>Don Quixote</HI> bouncing out of his Bed, put on his Cloaths, and drew on his riding Boots to conceal the want of his Ho&s;e. About his Shoulders he botton'd his Scarlet Cloak, and cover'd his Valiant Head with his Hat turn'd up a one &s;ide, and edg'd with a Silver Parchment Lace; not forgetting his broad Belt, nor to fa&s;ten his Ro&s;ary about his Wri&s;t, which he always carry'd about him: and thus ac|couter'd, away he march'd with his u&s;ual Gravity toward the Parlour, where the Duke and the Dutche&s;s were ready prepar'd to receive him.</P>
<P>But as he pa&s;s'd through a Gallery, he met the Beautiful Mrs. <HI>Joan Tom|boy</HI> and her friend, who waited for his coming in the pa&s;&s;age. So &s;oon as Ma|dam <HI>Joan</HI> perceiv'd the Knight, the Gip&s;ie pre&s;ently di&s;&s;embl'd a &s;wooning fit, and let her &s;elf fall into the Arms of her Companion, who pre&s;ently fell to unlacing her Stays, &s;eemingly to give her Air. At the &s;ame time <HI>Don Quixote</HI> approach'd, and without &s;hewing the lea&s;t Commotion, this &s;ignifies little, &s;aid he, I under&s;tand from whence &s;uch Accidents as the&s;e proceed. You know more then I do, reply'd the other Lady, for of all the Virgins in the World, I never knew any i' my Life that had her Health bet|ter then this Mrs. <HI>Joan;</HI> nor did I ever know her Finger ake before. The Cur&s;e of Cur&s;es light upon all <HI>Knighs-Errants</HI> in the World for me, if they are all &s;o Ingrateful, and Di&s;courteous as I imagin 'em to be. I be|&s;eech yee my Lord <HI>Don Quixote</HI> withdraw from hence, for this poor Lady will never come to her &s;elf &s;o long as you are in pre&s;ence. I be&s;eech yee, Madam, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> let there be a Lute left in my Chamber at Night, that I may endeavour the Con&s;olation of this Afflicted Lady; for in the beginning of an Amour, the mo&s;t Soveraign remedy is to di&s;co|ver the abu&s;e and vanity of that idle Pa&s;&s;ion. And &s;o &s;aying he made ha&s;te away, for fear of being found in that place alone with two young Dam|&s;els. So &s;oon as he was gone, Mrs. <HI>Joan</HI> for&s;ooth immediately came to her &s;elf, and bid her Companion be &s;ure to leave a Lute in <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Room, for that without doubt they &s;hould have &s;trange Mu&s;ick and rare Sport; and at the &s;ame time they went and told the Dutche&s;s what they had done, who overjoy'd at the occa&s;ion, immediately plotted with the Duke a new Contrivance to make them&s;elves merry with their Gue&s;t. The &s;ame day al&s;o they &s;ent away a Page with <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Letter to his Wife; and the Bun|dle which he had left behind, charging him to take peculiar notice of all that pa&s;s'd, and to bring back a faithful accompt. All that day the Duke and Dutche&s;s kept <HI>Don Quixote</HI> Company, extreamly pleas'd with his Conver&s;ation. But at length the Clock having &s;truck Eleven at Night, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> retir'd to his Chamber, where finding a Lute upon his Table, he tun'd it, open'd the Window, and perceiving there was &s;ome body in the Garden, fell a tickling the Lower Strings, and with a hoar&s;e woollen Voice, much after the rate of a Ten-pound a Year Song&s;ter in a Cathe|dral, he Sung, the following Song, which he had compos'd him&s;elf the &s;ame day.</P>
<Q><LG>
<L>LOve is a dangerous Di&s;ea&s;e</L>
<L>To every lazie idle Slut;</L>
<L>They that have nothing el&s;e to do</L>
<L>Are &s;till for going all to Put.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<PB N="500" REF="269">
<L>But let 'em at the Wa&s;h-bowl toile,</L>
<L>Or for their Livings rub and &s;pin;</L>
<L>Love raps at Door, and goes his way,</L>
<L>There's no body to let him in.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>'Tis only Sloath and Ea&s;e prevails</L>
<L>O're Pamper'd Ramps, that live at ea&s;e;</L>
<L>Where Love excites the Bea&s;tial part,</L>
<L>Enflam'd by reading Baudy Plays.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>But if a Husband 'tis you want,</L>
<L>Madam, the World is wide and &s;pacious;</L>
<L>Enow would lick their Lips at You;</L>
<L>In truth I am not &s;o &s;alacious.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>For we <HI>Knights-Errant</HI> never care</L>
<L>With Fliperous Titifi&s;ts to couple;</L>
<L>Much more refin'd are our Amours;</L>
<L>Di&s;cretion only makes us &s;upple.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Hot Loves &s;oon cold, the Proverb &s;ays,</L>
<L>Like Flames that on dry Bavins feed:</L>
<L>And you may quench your Parching heat</L>
<L>With Vinegar and Lettice-&s;eed.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>One Picture on another drawn</L>
<L>Will &s;carce appear, at lea&s;t but dull;</L>
<L>Then &s;eek &s;ome Empty-hearted Man,</L>
<L>For I prote&s;t, my Heart is full.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Fair <HI>Dulcinea</HI> has my Heart,</L>
<L>There you may &s;ee her Face engrav'd:</L>
<L>I courted her, and my ble&s;t Fate</L>
<L>Kindly bequeath'd me what I crav'd.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Shall I then break <HI>Piecorner</HI>-Law,</L>
<L>And prove a fal&s;e Incon&s;tant Knave?</L>
<L>'T &s;hall nere be &s;aid <HI>Don Quixote</HI> went</L>
<L>A faithle&s;s Lover to his Grave.</L>
</LG></Q>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> had no &s;ooner concluded his Madrigal, to which the Duke, the Dutche&s;s, Madam <HI>Joan,</HI> and a great number of other Ladies, full of Curio&s;ity, had li&s;ten'd with mo&s;t attentive Ears, but of a &s;udden the Di&s;|dainful Champion heard the tinkling of a hunder'd little Bells over his Head; and by and by down came a whole Legion of Cats pour'd out of a Sack into the Balcony before his Window, with little Bells ty'd to their Tails. The Miewing of tho&s;e affrighted Animals, and the gingling of the Bells made &s;uch a confu&s;ed noi&s;e, that they who were privie to the Con|trivance were not a little &s;car'd for the pre&s;ent them&s;elves. On the other &s;ide <HI>Don Quixote</HI> thought Hell had been broke lo&s;e, and &s;tood like Mum-budget in a Trance; at what time, as ill luck would have it, four of the poor terrify'd Cats leapt into his Chamber; where &s;eeking which way to get out again, they ran like &s;o many Sprights from one end of the Room
<PB N="501" REF="269"> to the other; flew again&s;t the Hangings; put out the Candle; threw down the Candle-&s;tick; down came the Lute; never Hobgoblin made &s;uch a Con|fu&s;ion in a Brew-hou&s;e, while the Cats &s;till flew about the Room affrighted at the gingling which they made them&s;elves. At length <HI>D. Quixote</HI> un&s;hea|thing his Sword began to lay about him back-&s;troak and fore-&s;troak like a De|vil with two &s;ticks, crying out ever and anon, as loud as he could baul, Hence Villain <HI>Necromancers,</HI> hence Infernal Scoundrels&mdash; Devils, you have mi&s;took your Man y' faith; 'tis I <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> who fears not you, nor all your ineffectual Charms. And then running after the Cats, whom he follow'd by the Glimmering of their Eyes, he attack'd 'em &s;o furiou&s;ly, and pur&s;u'd 'em with that Vigour, that he drove three out again at the Window; but the fourth remaining behind, and &s;o hard put to't, that &s;he could not e&s;cape, or el&s;e perhaps being wounded, flew directly at <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Face, and &s;eizing his Leathern Jaws with her Claws and her Teeth, made &s;uch deep Impre&s;&s;ions in his Skin, that the Champi|on began to roar out, like a Man tortur'd with the Strangury. Pre&s;ent|ly the Duke, conjecturing the cau&s;e of <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s di&s;tre&s;s by the hideous noi&s;e he made, ran to his a&s;&s;i&s;tance with Lights and &s;everal of his Servants; and indeed the Duke gue&s;s'd right, for no &s;ooner were they enter'd the Chamber, but there they &s;aw the enraged Mou&s;e-catcher and poor <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;triving for the Ma&s;tery, while the Cat held her hold, and the Champion us'd all his Art and &s;trength to make her let go. Thereupon the Duke proffer'd to a&s;&s;i&s;t him, but <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;corning all manner of &s;uccour, let me alone, I be&s;eech yee, quo he, hand to hand with this evil <HI>Demon,</HI> this Pagan Necromancer, this Son of a Whore Enchanter, I'le warrant yee I'le teach him another time to know <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha</HI> from <HI>Tom-Bell.</HI> Neverthele&s;s the Cat, little regarding the&s;e Vain|glorious Threats, growld and held fa&s;t her Prey, till at length the Duke caus'd her to be unhook'd from the Knights Jaws and thrown out at Win|dow. All this while the Blood ran down <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Doublet from his mangl'd Cheeks; but nothing madded him &s;o much, as that they had re&s;cu'd out of his Hands that Hell-hound of a <HI>Necromancer,</HI> and prevented him from Triumphing o're an Incarnate Enemy. In the mean time there was great care taken of his Wounds; for Madam <HI>Joan Tomboy</HI> her &s;elf with her own Lilly white Hands apply'd a Plai&s;ter to his Soars, and whi&s;pering him i' the Ear as &s;he was dre&s;&s;ing him, Cruel and Ingrateful Knight, &s;aid &s;he, this Misfortune is but the ju&s;t puni&s;hment of your di&s;dain and contempt of Ladies; and I wi&s;h with all my Heart, your Squire may forget to La&s;h him&s;elf, that you may nere enjoy the Embraces of your dear <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> at lea&s;t &s;o long as I, th' Adorer of your Shadow live. To all which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> made no other an&s;wer then with a profound Sigh, and &s;o prepar'd for his Bed, after he had teturn'd Thanks, not &s;o much for his deliverance from that rabble of Necromantick Rat-catchers, which he fear'd no more then &s;o many Snails, but for the Kindne&s;s and Civility of their proffer'd A&s;|&s;i&s;tance. Thereupon the Duke and the Dutche&s;s retir'd, and left him to his Repo&s;e, not a little troubl'd at the ill &s;ucce&s;s of a Je&s;t, that co&s;t poor <HI>Don Quixote</HI> no le&s;s then &s;ix days keeping his Chamber. During which Inter|val there befel him another Accident much more plea&s;ant, which we mu&s;t refer till another time, it behoving us now to return and find out <HI>Sancho,</HI> no le&s;s careful then affable and Curteous in his Government.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="14" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="502" REF="270">
<HEAD>CHAP. XIV.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing a Continuation of <HI>Sancho's</HI> Government.</HEAD>
<P>SO &s;oon as the Court ro&s;e <HI>Sancho</HI> was conducted to a Magnificent Palace, where he found the Cloth laid in a Dining-Room richly and &s;umptu|ou&s;ly furni&s;h'd. When he was enter'd the Room, the Wind Mu&s;ick play'd all the while Dinner was &s;erving up; and four Pages brought him a Ba&s;on of Water, where he wa&s;h'd him&s;elf, as reverently I'le warrant yee, as if he had been five Years learning to take State upon him.</P>
<P>And now the Mu&s;ick cea&s;ing, <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;ate down to Dinner all alone by him&s;elf, at what time a certain Per&s;on, who was afterwards known to be a Phy&s;ician, came and &s;tood at his Elbow with a Whale-bone Wand in his Hand. So &s;oon as the Almoner had &s;aid Grace, a Page brought <HI>Sancho</HI> a Napkin edg'd about with a Point Lace, and the Steward &s;et before him a Plate of Musk Melon. But <HI>Sancho</HI> had hardly put one Bit into his Mouth before the Phy&s;ician touch'd it with his Wand, and then it was pre&s;ently taken away. Pre&s;ently the Steward &s;upply'd the Vacancy with another full Plate, but the Doctor laying his Wand upon it, it was as &s;oon whiskt away as the former. <HI>Sancho</HI> was not a little &s;urpriz'd at the oddne&s;s of the Ceremony, and looking about him upon the Standers by, demanded the meaning of it, and whether it were the Fa&s;hion in that I&s;land to feed with their Eyes, and dine upon <HI>Hei pa&s;s and be gone?</HI> Sir, reply'd the Phy&s;ician, it is not the Cu&s;tom to eat in this I&s;land, as they do in other I&s;lands where there are Governours. I am a Doctor of Phy&s;ick, an like your Wor|&s;hip, and I receive a Salary from the I&s;landers to wait upon the Governour. 'Tis therefore my Duty to take care of his Health much more then of my own, and to make it my &s;tudy day and night to under&s;tand the Compo&s;i|tion and Temper of his Body, that I may be able to know what to do when he falls Sick; and for this rea&s;on it is that I always attend him at his Meals, to prevent his eating what I know to be prejudicial to his Health. To that purpo&s;e I order'd the Melon to be taken away, as being too moi&s;t; and the other Plate to be remov'd, as being too hot and over &s;ea&s;on'd with Spices, which are corroding and cau&s;e drought; for he that drinks much con&s;umes the radical Moi&s;ture, which is the Principal of Life.</P>
<P>At this rate, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> you'll tell me I mu&s;t not eat none of the&s;e Ro&s;ted Partridges, becau&s;e they'll do me hurt&mdash;By no means, Sir, reply'd the Phy&s;ician&mdash; God forbid, and let me never live to &s;uffer it&mdash; Why &s;o? cry'd <HI>Sancho.</HI> Becau&s;e our Great Ma&s;ter <HI>Hippocrates,</HI> &s;aid the Phy&s;ician, the North Star and Luminary of Phy&s;ick, in one of his Aphori&s;ms &s;ays, <HI>All repletion is bad, e&s;pecially that of Partridges.</HI> If it be &s;o, cry'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> prithee take a view of the Meat upon the Table, and tell me what I may eat and what not, without playing the fool with your Wand; for I'me &s;o hungry I could eat a piece of a Hor&s;e.</P>
<P>Why truly, an like your Excellency, I would have the&s;e ro&s;ted Coneys taken away, as being a Terrene and Melancholy &s;ort of Dyet; nor can I approve this Veal, unle&s;s it were better boild, be&s;ides that the Cook has forgot Green &s;auce. Prithee Doctor, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> what think yee of that Di&s;h yonder that &s;moaks &s;o, which I take to be a kind of a <HI>French</HI> Potage; and therefore being a Mi&s;h-ma&s;h of &s;everal &s;orts, certainly I may meet with &s;omething there that may be whol&s;ome enough&mdash;Not for a World cry'd
<PB N="503" REF="270"> the Phy&s;ician; there is not a more dangerous &s;ort of Diet, then the&s;e Mi&s;h-ma&s;hes, under the Sun. They are fit for none but Countrey-At|torneys, poor Singing-men, and at <HI>Thra&s;hers</HI> Weddings, that will dige&s;t Iron: but Governours mu&s;t be &s;erv'd with more delicate Viands, and not &s;o fiercely &s;ea&s;on'd. For always &s;imple Medicines are better then tho&s;e that are compounded of many Ingredients: for that one Drug al|ters the Quality of the other. And therefore after all, I think the be&s;t thing your Excellency can eat at pre&s;ent, for the &s;upport and pre&s;erva|tion of your Health, is about a hundred Caraway-Comfits, and &s;ome two or three &s;mall &s;lices of Marmaled, which are good for the Stomack, and ea&s;ie of dige&s;tion.</P>
<P><HI>Sancho</HI> having heard the Doctor's Opinion, turn'd him&s;elf in his Chair, and fixing his Eye earne&s;tly upon him, ask'd him very &s;eriou&s;ly what his Name was, and where he had taken his Degrees. Sir, reply'd the Phy&s;ician, they call me Signior <HI>Pedro Puncinello,</HI> a Native of <HI>Ditto</HI> in <HI>Pomerania;</HI> from whence I travell'd all over <HI>Germany, Moravia, Sile&s;ia, Poland, Mu&s;covy, Candaya, Lapland, China, Danemark, Aby&s;&s;inia, Nova Zembla,</HI> and mo&s;t parts of <HI>America,</HI> for Experience; and being as full as a Bee, I went and took my Degrees at <HI>Padua</HI> in <HI>Italy.</HI> Mr. Doctor <HI>Pe|dro Puncinello,</HI> quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> Native of <HI>Ditto</HI> in <HI>Pomerania,</HI> you that tra|vell'd over <HI>Germany, Poland, Mu&s;covy, Candaya, Lapland,</HI> and I know not where my &s;elf: Few words to the wi&s;e; in &s;hort, Sir, avoid the Room forthwith, or by the Life of <HI>Pharaoh,</HI> I will immediately &s;lit that ve|nomous Wind-pipe of thine, and all the re&s;t of your Po&s;t-daubing Moun|tebanks that I find within this I&s;land: for as for Learned and Approv'd Phy&s;icians, I both e&s;teem and honour 'em. Once more therefore I &s;ay, avoid Satan, and let me eat as I plea&s;e; or el&s;e by the Body of <HI>Cae&s;ar,</HI> I'le cap thee a-new with this Elbow-Chair, and &s;end thee to &s;et up thy Stage in the other World; and let them that are offended turn the Buckles of their Girdles behind 'em. For my part, I think I &s;hall do God good Service in ridding the World of &s;uch a <HI>Homicide</HI> Doctor; &s;uch a Pe&s;t and Plague of the Common-weal. S'life&mdash; let me eat, or let 'em take their Government agen&mdash;for a Doctor that will not let his Ma&s;ter eat, is not worth two Hor&s;e-beans.</P>
<P>The Phy&s;ician thus terrify'd at the Governours di&s;mal Menaces, and ready to be-foul him&s;elf for fear, was making all the nimble &s;peed he could to the Door, when of a &s;udden they heard the &s;ound of a Po&s;t-horn i' the &s;treet; and pre&s;ently looking out at Window, they under|&s;tood there was a Courrier arriv'd from the Duke. Immediately the Po&s;t en|ter'd &s;weating and puffing, and pulling a Pacquet out of his Pocket, deli|ver'd it to the Governour, who gave it the Steward, ordering him to read the Direction; which was thus:</P>
<P><HI>For</HI> Don Sancho Pancha, <HI>Governour of the I&s;land of</HI> Barataria, <HI>to be deliver'd either to his own, or the hands of his Secretary.</HI></P>
<P>Who is my Secretary? cry'd <HI>Sancho.</HI> 'Tis I, my Lord, reply'd a certain young Lad; for be&s;ides that I can write and read, I am a <HI>Bi&s;cayner</HI> at your Service. With &s;uch a Train of Characters thou mai&s;t be Secretary to the Emperor, quo <HI>Sancho</HI>&mdash;Open the Letter then, and read the Contents: which the young man having done, told the Governour, that it was bu&s;ine&s;s both of importance and privacy. Thereupon <HI>Sancho</HI> or|der'd the Room to be clear'd, and none to &s;tay but the Steward and the Ma&s;ter of the Hou&s;e; and then the Secretary read as follows:</P>
<PB N="504" REF="271">
<LETTER LANG="eng">
<P>I Have receiv'd Intelligence, <HI>Don Sancho Pancha,</HI> that certain Enemies of yours and mine, have laid a Plot to &s;urprize your Per&s;on within the&s;e few Nights. Therefore it behoves yee to be watchful, and to &s;tand upon your Guard, le&s;t you be taken unprovided. I am al&s;o farther inform'd by faith|ful Spies, that there are Four Men got into your I&s;land, in di&s;gui&s;e, with a de&s;ign to a&s;&s;a&s;&s;inate the Governour, as being afraid of your Courage and your Conduct. Keep &s;trict Guards, be careful who you &s;peak with, and eat no|thing that they bring to your Table, for fear of Treachery. I will take care to &s;end you &s;peedy A&s;&s;i&s;tance, if there be occa&s;ion. I leave the &s;ucce&s;s of this Af|fair to your Prudence: and &s;o farewell.</P>
<CLOSER><DATELINE><DATE><HI>16th of</HI> Augu&s;t, <HI>at Four in the Morning.</HI></DATE></DATELINE>
<SIGNED><HI>Your Friend,</HI> The D&V;KE.</SIGNED></CLOSER>
</LETTER>
<P><HI>Sancho</HI> was &s;trangely a&s;toni&s;h'd at the News, as the re&s;t of his Coun|cil &s;eem'd to be; but at length turning to the Steward; that which is fir&s;t to be done, &s;aid he, in this ca&s;e, and that &s;peedily too, is to lay that &s;ame Doctor <HI>Puncinello</HI> by the heels; manacle, and fetter him, and thru&s;t him into the Dungeon of the Common Goal; and there let him feed upon Caraway-Comfits and Marmalade with a Pox to him. For if any body be in this Plot, upon my Life it mu&s;t be he; &s;ince you &s;ee, he was going about already to have &s;tarv'd me. 'Tis my Opinion, Sir, re|ply'd the Ma&s;ter of the Hou&s;e, that you forbear to eat any of the Meat that &s;tands here before yee: for it was mo&s;t of it &s;ent in by the Je|&s;uites; and they u&s;e to &s;ay, <HI>the Devil &s;tands behind the Cro&s;s.</HI> I am apt to believe, Ma&s;ter, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> you give me good advice. However, let me have a Groat-Loaf, and four Pound of Rea&s;ons; there can be no Poy&s;on in them: For in &s;hort, 'tis impo&s;&s;ible I &s;hould &s;ub&s;i&s;t without eat|ing; e&s;pecially &s;ince we mu&s;t be preparing for action. 'Tis never to be imagin'd we can fight, and not feed: for 'tis the Belly &s;upports the Heart, and not the Heart the Belly. In the mean time, Secretary, do you return an An&s;wer to the Duke, and let him know, that all his Commands &s;hall be punctually ob&s;erv'd. Pre&s;ent my Humble Service likewi&s;e to Madam the Dutche&s;s, and begs of her in my Name, to be mindful to &s;end away an Expre&s;s with my Letter and the Bundle, to <HI>Tere&s;a Pancha</HI> my Wife; and tell her withal, that as &s;oon as my Bu&s;ine&s;s is over, I intend to &s;end her a parcel of High Lines, becoming a Governour, under my own hand. Moreover, crowd in among the re&s;t, the Choice&s;t of my Commendati|ons to my Lord <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> that he may &s;ee I am nei|ther forgetful nor ingrateful: The re&s;t I leave to your Judgment, to write as an expert Secretary. In the mean time, let 'em take away the&s;e Vittles, and give me &s;omething to eat, and then they &s;hall &s;ee how little I care for all the Spies, or Bravo's, or Enchanters i' the World.</P>
<P>At the &s;ame time a Page entring the Room, My Lord, &s;aid he, here is a Countrey man de&s;ires to &s;peak with your Honour about Bu&s;ine&s;s of Importance. By the Lord <HI>Harry,</HI> quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> the&s;e Men of Bu&s;ine&s;s are &s;o trouble&s;ome. Is it po&s;&s;ible that Men &s;hould be &s;uch Sots, as not to under&s;tand, that this is not a time for Bu&s;ine&s;s? Certainly, they think that we Governours and Di&s;tributers of Ju&s;tice, are made of Iron or Marble; and that we have no need of Re&s;t and Repo&s;e, like other Men.
<PB N="505" REF="271"> Before Heaven and upon my Con&s;cience, if I continue i' this Government (as I don't believe I &s;hall) I &s;hall cau&s;e the bare Shoulders of &s;ome of the&s;e <HI>Men of Bu&s;ine&s;s</HI> to be well <HI>Curry-comb'd.</HI> Well&mdash;for once let the Coun|try Fellow come in; but fir&s;t let him be well &s;earch'd&mdash; he may be one of tho&s;e Fellows, for ought I know, that threaten my Life. O, Sir, for that, reply'd the Page, my Life for yours; this Fellow, God help him, looks as if he had no more Soul then an Oy&s;ter. I dare &s;ay he's as Inno|cent as the Child unborn. But d' yee hear, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> Ma&s;ter of the Hou&s;e, now Doctor <HI>Puncinello</HI>'s gone, might not I eat &s;omething that has &s;ome &s;ub&s;tance in it, tho it were but a Luncheon of Bread and an Onion? Sir, quo the Ma&s;ter of the Hou&s;e, never fear, Supper &s;hall make amends I warrant yee for the lo&s;s of your Dinner, and that amply to your &s;atisfacti|on. I wi&s;h it may, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I don't love the&s;e baukings of my Sto|mach.</P>
<P>At the &s;ame time the Countryman enter'd the Room, and &s;eem'd by his looks to be a harmle&s;s &s;illy poor fellow. As &s;oon as he came in, he ask'd which was the Governour? Who but he that &s;its yonder i' the Elbow Chair, reply'd the Secretary. I beg your pardon, cry'd the Countryman, and pre&s;ently throwing him&s;elf at the Governours Feet, he de&s;ired to ki&s;s his Hands: Which <HI>Sancho</HI> refu&s;s'd to do, but bid him ri&s;e, and tell him briefly what he had to &s;ay. Thereupon the Countryman ri&s;ing up, and ad|dre&s;&s;ing him&s;elf to the Governour, Sir, &s;aid he, I am a Native of <HI>Monks-Zeal</HI> twelve Leagues from <HI>Charity Bridg.</HI> What more <HI>Ditto's in Pomera|nia?</HI> quo <HI>Sancho</HI>&mdash; well go on Friend&mdash; I know <HI>Monks-Zeal</HI> very well&mdash; for I don't live far from it my &s;elf.</P>
<P>Then, quo the Countryman, pur&s;uing his di&s;cour&s;e, my bu&s;ine&s;s is this, I was Marry'd, through Gods Mercy, in the face of the Holy <HI>Roman,</HI> Ca|tholick and Apo&s;tolick Church, I ha' two Childern at the Univer&s;ity, the one a Student and the other a Batchelour of Art. I am a Widower, be|cau&s;e my Wife is dead, or to &s;ay more truly, kill'd by a cur&s;ed Mountebank, that with permi&s;&s;ion be it &s;poken, gave her a Purge when &s;he was big with Child. Had &s;he liv'd and been brought to Bed of a Boy, 'twas my Intention to have made him a Doctor, that he might have no cau&s;e to en|vy his Brothers. So then, quo the Governour, had not your Wife dy'd, or been kill'd by the Mountebank, you had not been a Widower. Very right, Sir, quo the Countryman. Go too hone&s;t Friend, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I find we have the full length of the Ell. But prithee di&s;patch&mdash; 'tis more then time to go to &s;leep then to talk of Bu&s;ine&s;s. Now, Sir, I &s;ay, continu'd the Country Fellow, that one of my Sons, the Batchelour of Art, fell in Love with a Maid in our Village, who&s;e name was <HI>Clara Single&s;tone,</HI> the Daughter of <HI>Andrew Single&s;tone:</HI> And indeed &s;he might well be call'd <HI>Single&s;tone;</HI> for &s;he was a <HI>Diamond</HI> for Beauty, e&s;pecially if you &s;tood on her Right &s;ide and view'd her; for I mu&s;t confe&s;s if you took a pro&s;pect of her from the other hand, &s;he was not altogether &s;o hand&s;om, for that the Small Pox had depriv'd her of her left Eye; be&s;ides that that &s;ame Devil of a Di&s;ea&s;e had walk'd with his Hobnails over all the re&s;t of her Face; but they tell me that's nothing, in regard tho&s;e Pits are but the Sepulchers to bury Lovers Hearts. She is &s;o cleanly, that becau&s;e &s;he will not have her No&s;e drop upon her Lips, &s;he has turn'd up the ends of her No&s;trils toward her Forehead, that you would &s;wear they had taken a di&s;gu&s;t at her Mouth, which is very wide; and were it not for &s;ome ten or a dozen Teeth which &s;he wants, &s;he would be one of the mo&s;t ab&s;olute Beauties i' the Country. As for her Lips I cannot commend 'em too much, for they are &s;o thin and
<PB N="506" REF="272"> &s;o &s;oft, that were it the Fa&s;hion to wind Lips as they do Silk, they would make a Skain of I know not what to call it. Be&s;ides, they are of the &s;tran|ge&s;t Colour that ever was &s;een, as being of a &s;peckl'd Ja&s;per Colour, Blew, Green and Violet. And I mo&s;t humbly beg your Pardon my Lord Gover|nour, for being &s;o particular and punctual in the de&s;cription of her Beauties, who is to be my Daughter, in regard it is meerly out of the tran&s;ports of my affection for her.</P>
<P>Prithee paint on, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> as long as thou wilt: I am mightily pleas'd with the&s;e kind of Sketches; and had I but din'd, I wou'd not de&s;ire a bet|ter Banquet then the Portraiture which thou ha&s;t drawn me. Both my &s;elf and the Portraiture, my Lord, are at your Service; or at lea&s;t if now we are not, the time will come when we may be. But alas, Sir, this is no|thing, could I depaint to the Life, her Gate, and the Proportions of her Stature, you would be wrapt up in wonder and delight. But that's impo&s;|&s;ible for me to do, for that &s;he is &s;o bow'd and crumpl'd up together, that her Knees and her Chin meet; but it is apparent that if &s;he could but un|bend her &s;elf and &s;tand upright, &s;he would touch the Sealing with her Head. And &s;he had certainly before now given her Hand to my Son, the Batchelour of Art, had &s;he been able to &s;tretch it forth, which &s;he cannot do by rea&s;on her Sinews are quite &s;hrunk up; and yet by her broad cham|fur'd Nails you may &s;ee &s;he has a Hand like a Counte&s;s.</P>
<P>'Tis very well hitherto, hone&s;t friend, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> but &s;uppo&s;e you &s;hould have drawn her from the Crown of the Head to the Soles of the Feet, prithee what is that thou would&s;t have? come to the point Man, without &s;o many windings and turnings, &s;o many circumlocutions, and go|ing about the Hedg.</P>
<P>With &s;ubmi&s;&s;ion to your Honour, reply'd the Countryman, I would humbly de&s;ire and intreat that your Excellency would be graciou&s;ly pleas'd to favour me with a Letter to the Father of my Daughter in Law, &s;ig|nifying to him, that it is your plea&s;ure he &s;hould no longer delay the Mar|riage, &s;eeing there can be no objections made again&s;t the equality of both our Fortunes, nor the Per&s;on of my Son. For not to conceal a Mite of Truth from your Lord&s;hip, my Son is po&s;&s;e&s;s'd; ye&s;terday the Evil Spirit tor|mented him three or four times, and at length threw him i' the Fire, which is the rea&s;on that the Skin of his Face is &s;hrivell'd up like a piece of Parch|ment, and that his Eyes water as if he had a &s;pring in his Brains. Never|thele&s;s he is one of the be&s;t natur'd Men i' the World; and were it not but that he lyes wallowing upon the Ground, and tearing and thumping him|&s;elf, you would take him to be an Angel.</P>
<P>Have yee any thing more to &s;ay? quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> yes an't plea&s;e your Lord&s;hip, I have one reque&s;t more, but I am afraid to give it vent, for fear of your Honours di&s;plea&s;ure; yet it lyes rowling at my Tongues end; and therefore fall back fall edg, I mu&s;t out with it. An't like your Lord&s;hip, I would beg of your Honour to be&s;tow upon your poor Servant Six hunder'd Crowns toward the Marriage of my Son, to put him into a Convenient Equipage; not that he wants Hou&s;hold &s;tuff, but to buy him Good Books at the next Divinity Auction, for the improve|ment of his Studies; for which if you think well of it, he &s;hall every time he goes into the Pulpit pray for your Honours long Life and Pro&s;perity, <HI>as in duty bound.</HI></P>
<P>If you have any thing farther to ask, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> do it, hone&s;t friend, and let not your Ba&s;hfulne&s;s do yee any prejudice. I have nothing more, this is all an't like your Honour, reply'd the Countryman. Thereupon
<PB N="507" REF="272"> <HI>Sancho</HI> finding that the Countryman had &s;hut up his Lips, &s;tarting up briskly upon his Legs, and &s;natching up his Chair with both Hands, Yee Slabber-chapt Wither-fac'd &s;neaking old Son of a Whore, cry'd he, all in a fury, get thee out of my Pre&s;ence, or el&s;e by the Body of St. <HI>George</HI> and all the Seven Champions, I'le ding out thy pe&s;tiferous Brains.&mdash;Ha&s;t thou been all this while painting out <HI>Belzebub</HI> and his Triggremate, and com'&s;t to ask me for Six hunder'd Crowns! perpetual Ragamuffin! where do&s;t think I &s;hould have 'em? Impudent Vagabond. And therefore be gone, I &s;ay, or by the Life of the Duke, my Lord and Ma&s;ter, I'le be as good as my word&mdash; Thou art no Inhabitant of <HI>Monks-Zeal,</HI> but &s;ome Imp of the De|vil &s;ent from Hell to tempt me. 'Tis now not above twenty four Hours that I have been Governour of this I&s;land, and thou would&s;t have me give thee Six hunder'd Crowns. Death of my Life! if I could not find i' my heart to daunce upon thy Belly and tread out thy Bowels.</P>
<P>Pre&s;ently the Steward made a &s;ign to the Countryman to withdraw, who retir'd with an humble and &s;ubmi&s;&s;ive Bow, &s;haking and &s;hivering, and pretending a Pannick fear le&s;t <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;hould pur&s;ue him; for the Rogue acted his part incomparably. As for <HI>Sancho,</HI> they had much ado to ap|pea&s;e his Wrath; for the Countryman's tedious di&s;cour&s;e and his Imperti|nent Petition had put him into a dreadful fume. But we mu&s;t leave him to champ upon his Bridle, and return to <HI>Don Quixote</HI> who lay wrapt up in Plai&s;ters, like a Po&s;t bedaub'd with Mountebanks Bills. During which time there befel him what we &s;hall tell yee in the next Chapter; for <HI>Benengeli</HI> would not relate it in this.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="15" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XV.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">What befel <HI>Don Quixote</HI> with Madam <HI>Doroty</HI> the Dutche&s;&s;es Waiting-Woman, with other Accidents worthy Eternal Memory.</HEAD>
<P>THE poor di&s;tre&s;&s;ed Knight &s;ad and melancholy to &s;ee him&s;elf &s;o de|&s;pightfully us'd, upon every occa&s;ion where there was &s;o little ho|nour to be got, kept his Chamber &s;ix whole days and nights together; but at length one Evening when it was grown dark, as he lay reflecting upon his Misfortunes, and the Importunities of Mrs. <HI>Tomboy,</HI> he heard the Door open; and believing it to be the Amorous Dam&s;el that came to make an A&s;&s;ault upon his Cha&s;tity, and &s;hake that Loyalty which he had &s;olemnly devoted to his Chimera, Madam <HI>Dulcinea;</HI> No, no, cry'd he, loud enough to be heard, no, no, not all the Beauty upon Earth can deface from my Heart that Fidelity which Love has there &s;o deeply engraven. No, no, mo&s;t amiable Object of my Vows, and Sovereign Mi&s;tre&s;s of my Thoughts, whatever may be thy Condition; whether transform'd into a <HI>Country Hoy|den,</HI> put to winnow Wheat, or &s;erve the Swine; or whether <HI>Merlin</HI> or <HI>Mon|te&s;inos</HI> detain thee &s;till conceal'd from my &s;ight; whether Inchanted or at Liberty, my Con&s;tancy is &s;till unalterable: Ab&s;ent or pre&s;ent, thou art al|ways before my Eyes, and my Heart is always with thee. And &s;o &s;ay|ing, he ro&s;e from the &s;ide of the Bed, wrapt up in a Coverlet of yellow Sattin, his Stocking &s;erving him for a Night-Cap, his Face all bepatch'd with Plai&s;ters, and his Mu&s;tachio's half claw'd off; &s;o that in &s;hort, he lookt like a Hobgoblin in a <HI>Ma&s;que.</HI></P>
<PB N="508" REF="273">
<P>In this Condition fixing his Eyes toward the Door, in&s;tead of the <HI>Sorrow|ful</HI> Mrs. <HI>Joan Tomboy</HI> whom he expected, he beheld a venerable Matron, with a white Vail all in folds, and &s;o long that it cover'd all her Body from Top to Toe. In her left Hand &s;he carry'd about half a Candle lighted; and held her Right Hand before her Face to keep the blaze of the Candle from her Eyes, upon which &s;he wore a large pair of Spectacles, and all the way &s;he mov'd as if &s;he had trod upon Thorns. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> watch'd her like a Sentinel, and ob&s;erving her &s;low pace, her &s;ilence, and her Habit of a Prie&s;te&s;s, took her for &s;ome Inchantre&s;s that came to put her Charms in Execution; and pre&s;ently had recour&s;e to his u&s;ual Chri&s;tian Remedy. All this while the Female advanc'd toward the Knights Bed, to which ap|proaching neer, &s;he lifted up her Eyes, and &s;aw <HI>Don Quixote</HI> in that for|lorn Condition making a thou&s;and Cro&s;&s;es upon his Brea&s;t. But if the Knight were a&s;toni&s;h'd to &s;ee &s;uch a Gho&s;t-like Figure of a Woman, the Woman was no le&s;s &s;urpriz'd to behold the Knight with his long &s;lender Shanks, &s;o pale and bepatch'd, with his Stockin upon his Head. So that giving a loud Scream, Holy Virgin, cry'd &s;he, what <HI>Raw Head and Bloody Bones</HI> is this? In this affright, the Candle dropping out of her Hand, went out, and &s;he her &s;elf, thinking to run away, while the length of her Vail entangl'd her Feet, fell down at her full extent upon the Floor. The noi&s;e that &s;he made, and the darkne&s;s of the Night, redoubl'd <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s fears, &s;o that in great Confu&s;ion, he cry'd out, I conjure thee <HI>Phantome,</HI> to tell me what thou art, and what thy Errand is from the Infernal Shades? If thou art a Soul in Torment, tell me, and thou &s;halt not want the Con|&s;olation of what A&s;&s;i&s;tance I can give thee. For I am a Catholick Chri&s;tian, and one that makes it my bu&s;ine&s;s to do good to all Mankind: for which rea&s;on I took upon me the Order of <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> the Benefit of which Profe&s;&s;ion extends it &s;elf even to the &s;uccour of Souls in Purgatory.</P>
<P>The poor Lady hearing <HI>Don Quixote</HI> Conjure at that rate, gue&s;s'd by her own fears at his affrightment, and therefore with a low and mourn|ful Voice, My Lord <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> &s;aid &s;he, at lea&s;t if it be you, I am neither Vi&s;ion nor Phantome, nor Soul in Purgatory; I am Mrs. <HI>Doroty,</HI> Waiting Gentlewoman to my Lady Dutche&s;s; who came hither to de&s;ire of you the remedy of an Affliction, which it is in your power to afford me. Fir&s;t, Mrs. <HI>Doroty,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> be free with me, and tell me; are you not come upon &s;ome Amorous Emba&s;&s;ie? If you are, you lo&s;e your time; for Madam <HI>Dulcinea</HI>'s Beauty is &s;o imprinted in my Soul, that I am deaf and in&s;en&s;ible to all Importunities of this Nature. In a word Madam <HI>Doroty,</HI> provided it be no Love Me&s;&s;age, you may go light your Candle and re|turn, and when we under&s;tand your Di&s;temper we'll endeavour to apply the &s;afe&s;t Remedies we can; but no Provocatives, no tempting Glances, I be&s;eech yee, Madam. Who I, Sir Knight, procure for others? You know me not I find, cry'd Madam <HI>Doroty;</HI> I am neither &s;o old, nor &s;o deformed, to be trading in that venerable My&s;tery yet; I am &s;till in health, Heaven be prais'd, and have all my Teeth i' my Head, except &s;ome few that I &s;poild with eating of Sweet Meats. But &s;tay a little, I'le go light my Candle, and then I'le tell my Greivances to the only Phy&s;ician of the Mind this day i' the World; and having &s;o &s;aid away &s;he tript.</P>
<P>In the mean time <HI>Don Quixote</HI> ruminating upon this Adventure, of which he could not imagin the Rea&s;on, entertaind &s;o many &s;trange <HI>Conun|drum</HI>'s in his Fancy, that he could not think him&s;elf &s;ecure, mauger all his Re&s;olution, and the re&s;ervedne&s;s which he might well expect from Mrs. <HI>Doroties</HI> Years. Sinner as I am, cry'd he, who knows, who knows I &s;ay,
<PB N="509" REF="273"> but that the Enemy of human Race is now plotting for my de&s;truction; and whether by the&s;e dangerous Addre&s;&s;es I may not be intangl'd with this <HI>Go|vernante</HI> to my Ruin. What an Ignominy would it be to me, and what an affront to <HI>Dulcinea's</HI> Honour? if this &s;ame Toothle&s;s Matron &s;hould Tri|umph at length over that Fidelity which neither Prince&s;&s;es, nor Queens, nor Empre&s;&s;es, nor all the mo&s;t accompli&s;h'd Beauties under the Sun, could ever &s;o much as move an Inch. Yet who knows but this &s;ame Solitude, this Opportunity, this &s;ilence, may waken my &s;leepy de&s;ires, and cau&s;e me i' my old Age to fall, where I never &s;tumbl'd before? And therefore in &s;uch ca&s;es 'tis better to vanqui&s;h by flight, then to make Head again&s;t the Enemy. On the other &s;ide, why am I thus unju&s;t to injure Madam <HI>D<GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="UOM" EXTENT="1 letter">ro|ties</HI> Di&s;cretion? Is there any Probability that &s;o venerable a Matron, with &s;o long a Vail, a whither'd Face and Spectacles, can harbour in her Heart immode&s;t and la&s;civious thoughts, and lay contrivances &s;o oppo&s;ite to Vertue? There may be one <HI>Governante</HI> i' the World that may perhaps be hone&s;t; but I mu&s;t tell yee &s;he mu&s;t be a <HI>Phaenix;</HI> 'tis the mo&s;t un&s;ancti|fy'd and unprofitable Rabble of Smother-Farts that ever were admitted in|to human Society. How is that Lady to be commended, that only &s;et up two <HI>Governantes</HI> in <HI>Effigie</HI> in her Chamber, hard at their Needles with their Spectacles upon their No&s;es, and by vertue of that awful Repre&s;enta|tive kept all her Dam&s;els in orderly decorum. And &s;o &s;aying, he &s;tarted up from the Bed with an Intention to have lock'd the Chamber Door, and &s;hut out Madam <HI>Doroty.</HI> But &s;he had already &s;et one Foot over the Thre|&s;hold with her Candle lighted; at what time perceiving <HI>Don Quixote</HI> be|dizon'd as we have already de&s;crib'd him, as if her former fears had re|turn'd, &s;he &s;tept back, and with a timorous utterance, Is there no danger, my Lord, &s;aid &s;he, for I don't like your &s;tanding up &s;o brisk upon your Legs, as if you had &s;ome unlucky de&s;ign? I ask you the &s;ame Que&s;tion, Madam <HI>Doroty,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> for I am weak and feeble, and would not willingly be forc'd again&s;t my own Nature. Who do you take for &s;uch a Ma&s;culine Ramp&s;cuttle? reply'd Mrs. <HI>Doroty.</HI> Even your own &s;elf, Madam, quo <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> for in &s;hort, as I am Fle&s;h and Blood, &s;o I deem you to be of the &s;ame Mould; and be&s;ides, this is a &s;u&s;pitious hour of the Night, e&s;pecially in a Chamber &s;o far remote from Company, and no le&s;s private then the Den where that perfidious <HI>Eneas</HI> taking the Ad|vantage of unfortunate <HI>Dido's</HI> Imbecillity, enjoyd her Beauty. Neverthe|le&s;s, give me your Hand, Madam; for I rely upon tho&s;e Marks of honour which you wear about yee, and de&s;ire no other A&s;&s;urance then my own Fidelity and Di&s;cretion. And at the &s;ame time he offer'd Madam <HI>Doroty</HI> his Hand, who gave him likewi&s;e her own with all the Ceremony of a Courtly Lady.</P>
<P>Here <HI>Cid Hamet</HI> &s;wears by <HI>Mahomet</HI> he would ha' given all the Shoes in his Shop-to ha' beheld the Amorous Countenances of the Knight and the Lady, and the Charming Air with which they walk'd hand in hand from the Chamber Door to the Bed &s;ide. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> layd him&s;elf down again upon the Bed, and cover'd all his Face; but Madam <HI>Doroty</HI> took a Chair and &s;ate by the Bed &s;ide, with her Spectacles &s;till upon her No&s;e, and her Can|dle in her hand: and after they had both continu'd in that Po&s;ture for &s;ome time without &s;peaking a word, at length <HI>Don Quixote</HI> breaking &s;ilence, you may now, Madam, &s;aid he, freely unburd'n your Heart, and tell me the cau&s;e of your Annoiance; I &s;hall li&s;ten attentively to your Complaints you may be &s;ure, and afterwards you &s;hall have all the A&s;&s;i&s;tance from me, that can be expected from a Generous and Charitable Knight. I was con|vinc'd
<PB N="510" REF="274"> of that before, reply'd Madam <HI>Doroty,</HI> and therefore expected no o|ther then &s;uch a Chri&s;tian-like An&s;wer from an Air &s;o full of Curte&s;ie and Noblene&s;s as yours. And now, Sir Knight, altho you &s;ee me &s;itting here in this Chair in the habit of an unfortunate Servant under Contempt, yet am I a native of <HI>Oviedo,</HI> and de&s;cended from one of the mo&s;t noble Families in that Province; but my Father and Mother by their fea&s;ting, and junket|ing, and ill Husbandry, reduc'd them&s;elves betimes to a mean Condition, and carry'd me to <HI>Madrid;</HI> where, becau&s;e they could do no better, they plac'd me with a Lady of Quality to be her Dre&s;&s;ing maid, and to work Point. And that you may know, Sir Knight, how I improv'd my time, I believe there is not a Maid i' the Country that can wa&s;h and &s;tarch fine Lin|nen better then I can. After this my Father and Mother dy'd and went to Paradi&s;e; for tho they lay abed all day, and &s;ate up at <HI>Cards</HI> all night from years end to years end, <HI>Sundays</HI> and all, yet they were very good Chri&s;tians. Then was I left an Orphan, without any thing more to maintain Me, then the &s;hort Wages u&s;ually given to per&s;ons in my Condition; and at the &s;ame time the Gentleman-U&s;her fell in love with me before I ever dreamt, Heaven knows, of any &s;uch thing. He was a per&s;on well advanc'd in years, but comely, and of a good Figure, and as free as a Lord; for he was de|&s;cended from the Race of St. <HI>Taffie.</HI> However our Amours could not be kept &s;o private, but that they were di&s;cover'd to my Mi&s;tre&s;s, who to pre|vent impertinent Stories abroad, caus'd us to be marry'd in the face of our Holy Mother the Catholick Church; and this Matrimony produc'd a Daugh|ter to accompli&s;h our Misfortunes: not that I dy'd in Child-bed, for I had an experienc'd Midwife, and an extraordinary good Labour; but becau&s;e my Husband, God re&s;t his Soul, dy'd not long after of a certain Fright which he took, the particulars of which would now be too tedious to recount.</P>
<P>Here. the tender-hearted Madam <HI>Doroty</HI> letting fall a Showre of Tears, Pardon me, Sir Knight, &s;aid &s;he, I am not Mi&s;tre&s;s of my Eyes, nor can I ever mention this Misfortune of mine, but it co&s;ts me a Pail-full of Salt-water. Good God! with what a comely Grace he rode before my Mi|&s;tre&s;s, that &s;ate behind him upon a lovely pacing Mare, as black as Jet. For then there were no Sedans, nor Coaches and &s;ix hor&s;es, but the Ladies of be&s;t Quality rode behind their Gentlemen-U&s;hers; and here I find I mu&s;t be forc'd to tell your Wor&s;hip the whole Story now my Tongue's in, that you may &s;ee what a compleat, well-bred man my Husband was, and how exact in every thing.</P>
<P>One day as my Husband was entring, with my Mi&s;tre&s;s behind him, in|to St. <HI>James</HI>'s Street in <HI>Madrid,</HI> he met the City-Mar&s;hal riding out of Town, with two of his Men attending him. Whereupon, my Husband out of Ci|vility to &s;o great an Officer, turn'd about his Mare with an intention to have waited on him to the Town's end: But my Mi&s;tre&s;s, whi&s;pering him i' the Ear, What do&s;t do, <HI>Fool-atum,</HI> quo &s;he, ha&s;t forgot thy way? Upon that the Provo&s;t Mar&s;hal, in return of his Civility, &s;topping his Hor&s;e, your humble Servant Sir, &s;aid he, by no means&mdash; it becomes me rather to wait upon Madam <HI>Cu&s;&s;ilda,</HI> (for that was my Mi&s;tre&s;s's Name) then that &s;he &s;hould wait upon me. Neverthele&s;s my Husband, with his Hat in his hand, per&s;i&s;ted in his genteel Re&s;olutions. But oh, the fatal Con&s;equence of the&s;e mutual Complements! For my Mi&s;tre&s;s being enrag'd at my Husband, and fearing to lo&s;e her Vi&s;it, took a great Pin from her Stomacher, or rather, as I am apt to believe, a long Bodkin, out of her Tweezers, and thru&s;t it into my Husband's Neck; upon which my Husband giving a loud groan, fell from his Hor&s;e, and pull'd my Mi&s;tre&s;s after him. Pre&s;ently her two
<PB N="511" REF="274"> Lacques ran, and the Provo&s;t Mar&s;hal alighted to help her up again; the Lacques were &s;oon at their Ma&s;ters heels, and all the Gate, I mean the People about the Gate, were immediately in a <HI>Hubbub.</HI> To be &s;hort, my Mi&s;tre&s;s return'd home a-foot, and my Husband went to a Surgeon, com|plaining that all his Bowels were skewer'd together. And now all the Cof|fee-hou&s;es rang of my Husband's Civility, and the Women and Children flock'd to &s;ee &s;uch a Mirror of Court&s;hip. Neverthele&s;s, becau&s;e he was a little pur-blind, my Mi&s;tre&s;s di&s;mi&s;s'd him her Service; and this it was that griev'd him &s;o, that he quite pin'd away and dy'd.</P>
<P>And now no &s;ooner was he dead but I became a Widow, abandon'd and forlorn, and left with a Daughter, who&s;e Beauty was the Wonder of all that beheld her. At length, having the Reputation of being a mo&s;t admi|rable Needle-woman, my Lady Dutche&s;s being newly marry'd to his <HI>Grace,</HI> took me home along with her, and my Daughter likewi&s;e. In proce&s;s of time my Daughter grew to Maturity, di&s;playing the mo&s;t charming Quali|ties in the World; &s;he &s;ings like a Wood-Lark, dances like a <HI>Fairy,</HI> jumps like a wild Colt, writes like an Angel, and ca&s;ts Accompt like a Banquer. I &s;ay nothing of her Neatne&s;s; for certainly the pure&s;t Spring-water that runs, is not &s;o cleanly: and &s;he is now, if I mi&s;take not, ju&s;t &s;eventeen years five Months and three days old.</P>
<P>Now with this pretty Creature did the Son of a rich Farmer fall in love. Verily I can't tell how he manag'd his bu&s;ine&s;s, but he &s;o turn'd her and twi&s;t|ed her about, that upon an ab&s;olute Promi&s;e of Marriage, he got his Will of the poor &s;illy Creature, and now refu&s;es to be as good as his word. And tho my Lord Duke has been acquainted with the whole bu&s;ine&s;s, for the Farmer is one of his Tenents; tho I have made my Complaint to him, and be&s;ought him &s;o to u&s;e his Authority, that the young Man may marry my Daughter, he turns his deaf Ear to me, and will hardly endure that I &s;hould &s;peak to him i' my Daughter's behalf, becau&s;e the Farmer is rich, and lends him Money, and is bound for him upon all Occa&s;ions.</P>
<P>Now, Sir Knight, my Reque&s;t to you, is, That you would be pleas'd to undertake my Daughter's Quarrel, and either by Mediation, or by force of Arms procure the Reparation of her Honour; in regard, that as it is the general Di&s;cour&s;e in the&s;e Parts, Heaven has &s;ent you into this World to re|venge the Injuries done the innocent, and to &s;uccour the di&s;tre&s;&s;ed; be pleas'd to ca&s;t your compa&s;&s;ionate Eyes upon the Orphan State of my Daughter, upon her Youth, her Gentility, and all her other amiable En|dowments; for upon my Honour, and upon my Con&s;cience, of all the Dam|&s;els that attend my Lady Dutche&s;s, there is not one to compare with her: Nay, that &s;ame Mrs. <HI>Malapert,</HI> Madam <HI>Tomboy,</HI> that pretends to &s;o much quaintne&s;s, and &s;o much complai&s;ance above all the re&s;t, upon my faith is a meer Hoyden and a Dowdy to her. For do but con&s;ider, Sir, and you will find, all is not Gold that gli&s;ters; you will find, I &s;ay, that this Mrs. <HI>Rig|gle-tail</HI> is a Hoity-Toity, that has more of Vanity in her then Beauty; and has all the behaviour rather of a ranting Town-Crack, then of a Virgin fit to make a Wife of; not to tell ye that &s;he is now none of the &s;ounde&s;t neither; for her Breath is &s;o &s;trong, and &s;uch a Hogo &s;teams from her Armpits, that there is no &s;tanding within a Coit's ca&s;t of her; and altho my Lady Dut|che&s;s&mdash; but I mu&s;t &s;ay no more, becau&s;e, as they &s;ay, the Walls have Ears.</P>
<P>Prithee what was that you were going to &s;ay about Madam Dutche&s;s, quo <HI>Don Quixote?</HI> I conjure ye by the fir&s;t Plea&s;ures of your Nuptial Bed to tell me, dear Mrs. <HI>Doroty.</HI> O, Sir, quo Madam <HI>Doroty,</HI> that Charm has
<PB N="512" REF="275"> forc'd open my Lips&mdash; Know then, Sir Knight, &s;aid &s;he, as for that Beau|ty of Madam Dutche&s;s, that &s;ame gli&s;tning Complexion that &s;hines like the Blade of a new Sword; tho&s;e Cheeks all Milk and Vermillion, and the air of her Gate while &s;he treads, as if &s;he di&s;dain'd to touch the ground, and &s;hews a Con&s;titution as &s;ane as Mother <HI>Eve</HI>'s; for all this, I &s;ay &s;he may thank two I&s;&s;ues in both Arms, and two Bli&s;ters in her Legs, which &s;he always keeps open to convey all the ill Humours out of her Body. Good God, what News you tell me, quo <HI>Don Quixote!</HI> can &s;uch a thing be po&s;|&s;ible? Is it po&s;&s;ible that Madam Dutche&s;s &s;hould have &s;uch Water-cour&s;es as tho&s;e? In verity I &s;hould never ha' believ'd it, but from your Lips, tho all the <HI>Franci&s;cans</HI> i' the Kingdom had &s;worn it: tho I am per&s;waded that tho&s;e Fountains that have their Springs in &s;uch parts as tho&s;e, mu&s;t rather flow with liquid Amber, then &s;uch Humours as you &s;peak of; but for all this I can never be per&s;waded, but that the&s;e &s;ort of I&s;&s;ues are pernicious to Health.</P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> had no &s;ooner &s;aid tho&s;e words, but of a &s;udden the Chamber-door flew open with &s;uch a Thunder-clap, that Madam <HI>Doroty,</HI> being &s;eiz'd with a pannick Fear, let fall her Candle; and while they were thus all in the dark, Mrs. <HI>Doroty</HI> felt &s;ome body &s;queeze her Wind-pipe &s;o hard, that &s;he could &s;carcely take her Breath; and after another had pull'd up all her Coats, a third lay'd on &s;o unmercifully upon her bare Buttocks as if &s;he had renounc'd Compa&s;&s;ion. As for <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> as charitable as he pretended to be, he never &s;tirr'd from the Bed, but there lay pondring what the meaning of this Combu&s;tion &s;hould be, fearing al&s;o at the &s;ame time the Tempe&s;t that pour'd upon Mrs. <HI>Doroty</HI>'s Po&s;teriors; nor were his Fears without good ground. For after the invi&s;ible Fantomes had tir'd them&s;elves in bli&s;tering Mrs. <HI>Governante</HI>'s blind Cheeks, who dur&s;t not cry out for her Ears, they off with <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Coverlet, and fell a pinch|ing and pulling him by the No&s;e &s;o fa&s;t, and &s;o cruelly, that he could not forbear imploying his Fi&s;ts, <HI>&s;e defendendo,</HI> till at length after the Combat had la&s;ted almo&s;t half an hour, and that with an extraordinary &s;ilence, the Fantomes di&s;appear'd. And then it was that Mrs. <HI>Doroty</HI> got up agen upon her Legs, and dolefully bewailing her misfortune, departed the Room without &s;peaking a word to <HI>Don Quixote.</HI> As for the Knight, he &s;till kept him&s;elf upon his Bed, pen&s;ive and melancholy, and &s;o tir'd, that he was hardly able to &s;tir his Bones; yet eagerly thir&s;ting to know who this <HI>Necromancer</HI> &s;hould be, that had put him into &s;uch a Condition. But we &s;hall hear more of that another time; now let us return to &s;ee what be|comes of our noble Governour, as the order of our Hi&s;tory requires.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="16" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XVI.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">What befel <HI>Sancho</HI> in his Progre&s;s round the I&s;land.</HEAD>
<P>WE left our noble Governour mo&s;t highly incens'd, as you know, a|gain&s;t that &s;ame Impo&s;tor of a Countryman, who according to the In&s;tructions he had receiv'd, had put that ungracious Trick upon him, which you have heard related. Yet as thick Scull'd as he was, he made a &s;hift to make his party good with 'em all; nor did he &s;eem much to regard what they did; but turning him&s;elf to tho&s;e that were in the Chamber, among
<PB N="513" REF="275"> whom was <HI>Mon&s;ieur Puncinello;</HI> By what has happen'd, &s;aid he, I under|&s;tand now that Governours and Judges ought to be made of Bra&s;s to re|&s;i&s;t the Importunities of tho&s;e that pretend Bu&s;ine&s;s, who come at all Hours, and at all Sea&s;ons for Audience and Di&s;patch, con&s;idering no body's Intere&s;t but their own. And let what will come of the re&s;t, provided they have their De&s;ires; they care not a Straw. On the other &s;ide, if a poor Judge do not hear 'em pre&s;ently, or di&s;patch 'em with Expedition, either becau&s;e he is at Dinner, or perhaps at mine Unkle's Hou&s;e, or other ways bu&s;ie, they pre&s;ently give him their Benedictions backward, and cur&s;e him and all his Generation. But wi' your leave, good <HI>Mr. Impertinent,</HI> kind <HI>Mr. To-and-agen,</HI> you are too ha&s;ty, pray be not &s;o urgent, but ob&s;erve your Mea&s;ures as ye ought to do. There is a time for bu&s;ine&s;s, and yet neither when a man is at Dinner, nor a&s;leep. We are Fle&s;h and Blood as well as other People; and we mu&s;t allow to Nature as well as others, what Nature re|quires. Tho for my own part, I think I have not over pamper'd my own Nature, thanks be to God, and my Friend Dr. <HI>Puncinello</HI> of <HI>Ditto</HI> in <HI>Po|merania</HI> yonder. He would fain &s;tarve me, and then &s;wears 'tis for my Health; God &s;end him the &s;ame Sauce, and all &s;uch Doctors as he is.</P>
<P>All that knew <HI>Sancho</HI> wonder'd to hear him talk &s;o rationally, and began to think that places of Honour and Profit infus'd Under&s;tanding and Parts into &s;ome, as they &s;tupify'd and confounded other Men. However, Dr. <HI>Pun|cinello</HI> to regain his Favour, promis'd him he &s;hould &s;up that Night to his Heart's content, tho he &s;inn'd again&s;t all the Aphori&s;ms of <HI>Hipocrates,</HI> which begat a perfect Reconciliation between him and <HI>Sancho.</HI></P>
<P>The Evening being now come, which in <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Opinion had been &s;o long a coming, that he thought Time's Wings had been clipp'd, they &s;erv'd him up a Giggot of Veal, with half a dozen St. <HI>Omers</HI> Onions hand&s;omly peel'd, and two Calves Feet of a more then ordinary &s;ize. The well-mind|ed Governour beheld his Commons with a &s;merking Eye, and fell on with &s;uch a vigorous Appetite, as if they had been the choice&s;t Dainties at a City Fea&s;t: and after he had pretty well allay'd the Pa&s;&s;ion of his Stomach, turning to Dr. <HI>Puncinello,</HI> You &s;ee now, Mr. <HI>Doctor,</HI> you need not torment your Brains to &s;eek for Dainties and Curio&s;ities to plea&s;e my Appetite, for that would be to unhinge my Stomach that has been accu&s;tom'd to other Diet; that can very well bear with Beef, Bacon, Turneps, and Onions; or if by chance you tempt it with more courtly Di&s;hes, may &s;ometimes perhaps entertain 'em with a <HI>Gu&s;to,</HI> but at other times loath the very &s;cent of their &s;picy <HI>Hogo's.</HI> Not but that if the Ma&s;ter of the Hou&s;e take a fancy &s;ome|times to change his Bills of Fare, he may &s;et before me one of tho&s;e <HI>Olla Podrida's,</HI> as they call 'em, which the more tainted, the better they are; and there he may make a Jumblement of <HI>all to mall,</HI> of what|ever he thinks convenient, provided the Ingredients be eatable; I &s;hall take it kindly, and pay him for it at one time or other. But let no body think to play the fool with me, for either we are or we are not: come, come, let us eat and drink quietly and &s;ociably together; for when God &s;ent his light, he &s;ent it to all Mankind; as for my own part, I &s;hall endeavour to govern this I&s;land without doing wrong to the lea&s;t Worm that crawls in it, and without taking a hair from any Man's head. On the other &s;ide, I do not intend to lo&s;e any thing of my own Right, for we mu&s;t all live i' this World. Only let us have our Brains about us, and every man look to his own bu&s;ine&s;s, or el&s;e the Devil will be among the Cows; they that anger me a' my word will find me a cro&s;s Piece; they that won't believe it, let 'em try, and they &s;hall find what Mettle I am made of.</P>
<PB N="514" REF="276">
<P>Sir, quo the Ma&s;ter of the Hou&s;e, your Wor&s;hip &s;peaks like an Oracle, and I will undertake for all the Inhabitants of this I&s;land, that they &s;hall punctually obey and ob&s;erve your Commands, with Love and Re&s;pect. I am apt to believe it, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> and they would be a company of Fools if they &s;hould do otherwi&s;e: and &s;o give me leave to tell ye, 'tis my plea&s;ure, you take care of me and my Grizzle, that we may have our Food in due &s;ea&s;on: that done, I hope we &s;hall live merrily and happily together. In the mean time pray tell me when it will be proper for me to walk my Rounds, for I am re&s;olv'd to purge the I&s;land of all Vagabonds and idle Per&s;ons. For you know, my good Friends, that your &s;loathful, lazy Lusks and Street-walkers, are like your Drones among Bees, that wa&s;te and con&s;ume what the other had painfully gather'd together. I am for protecting the indu&s;trious and the laborious among the meaner &s;ort, and for pre&s;erving the Priviledges of the Nobility; but above all things to be tender of the publick Religion, and careful that the zealous Mini&s;ters of the Church be not injur'd of their Rights. What &s;ay ye, my good Friends, do I &s;ay well or ill?</P>
<P>You &s;peak &s;o piou&s;ly, and &s;o nobly, my Lord Governour, reply'd the Steward, that I am altogether a&s;toni&s;h'd, I profe&s;s, to hear that a man &s;o illiterate, for I believe you never made it your bu&s;ine&s;s to &s;tudy, &s;hould utter &s;uch uncontroulable Truths, and in every word a Sentence; And I dare &s;ay, far from what they who &s;ent you hither, and they who are here pre&s;ent ever expected from your mean Capacity; which makes me believe Miracles are not yet ceas'd.</P>
<P>The Governour had no &s;ooner &s;upp'd with <HI>Puncinello</HI>'s leave, but he pre|par'd to walk his Round, and pre&s;ently &s;et forward, attended by the Stew|ard, the Secretary, the Ma&s;ter of the Hou&s;e, the Regi&s;ter, who recorded all his Acts, &s;everal Halbardiers and others, enow to make a good Guard, while he him&s;elf march'd in the middle with his Staff of Authority in his Hand. But hardly had they walk'd above two Streets before they heard the cla&s;h|ing of Swords, which made 'em ha&s;t'n to the noi&s;e. When they came to the place, they &s;aw two men a fighting, who gave over, perceiving &s;o much Company; at what time one of the two cry'd out, What a' God's Name, cannot a Man pa&s;s quietly along, but he mu&s;t be robb'd i' the mid|dle of the Street? Hold Friend, come hither, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> and let me know the occa&s;ion of this Quarrel, for I am now Governour. An't plea&s;e ye my Lord Governour, I'le tell ye in two words. This Gentleman, my Lord, has been at play in a gaming Academy. hard by, and has won above fifty broad Pieces; I &s;tood by all the while, and God knows how many fal&s;e Ca&s;ts I judg'd for him, quite again&s;t my Con&s;cience. At length when he had won all the Man's Money, he went away with his Winnings: and when I expected he would ha' given me a Peece or two (as it is a Claim among us <HI>Bully-rocks</HI> from Gentlemen that win for wi&s;hing well o' their &s;ides, and preventing the Box and Dice from flying about their Ears, as many times they do in &s;uch Places) neverthele&s;s he took no notice of my Kindne&s;s, but like an ungrateful Hedghog as he was, went away without giving me a Cro&s;s. Thereupon I ran after him, and very civilly de&s;ir'd him to con|&s;ider that I was his Friend, that he knew me to be a Gentleman, tho run to decay, and without Imployment, and therefore to give me two or three Peeces to drink for his &s;ake; but he was &s;till at his old lock, not a Doit for all my Kindne&s;s. And now, my Lord, I'le refer it to your Lord&s;hip, whe|ther this Mr. Pinch-penny have dealt by me like one that had ever been born with a Con&s;cience? But y' faith, had not your Lord&s;hip come ju&s;t i' the
<PB N="515" REF="276"> nick, I had torn it out of his Throat, and taught him to put the Dice up|on a Man of Honour.</P>
<P>What &s;ay you to this, cry'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> to the t'other? who made an&s;wer, that all that his Adver&s;ary had &s;aid was very true, only thus far, that he had proffer'd him four Crown-pieces and he would not take 'em; be&s;ides, that he was a Common Mumper at Ordinaries, and that he had frequent|ly given him Money. And then agen, &s;aid he, methinks my Lord that beggers &s;hould not be choo&s;ers, but be thankful for what is given 'em, without haggling with tho&s;e that have won, unle&s;s they have been pri|vy to the Cheat; now to &s;hew that I am no <HI>Topper</HI> nor <HI>Paumer,</HI> no <HI>Low or High-fullum</HI> Man, needs no other proof then my refu&s;al to give him any thing; for your common Cheats are always tributary to the&s;e Bully-Rocks who know the Cheat and connive at it.</P>
<P>That's very true, reply'd the Steward; and therefore what's your Excel|lencies Plea&s;ure &s;hall be done with the&s;e two Men? Why then, quo <HI>San|cho,</HI> I know nothing more to be done then this: You that are the winner, whether by fair or foul play, that's no matter, give your Adver&s;ary five Pieces, and Thirty more to the Poor Pri&s;ners: And you Mr. <HI>Bully-Rock,</HI> that have neither Office nor Benefice, nor any Employment, but go &s;hark|ing up and down from Place to Place, take your five Pieces, and to mor|row Morning depart this I&s;land, and come no more here in ten Years, unle&s;s you are weary of your Life before. For by the Life of <HI>Pharaoh,</HI> if I catch thee here agen, I will hang thee up i' the Sun, were there no more Men Living, or the Hangman &s;hall do it for me.</P>
<P>Accordingly this Sentence was put in Execution, and then <HI>Sancho,</HI> con|tinuing his di&s;cour&s;e, either I'le want of my will, &s;aid he, or I'le &s;end all the&s;e Gaming-Ordinaries to the Devil; for it &s;hall nere be &s;aid that ever I per|mitted any di&s;orderly Hou&s;es while I was a Governour. As for this &s;ame Academy, Sir, &s;aid the Regi&s;ter, it will be a hard matter to &s;uppre&s;s it; for he is a Per&s;on of great Quality keeps it, tho it is certain he lo&s;es much more in a Year then he gets. But, an't like your Lord&s;hip, you may ex|erci&s;e your Authority over a number of other meaner Tippling Hou&s;es, that are open to all Comers and Goers, where there are a thou&s;and Mer|chants and Citizens Prentices undone, and where numbers of Silk-Throw|&s;ters, Joyners, Shoemakers and Journy-men Printers, &s;it carding and di|cing all Night long, while their Wives and Children want Bread at Home, and at length are &s;tript to their Naked Skins them&s;elves; for your Cheats and Bullies never dare to practice their <HI>Leigerdumain</HI> where Per&s;ons of Quality haunt, but in &s;uch Sinks of Iniquity as the&s;e. The&s;e are Di&s;or|ders indeed, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> that cry loud for Reformation; nor &s;hall they &s;cape our Con&s;ideration &s;o &s;oon as we have lei&s;ure.</P>
<P>Immediately after this, a Watchman came hawling a Young Man along, and bringing him before the Governour; My Lord, &s;aid he, this young Slip-&s;tring was coming this way, but perceiving it was the <HI>Round,</HI> the Rogue rubb'd off, and fell a running as fa&s;t as his Legs could carry him; a certain &s;ign of his being no better then he &s;hould be; which made me run after him, tho had he not fallen, I had never overtaken him. What made you run &s;o fa&s;t, hone&s;t friend, quo <HI>Sancho.</HI> Sir, quo the young Man, becau&s;e I had no mind to be Catechiz'd by the Con&s;table&mdash; What Trade are yee, Sirrah? A Weaver&mdash;and what d' yee Weave? Steel Heads for Lances, an't like your Wor&s;hip: Cuds niggers Daggers, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> a ve|ry plea&s;ant Strippling, I am very glad to find yee &s;o merry. Pray whether are you Scaperloytring at this time a night? To take the Air, an't plea&s;e
<PB N="516" REF="277"> yee&mdash;And where do they take the Air i' this I&s;land. Where it blows&mdash; Very well an&s;wer'd, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> of a young Crackrope, a my word, I find you ha' been well bred. But now Mr. <HI>Nimble Chaps,</HI> &s;uppo&s;e I &s;hould be the Wind that &s;hould blow i' your Tail, and &s;end yee to <HI>Bridewell?</HI> Here&mdash;Officer, take him and carry him away; he may chance to catch cold by lying abroad all Night. Gad, Mr. Governour, you can as &s;oon make me a Duke as &s;end me to <HI>Bridewell.</HI> Why yee In&s;olent Varlet, is't not in my power to &s;end thee to <HI>Bridewell,</HI> and &s;end for thee out agen, as I plea&s;e my &s;elf? I' good faith, Sir, had yee a hunder'd times more authori|ty then you have, you &s;han't make me &s;leep in <HI>Bridewell.</HI> How, quo <HI>San|cho!</HI> does the raskal mock me? Drag him away pre&s;ently to the Jail, and let him &s;ee with his own Eyes who&s;e Ma&s;ter he or I. You are pleas'd to make your &s;elf Merry, reply'd young <HI>Gracele&s;s,</HI> for I defie all the Men i' the World to make me &s;leep this Night in Pri&s;on, tho they flea me alive. What art the Devil, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> in a Pa&s;&s;ion, or ha&s;t thou any Familiar that will take off thy Irons and open the Pri&s;on Locks? Why look yee, Sir, worthy Mr. Governour, let us talk rea&s;on and come to the point; &s;up|po&s;e your Wor&s;hip &s;hould &s;end me to Pri&s;on, lay me i' the Dungeon and load me with Irons, and &s;et a Guard upon me be&s;ides; yet if I have a mind to keep my &s;elf waking all Night, 'tis not you nor all the Power you have can make me &s;leep. That's very true, quo the Secretary, an't like your Lord|&s;hip, the young Fellow talks Sence. However I hope it is not in oppo&s;ition to my Will that you keep your &s;elf awake, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> but only as a Man may choo&s;e to &s;leep if he will him&s;elf. I never meant no otherwi&s;e an't like your Wor&s;hip, quo the Boy. Why then prithee get thee home and &s;leep, and God &s;end thee good Re&s;t, but have a care another time of &s;porting with Ju&s;tice, for a my word you may meet with a Company of Peevi&s;h Cup&s;hot|ten Con&s;tables that will not take half what I ha' done at your hands.</P>
<P>By and by, by that time <HI>Sancho</HI> was got a little farther, came two more Watchmen bringing along with 'em another young Youth, very hand|&s;ome and very well apparell'd. Sir, &s;aid one of the Watchmen, we have brought before yee here a Dam&s;el in di&s;gui&s;e. Thereupon they view'd her by the light of their Lanthorns, and found her to be a young Virgin about &s;ixteen years of Age. She had her Hair put up in a Net-work Cawle of Gold and Green Silk, and appear'd very amiable. They &s;urvey'd her from Head to Foot, and found her to be clad in Cap of Ti&s;&s;ue upon a Green Ground, with a Coat of the &s;ame Stuff; under which &s;he wore a Doub|let of Cloth of Gold upon a White Ground: Her Breeches were of Car|nation Silk; and her Garters of White Taffaty, Fring'd with Gold and Pearls; and her Shoes were of white Leather made like Mens: &s;he had no Sword, but only a rich Dagger, and &s;everal Rings of value upon her Fin|gers. In a word, &s;he &s;eem'd Lovely to all that beheld her, but there was no body that knew her. The Inhabitants of the I&s;land could not imagin who &s;he was; and they that were Privy to all the Tricks that were to be put upon <HI>Sancho,</HI> were more confounded then any of the re&s;t, as knowing nothing of this Adventure, and were therefore in great expectation of the Event. <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;urpriz'd at the Beauty. of the Virgin, upon whom he kept his Eyes fix'd all the while, ask'd her who &s;he was, whither &s;he was going, and why &s;he had put her &s;elf into &s;uch a Di&s;gui&s;e? To whom the Virgin, fixing her Eyes upon the Ground with a mode&s;t Ba&s;hfulne&s;s, made an&s;wer, That the &s;ecret which concern'd her was of great Importance, but that &s;he was a&s;ham'd to di&s;cover it before &s;o many People. Only, &s;aid &s;he, I do a&s;&s;ure your Lord&s;hip that I am no Bulker nor Hou&s;e-breaker,
<PB N="517" REF="277"> nor have any evil de&s;igns, but an unfortunate Dam&s;el, whom Jealou&s;ie has con&s;train'd to break the Laws of Mode&s;ty and Maiden Decency. Which when the Steward heard, My Lord Governour, quo he, to <HI>Sancho,</HI> com|mand your Retinue to retire, to the end the Lady may more freely &s;peak her Mind. Thereupon all the Company remov'd at a di&s;tance, except the Steward, the Ma&s;ter of the Hou&s;e; and the Secretary, at what time the Dam&s;el thus proceeded.</P>
<P>I am the Daughter of <HI>Pedro Perez Mazorca,</HI> Farmer of the Cu&s;toms of Wooll in this City, who frequently comes to my Fathers Hou&s;e. How! Madam, quo the Steward, you contradict your &s;elf in every thing you &s;ay. I know Seniour <HI>Perez</HI> very well, and I am certain he has no Children at all. Be&s;ides, that after you had told us you were his Daughter, you &s;aid with the &s;ame Breath, that he frequently came to your Fathers Hou&s;e, which is Non&s;ence. I ob&s;erv'd the very &s;ame mi&s;take, quo <HI>Sancho.</HI> I beg your pardon, Gentlemen, I am &s;o troubl'd in mind, that I know not what I &s;ay&punc; But the Truth is, I am the Daughter of <HI>Diego de Lana,</HI> otherwi&s;e Mr. <HI>James Woollman,</HI> a Per&s;on known to all your Wor&s;hips. I know Seni|our <HI>Diego de Lana</HI> very well: I know him al&s;o to be a good Gentleman and very Rich, and that he has a Son and a Daughter. But &s;ince he hap|pen'd to be a Widower, there is no Per&s;on in this City that can &s;ay they ever &s;aw his Daughter, he keeps her &s;o charily lockt up; tho indeed the general Report is, that &s;he is extreamly Beautiful. You &s;ay very true, Sir, reply'd the Dam&s;el, I am that very Daughter of my Father; and whether Report have bely'd me or no, you are now the Judges who have &s;een me. And having &s;o &s;aid, the Poor young Lady fell a weeping like a Tip|&s;ie Nur&s;e over Burnt Claret. <HI>Sancho</HI> condol'd her the be&s;t he could, and de&s;ir'd her not to be afraid, but to di&s;cover her Misfortunes to her Friends, who would not be wanting in any thing that might procure her &s;atisfaction.</P>
<P>Then the Dam&s;el proceeding; It is now Ten years ago &s;ince my Mother dy'd, and that my Father has kept me his Pri&s;oner, not &s;uffering me &s;o much as to &s;tir, tho hooded mask'd and &s;carf'd, to Morning Prayers. Du|ring which time I never &s;aw any Man breathing but my Father, my Bro|ther, and that <HI>Pedro</HI> whom I call'd Father, that I might conceal my true Parents Name. This &s;ame &s;trict retirement, and &s;evere Injunction upon me not to &s;tir abroad, griev'd me to the highe&s;t degree, and made me &s;tark madd to &s;ee the World, or at lea&s;t the Place of my Nativity, which I thought no unlawful de&s;ire. When I heard 'em talk of Ma&s;ques, and Shows, and Plays, I ask'd my Brother, who was a year younger then my &s;elf, what they meant? who told me as well as he could, and that &s;et me agog to be gadding. In &s;hort, I de&s;ir'd my Brother, I wi&s;h to God I had never made him the Reque&s;t&mdash; And here &s;he began again to moi&s;ten her Cheeks, at that rate, that &s;he drew Compa&s;&s;ion from all that beheld her. Come, come, Madam, quo the Steward, there's no &s;uch harme done yet&mdash; pray go on, and relye for once upon the Governours Genero&s;ity. I have little more to &s;ay, reply'd the Dam&s;el, but I have great rea&s;on to bewail my Im|prudence and Curio&s;ity.</P>
<P>The Ma&s;ter of the Hou&s;e who was &s;mitten of a &s;udden with her Beau|ty, &s;urvey'd and view'd her, and look'd upon her not with Eyes of indif|ferency, but with earne&s;t wi&s;hes to Heaven, that the cau&s;e of her Grief might not prove to be &s;o great as &s;he &s;eem'd to te&s;tifie by her Sighs and Tears. On the other &s;ide the Governour was madd in his Mind, to find her hang &s;o long upon her Story, and therefore de&s;ir'd her to make ha&s;te, and con&s;ider his time. Whereupon the Di&s;tre&s;&s;ed Dam&s;el, with langui&s;h|ing
<PB N="518" REF="278"> utterance intermix'd with Tears and Sighs, continuing her Relation, I de&s;ir'd my Brother, &s;aid &s;he, to lend me his Cloaths, and that we might take a walk together about the City, while my Father was a&s;leep. And &s;uch was my importunity, that my Brother lent me his Cloaths, and he took mine, which fit him to a Hair, &s;o that you would take him for one of the prettie&s;t Moppets about the Town. 'Tis not above an Hour &s;ince we left the Hou&s;e, but after we had walk'd about and &s;een as much as we could, as we were returning home, we heard a great number of Peo|ple trampling i' the Street; whereupon, &s;aid my Brother, This is certain|ly the Watch; follow me and let us make our e&s;cape as fa&s;t as we can, for if it &s;hould chance to be the Con&s;table of <HI>Bow,</HI> he'll &s;end us to the Counter as &s;ure as a Gun. Thereupon he fell a running &s;o fa&s;t, that they cry'd out, &s;top Thief; I fell a running too, but alack a-day, I was &s;o fright|ed that I fell down in the middle of my Flight. And at the &s;ame time the Watchman overtook me that brought me hither&punc; to my &s;hame and ut|ter di&s;grace, among &s;o many People. And has nothing el&s;e befallen yee but this, quo <HI>Sancho?</HI> If I mi&s;take not, you talk'd at fir&s;t of certain Jealou|&s;ies that had con&s;train'd yee to break your Chains. Nothing el&s;e indeed, an't plea&s;e your Wor&s;hip, has befallen me but what I tell yee, quo the Dam&s;el, nor did I venture out with any other de&s;ign then only to &s;ee the Streets of the City, which I had never &s;een before i' my Life. All which was afterwards confirm'd by her Brother, whom the Watchmen brought as &s;oon as they could overtake him. He was clad in Womans Apparel, a Si|mar, and over that a Blew Damask Mantle, with a Gold Fringe. Howe|ver he had nothing about his Head, but his own Hair that hung down, Flaxen white and naturally curling: So that he appear'd no le&s;s beautiful then his Si&s;ter had be&s;pake him.</P>
<P>Thereupon the Governour, the Steward, and the Ma&s;ter of the Hou&s;e took him a&s;ide, and after they had examin'd him apart, what he did in that di&s;gui&s;e, he gave the &s;ame an&s;wer as his Si&s;ter had done, and with the &s;ame native Mode&s;ty and Simplicity; which infinitely &s;atisfy'd the Ma|&s;ter of the Hou&s;e, who was extreamly concern'd for the young Dam&s;el.</P>
<P>All in good time, quo <HI>Sancho</HI> to the young Man and his Si&s;ter, Here's a little piece of Youthful Extravagance&mdash; what need all the&s;e Tears and bitter Lamentation to relate a Childi&s;h piece of Folly? Could not you have &s;aid we were &s;uch and &s;uch Per&s;ons, and that we have a mind to play the Night walkers for an Hour or two, not out of any Evil de&s;ign, but only out of a Frolick to &s;atisfie a little Curio&s;ity! Ala&s;s, Sir, quo the young Dam&s;el, I was frighted an plea&s;e your Wor&s;hip; and in that Condition I was in, I thought 'twere the lea&s;t I could do to cry as all Children cry when they think they &s;hall be whipt. Go too, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> there's no harme done, go along with us and we'll return yee to your Fathers Hou&s;e; perhaps you may not yet be mi&s;s'd. But the next time have a care of being &s;o de&s;irous to &s;ee Fa&s;hions; a young Virgin ought to have one Leg broken. A Hen and a Woman lo&s;e them&s;elves by gadding; and that Woman that longs to &s;ee, longs al&s;o to be &s;een.</P>
<P>The young Lad return'd the Governour thanks for his Civility and his good advice; and &s;o <HI>Don Sancho</HI> marching forward brought the two Night-walkers home; where the young Lad throwing a Stone again&s;t the Win|dow, was pre&s;ently heard and let in by a Servant that &s;taid up on purpo&s;e. After which <HI>Don Sancho</HI> continu'd his Rounds, talking all the way he went of the Genteel Carriage of the Brother and the Si&s;ter, and the great de|&s;ire tho&s;e poor Children had to &s;ee Fa&s;hions i' the Night. In the mean time
<PB N="519" REF="278"> the Ma&s;ter of the Hou&s;e was &s;o charm'd with the Beauty of the young Dam&s;el, that he re&s;olv'd to go the next day and demand her of her Father in Marriage, believing he could not have a denial, as being one of the Dukes Principal Dome&s;tick Servants. On the other &s;ide <HI>Sancho</HI> had a de|&s;ign to treat with <HI>Don Diego</HI> for a Match between <HI>Sancha</HI> and the young Dam&s;els Brother, believing no Husband could think him&s;elf too good for a Governours Daughter. But <HI>Sancho</HI> having thus gone his Rounds, and lo|&s;ing his Government within two days, all his De&s;igns and Contrivances were overturn'd and came to nothing.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="17" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XVII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Who they were that whipp'd Madam <HI>Doroty</HI> and claw'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> with the &s;ucce&s;s of the Page that carry'd <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Letter to his Wife.</HEAD>
<P>TO clear this My&s;tery, you mu&s;t under&s;tand, that when Mrs. <HI>Doroty</HI> ro&s;e out of her Bed to vi&s;it <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> one of her Companions that lay next her, heard her make a bu&s;tle; and as all your <HI>Governantes</HI> are violently inqui&s;itive, and eagerly de&s;irous to prye into every thing, this &s;ame Mrs. Bu&s;ie-body follow'd her &s;oftly and clo&s;e at her Heels, and &s;ee|ing her enter into the Knights Apartment, according to the Cu&s;tom of <HI>Governantes,</HI> that love to carry News, away &s;he flew to tell the Dutche&s;s that Mrs. <HI>Doroty</HI> was gone to <HI>Don Quixot's</HI> Chamber. Pre&s;ently the Dut|che&s;s told the Duke, and begg'd of him that &s;he and her Woman Mrs. <HI>Riggle-tail</HI> might go and li&s;ten; for &s;he was with Child to hear the i&s;&s;ue of &s;uch a Night Vi&s;it. To that end they made ha&s;te you may be &s;ure; and &s;uch was the &s;pite which the Devil ow'd Mrs. <HI>Doroty,</HI> that &s;he talk'd &s;o loud that the Dutche&s;s and Mrs. <HI>Riggle-tail</HI> heard every word they &s;aid: So that when Mrs. <HI>Doroty</HI> came to make that Fatal Di&s;covery of the Dut|che&s;s's I&s;&s;ues, and Mrs. <HI>Riggle-tailes</HI> &s;tinking Breath, 'Slife, the <HI>Protector</HI> might as well have held in his <HI>Coach Hor&s;es,</HI> as ha' prevented the enrag'd Females from thundring open the Door, and revenging them&s;elves as they did both upon Mrs. <HI>Doroty</HI> and her Champion. Where after they had &s;a|tisfy'd their unruly Pa&s;&s;ions, away went the Dutche&s;s to give the Duke an Accompt of &s;o memorable a Tran&s;action, and after they had tir'd their Spleens with laughter at what was pa&s;t, they were all for new Plots and Contrivances to make them&s;elves merry with the Poor Adventurer.</P>
<P>At the &s;ame time, a Page was di&s;patch'd away to <HI>Tere&s;a Pancha, Sancho</HI>'s Wife, with a Letter from her Husband and another from the Dutche&s;s, and a Necklace of Coral, of which the Dutche&s;s made the good-Woman a Pre&s;ent. To this purpo&s;e they made choice of the &s;ame Lacquey, as the Story &s;ays, that had acted <HI>Dulcinea</HI> in the Inchanted Chariot. Who de|parted without delay with his Le&s;&s;on by heart, for he was a well tutor'd Page, a Pickl'd Youth that could mark his Cards, and carry'd his own Dice in his Pocket.</P>
<P>When he came neer the Village, he ask'd certain Women that were wa&s;hing at the Brook, whether they knew a Woman that liv'd in the Town, who&s;e Name was Mrs. <HI>Tere&s;a Pancha,</HI> Wife to one <HI>Sancho Pancha,</HI> Squire to a certain Knight call'd <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha.</HI> The Lad had no &s;ooner ask'd the Que&s;tion, but a young Girle that was rincing among
<PB N="520" REF="279"> the re&s;t, looking up and &s;taring the Boy i' the Face, Yes Sir, &s;aid &s;he, <HI>Te|re&s;a Pancha</HI> is my Mother, and that &s;ame Gaffer <HI>Sancho</HI> is my Father, and the Knight you &s;peak of is our Ma&s;ter. Very good, quo the Page, prithee go along with me, my pretty Sweet-heart, and bring me to her, for I have a Letter and a Token here to deliver her from your Father. With that the Girl throwing a&s;ide her Clouts, and leaving her Shoes behind her for ha&s;te, run before the Pages Hor&s;e like a Gyp&s;ie upon the Road, and ever and anon looking back, Come, Sir, quo &s;he, come along, our hou&s;e is hard by, and my Mother's at home, but full of Sorrow, God knows, to think what was become of my Father. Well&mdash; well&mdash;, quo the Page, I bring tho&s;e Tidings that will chear her Heart, I warrant her. And now being come to the Hou&s;e, before &s;he open'd the Gate next the Common, Mother, Mother, cry'd the young Girl with a &s;hrill Voice, come out Mo|ther, here's a Mon has brought Letters and fine Things from my Vather. Pre&s;ently Mi&s;tre&s;s <HI>Tere&s;a</HI> came forth with her Reel and her Spindle in a red Petticoat &s;o &s;hort, that it hardly reach'd to the Calves of her Legs, and her Wa&s;tcoat hanging loo&s;e about her Hips, di&s;cover'd her Smock that was none of the cleane&s;t. Take her otherwi&s;e &s;he was 'bout forty, &s;trong dockt, active, and of a good jolly Humour.</P>
<P>What's the matter, Girl, quo &s;he, to her Daughter, what Gentleman is that? An humble Servant of yours, Madam <HI>Tere&s;a,</HI> quo the Page; and at the &s;ame time alighting and falling upon one Knee before Madam <HI>Tere|&s;a;</HI> Permit me the Honour to ki&s;s your fair Hand, thrice honour'd Lady, quo he, as the only legitimate Wife of my Lord D. <HI>Sancho Pancha,</HI> Gover|nour of the <HI>I&s;land</HI> of <HI>Barattaria.</HI> God's my life, what's all this for, quo <HI>Te|re&s;a?</HI> I be&s;eech ye ri&s;e, Sir, I am no Lady, but a poor Country Dowdy, the Daughter of a Logg-cleaver, the Wife indeed of a <HI>Squire-Errant,</HI> but no Governour, I be&s;eech ye. Your Lady&s;hip, reply'd the Page, is the de|&s;erving Wife of a mo&s;t worthy Governour; and for Proof of what I &s;ay, pray Madam be pleas'd to read this Letter, and receive this Pre&s;ent. And at the &s;ame time he deliver'd her the Letter and the Coral-Bracelet, the Beads of which were &s;et in Gold: Telling her withal, that the Letter was from his Honour the Governour, but that the Pre&s;ent was from her <HI>Grace</HI> the Lady Dutche&s;s.</P>
<P>Never was <HI>Tere&s;a</HI> &s;o &s;urpriz'd, nor her Daughter &s;o over-joy'd. I'le lay my Virginity to a <HI>Harry</HI> Groat, quo the young Titmou&s;e, my Ma&s;ter <HI>Don Quixote</HI> hath given my Father the I&s;land which I have heard him &s;o much talk of. You &s;ay very true, pretty Mi&s;s, quo the Page, for it is for the &s;ake of my Lord <HI>Don Quixote</HI> that the honourable <HI>Don Sancho</HI> is now Governour of <HI>Barattaria.</HI> Read me the Letter then, I pray, young Gentleman; for tho che con &s;pin, che connot read Letters: By my Truly nor I neither, quo young <HI>Sancha.</HI> But I'le run and vetch our Curate, he con read I'm zure on't, and he'll be glad to hear the good News. 'Tis no matter for troubling any body, quo the Page; for tho I can't &s;pin, I can read and write too, God be thanked. And &s;o &s;aying, he read the &s;ame that <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;hew'd the Dut|che&s;s, which therefore we thought not fit to repeat any more. And ha|ving &s;o done, he pull'd out the Dutche&s;s's Letter to <HI>Tere&s;a,</HI> where he read as follows.</P>
<LETTER LANG="eng">
<OPENER><SALUTE>Friend <HI>Tere&s;a,</HI></SALUTE></OPENER>
<P>YOur Husband <HI>Sancho's</HI> rare Endowments and his pregnant Wit oblig'd me to de&s;ire the Duke to be&s;tow upon him a vacant Government of one of his I&s;lands: Where I under&s;tand he &s;o behaves him&s;elf, as if he had been a Gover|nour
<PB N="521" REF="279"> from his Cradle. For which I am as glad as if any man had given me forty good Shillings; and my Lord Duke is &s;o pleas'd with his Choice, that he &s;wears he'll not change him for all the Governours he has. For you mu&s;t know, <HI>Tere&s;a,</HI> 'tis a difficult thing to meet with a good Governour in this World. I have &s;ent thee, my deare&s;t Delight, a Neck-lace of Coral; I could wi&s;h they were every one Oriental Pearls, for thy &s;ake; but &s;he that gives thee Fire, does not de&s;ire to &s;ee thee dead: The time will come when we &s;hall be better acquainted. Commend me to little <HI>Sancha</HI> thy Daughter, and bid her not be too ha&s;ty, for I intend to marry her to a great Lord that I have i' my Eye, when &s;he lea&s;t dreams of it. They &s;ay you have in your Parts a rare &s;ort of Acorns, pray &s;end me about two dozen; I &s;hall take it kindly, and endeavour to requite your Civility. In the mean time let me hear from you every Week, and if you &s;tand in need of any thing where|in I can &s;erve ye, 'tis but ask and have. Your Friend that loves you dearly,</P>
<CLOSER><SIGNED>The Dutche&s;s.</SIGNED></CLOSER>
</LETTER>
<P>Heav'ns ble&s;s me, quo <HI>Tere&s;a,</HI> what a good Lady's this! how humble and familiar &s;he is? God &s;end me to be bury'd with &s;uch Ladies as the&s;e, and not with &s;uch Madam <HI>Squeami&s;hes</HI> as we have in our Village; who, becau&s;e they are Ladies, for&s;ooth, think the Wind mu&s;t not blow upon 'em; and come flaunting to Church i' their embroider'd Petticoats, as if they were Queens. They think it &s;corn to look upon a poor Chair-woman, and yet here's my Lady Dutche&s;s that calls me her Friend, and writes to me as if I were her Companion. May Heaven advance her Grace, and &s;end her to be as high as the highe&s;t Bell in <HI>Mancha</HI> Steeple. As for the Acorns &s;he &s;ends for, tell my Lady, I'le &s;end her half a Bu&s;hel, and pick 'em my &s;elf. And law now, <HI>Sancha,</HI> pull off the Gentleman's Boots, and take as much care of his Hor&s;e, as thou wou'd&s;t of thy &s;elf: Run to the Barn, and &s;ee for &s;ome Eggs; take down the Bacon, and get a good Fire; and let the young Gentleman eat like a Prince: Good News de&s;erves good Vittles at any time. I' the mean while I mu&s;t among my Neighbours, I can't hold; 'tis in, and it mu&s;t out. The <HI>Curate</HI> and the <HI>Barber</HI> are thy Father's Friends, and when I ha' told 'em the News, my Heart will be at re&s;t. I dare &s;ay, 'twill be twonty Pence to night in poor Mr. <HI>Nichlas</HI>'s way. Ay, do Mother do, quo <HI>Sancha;</HI> but as &s;he was going, &s;tay Mother, quo &s;he, &s;han't I have half of the Neck-lace? For I don't take my Lady Dutche&s;s to be &s;o ill bred as to &s;end it all to you. No, no, Chicken, 'tis all thine own; but let me wear it, and look like a Lady for two or three days, thou can&s;t not think how it rejoyces my Heart. You will rejoyce more by and by, quo the Page, when you &s;ee what I ha' got in my Portmantle, a new green Sute which the Go|vernour wore a hunting but one day, and has here &s;ent it his Daughter pretty Mi&s;tre&s;s <HI>Sancha.</HI> Now the Lord love my good Father, cry'd little <HI>Sancha,</HI> and the fine Gentleman that brought me the Pre&s;ent.</P>
<P>Pre&s;ently <HI>Tere&s;a</HI> &s;cuttl'd away with the Neck lace about her Neck, and the Letters in her Hand, and meeting the <HI>Curate</HI> and the Student <HI>Carra&s;co</HI> by chance, &s;he fell a frisking and jogging her Tail like a Milk-maid upon a <HI>May-day.</HI> I' faith now the time's come, quo &s;he, that no body &s;hall twit us with our poor Kindred&mdash; for we have our &s;hare i' the World as well as other People&mdash; And now let the be&s;t Lady i' the Town fling up her No&s;e at me, and I'le fling up my No&s;e at her agen&mdash; I'le make 'em know their di&s;tance&mdash; How now, <HI>Tere&s;a,</HI> quo the <HI>Curate,</HI> has <HI>Mid&s;ummer</HI> Moon infe|cted thy Noddle too? What Exta&s;ie's this? What Papers are tho&s;e?&mdash; No, no, Mr. <HI>Curate,</HI> quo <HI>Tere&s;a,</HI> the Ca&s;e is alter'd, quo <HI>Plowden;</HI> the&s;e
<PB N="522" REF="280"> are the Governour's and the Dutche&s;s's Letters; this is my Coral Neck-lace, and here's Mrs. Governe&s;s. Why the&s;e are all Riddles to us, quo the Student <HI>Carra&s;co.</HI> They will be ea&s;ily unfolded by and by, quo <HI>Tere&s;a;</HI> but fir&s;t read the&s;e Letters. Thereupon the <HI>Curate</HI> having read the Epi&s;tles with an au|dible Voice, both <HI>Sam&s;on</HI> and he were more in a Mi&s;t then before. <HI>Carra&s;co</HI> ask'd her who brought the Letters? Come home and &s;ee, quo <HI>Tere&s;a,</HI> the prettie&s;t young Smock-face that ever you &s;aw. The <HI>Curate</HI> took the Neck-lace in his Hand, view'd it, and view'd it three or four times over, and find|ing it was a thing of Value, his Imagination was quite confounded. By the Habit I wear, quo the <HI>Curate,</HI> I cannot comprehend this My&s;tery&mdash; yet the Pre&s;ent is worth accepting&mdash; Nay, quo <HI>Carra&s;co,</HI> there's &s;omething in't you may be &s;ure, and therefore lets go &s;ee the Me&s;&s;enger. Thereupon they went home with <HI>Tere&s;a,</HI> where they found the Page &s;ifting Oats for his Hor&s;e, and young <HI>Sancha</HI> &s;livering the Gammon to make a Bacon Phrai&s;e. They lik'd the Page's A&s;pect and his Habit, &s;o that after the u&s;ual Com|plements, <HI>Carra&s;co</HI> ask'd him what was become of <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho?</HI> telling him withal, That they could make neither Head nor Tail of the Letters they had read; nor could they imagin how <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;hould come by a Government, e&s;pecially of an I&s;land, well knowing that all the I&s;lands thereabouts were the Kings. Gentlemen, reply'd the Page, there's nothing &s;o true as that my Lord <HI>Sancho</HI> is a Governour, but whether of an I&s;land, or a By-land, or a Dry-land, I cannot be &s;o particular as to inform 'em. But this I am &s;ure of, he lords it over a City that has above a thou|&s;and good Scot and Lot Men in it. And as for the Dutche&s;s's &s;ending to a Country Gentlewoman for a few Acorns, that's no &s;uch Wonder; I have &s;een her borrow a Comb of one of her Neighbours. For you mu&s;t know, our Country Ladies never &s;tand upon their Formalities and Punctilio's, like your City Dames, but as their Garb is plain, &s;o is their Conver&s;ation ea&s;ie and familiar.</P>
<P>While they were thus di&s;cour&s;ing little <HI>Sancha</HI> came with her Eggs in her Petticoat, and at the &s;ame time turning to the Page, Pray Sir, quo &s;he, does my Father tru&s;s up his Breeches with Hooks and Eyes now he's a Go|vernour? I never ob&s;erv'd it, quo the Page, but no que&s;tion, little Mi&s;tre&s;s, 'tis ju&s;t as you &s;ay&mdash;Good God! quo <HI>Sancha,</HI> what would I give to &s;ee my Father all of a piece, with his Breeches and Doublet tite about his Wa&s;te&mdash; I have always begg'd it in my Prayers, ever &s;ince I was an Infant. Never fear it, quo the Page, you will have him here &s;hortly; and if his Government holds but two Months, you will &s;ee him ride in his Gla&s;s Sedan.</P>
<P>The <HI>Curate</HI> and the Student plainly perceiv'd that the Page did but laugh at the Mother and the Daughter; yet for all that, they could not tell what to think of the Neck-lace and the Hunting-Sute, which by this time they had well con&s;ider'd. And tho the Daughter had made 'em &s;mile at her Simplicity already, the Mother made 'em ten times merrier; who after &s;he had fetch'd a frisk about the Room, quo &s;he to the <HI>Curate,</HI> Pray enquire whether any of our Neighbours are going to the City&mdash; I'de have 'em to buy me a Manteau Gown i' the fa&s;hion&mdash; for I intend to honour my Husband's Government; and then I'le go to Court and ride i' my Coach, as all Go|vernours Wives do, 'tis a &s;illy Government won't maintain a Coach&mdash; O law Mother, quo <HI>Sancha,</HI> I would to God 'twere to night before to mor|row&mdash; Perhaps they would cry when they &s;aw me &s;itting by my Lady Mo|ther&mdash; Hoy-day! who&s;e here? Marry-gap! What! the Hog-driver's Daugh|ter! how &s;he flaunts it, and taunts it like a little Pope <HI>Joan!</HI> But what would I care; let 'em jeer and flout on, &s;o I ride at my ea&s;e&mdash; Don't I &s;peak rea|&s;on,
<PB N="523" REF="280"> Mother? Yes by my Truly, Chicken, reply'd <HI>Tere&s;a:</HI> be&s;ides thy Fa|ther has often told me, we &s;hould one day &s;ee better times, and that For|tune would never for&s;ake me till &s;he had made me a Counte&s;s: And now 'tis a coming to come. But there mu&s;t be a beginning of all things, as thy Father was wont to &s;ay, who knows more Proverbs then a Doctor. <HI>When they give thee a Cow, run and fetch a Halter; when they give thee a Government, take it; when they proffer thee an Earldom, embrace it. That which is good to give, is good to take. Cry Sus, Sus, and the Dog never re|fu&s;es to lap. When Fortune knocks be &s;ure to open the Door.</HI> Let 'em talk on and cry, the Hare has pick'd up her Crums, I knew when her Belly was lanker. Ay, ay, Mother, let 'em jeer on a God's Name, provided my Bel|ly be full; the old Woman that &s;aw the Monkeys in good Cloaths, took 'em for the Gentleman's Children.</P>
<P>In truth, quo the <HI>Curate,</HI> hearing the Mother and the Daughter talk at that rate, I think the whole Race of the <HI>Pancha's</HI> came into the World with their Guts &s;tuff'd with Proverbs; I never knew one of the Name, but threw out a dozen at a time. I think &s;o too, quo the Page, for the Gover|nour thunders 'em out by hook or by crook, nor is there any Man that makes the Duke and the Dutche&s;s more merry. But Sir, quo <HI>Carra&s;co</HI> to the Page, pray tell us &s;eriou&s;ly, for our Under&s;tandings are &s;o entangl'd, that we can find no way to untie the Knot; and therefore I &s;ay, pray tell us &s;eriou&s;ly what's the meaning of this Government <HI>Sancho</HI> has got, and who this Dutche&s;s &s;hould be that &s;ends the&s;e gay Pre&s;ents and Letters to a poor Corn-weeder; for we cannot otherwi&s;e but look upon 'em as the &s;trange Ef|fects of &s;ome Enchantment that has happen'd to <HI>Don Quixote.</HI> For my part, Gentlemen, reply'd the Page, I can &s;ay no more, but that I was &s;eri|ou&s;ly, and in good earne&s;t &s;ent with the&s;e Letters and Pre&s;ents hither: That my Lord <HI>Sancho Pancha</HI> is actually a Governour, where he does Won|ders; and that my Lord Duke be&s;tow'd the Government upon him. If there be any Enchantment in it, do you examine that: this is all I have to &s;ay. All this may be, reply'd <HI>Carra&s;co,</HI> but you will give me leave to &s;ay, St. <HI>Au|&s;tin may doubt.</HI> For that you may do as you plea&s;e, reply'd the Page, you are Ma&s;ter of your own Thoughts. But I tell ye the truth: Don't think I &s;wim upon a Lye, like Oil upon Water&mdash; <HI>Operibus credite, non verbis</HI>&mdash; go along with me, and you &s;hall &s;ee with your Eyes what your Ears will not believe.</P>
<P>Who I! quo <HI>Sancha,</HI> with all my Heart, take me but up behind ye, Sir&mdash; I long to &s;ee my Father. No, Madam, Governours Daughters mu&s;t not travel alone, but in their Coaches, or their Litters, and then well attended too. Law ye now, Sir, quo <HI>Sancha,</HI> I can ride a Hor&s;e-back as well as in a Coach&mdash; I am none o' your tender Dillings, not I by my Truly. Peace, Girl, peace, quo <HI>Tere&s;a</HI> to her Daughter, thou do&s;t not know what thou &s;ay'&s;t, the Gentlemon is i' the right. There are Times and Times; when 'twas plain <HI>Sancho,</HI> 'twas plain <HI>Sancha;</HI> but now he's a Governour 'tis Madam <HI>Sancha,</HI> remember thy &s;elf. Madam <HI>Tere&s;a</HI> &s;peaks truth, reply'd the Page. But now, &s;aid he, give me a Mouth-ful to eat, that I may be gone; for I hope to be back this Evening, Pre&s;ently the <HI>Curate</HI> invited him to a &s;hort Commons at his Hou&s;e; for that Madam <HI>Tere&s;a</HI> was more wil|ling then able to provide for a Per&s;on of his Quality. To which the Page con&s;ented, as believing it would be much for the better; nor was the Par&s;on le&s;s glad of his Company, in hopes to under&s;tand the whole Truth concerning <HI>Sancho</HI> and <HI>Don Quixote. Carra&s;co</HI> proffer'd <HI>Tere&s;a</HI> to write her An&s;wer, but &s;he knowing him to be a Droll, would not permit him to be of her Coun|&s;ell
<PB N="524" REF="281"> &s;ell. And &s;o &s;he gave a Penny white-Loaf and two Eggs to a young Queri&s;ter to be her Secretary, who wrote her two Letters, one to the Dutche&s;s, the other to <HI>Sancho,</HI> perhaps not the wor&s;t Pieces in this long Hi&s;tory.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="16" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XVI.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing the Continuation of <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Government.</HEAD>
<P>THE Ma&s;ter of the Hou&s;e, as we &s;aid before, was &s;o deeply in love with <HI>Diego de Lana</HI>'s Daughter, that he could take no re&s;t all that Night, his Thoughts were &s;o taken up in mu&s;ing and pondering on the bewitching Beauty of that young Lady. On the other &s;ide, the Steward &s;pent his time in writing to the Duke <HI>D. Sancho</HI>'s admirable Sentences, and wonderfull Actions, of which he admir'd the &s;trange and unexpected in|termixture. In the Morning the Governour ro&s;e, and by that time he was ready, they brought him, by Dr. <HI>Puncinello</HI>'s Order, a &s;mall Plate of Pre|&s;erves, and a Gla&s;s of fair Water, which he would have exchang'd with all his Heart for a cut round a Peck-brown-Loaf, and half a Frail of blew Rea|&s;ons. However, being oblig'd to <HI>Hob&s;on</HI>'s Choice, he &s;eem'd to be content. The Doctor told him, 'twas highly expedient for tho&s;e that were in great Employments to eat but little, and that which was dainty, and ea&s;ie of Di|ge&s;tion; for that &s;uch a &s;ort of Diet only reviv'd the Spirits and quicken'd the Wit. Arguments that only &s;erv'd to fami&s;h <HI>Sancho,</HI> who as hungry as a Kite, and curs'd in his Heart both the Government and him that had giv'n it him. However, he fail'd not to give Audience that day; and the fir&s;t that came was a Stranger, who propos'd this Que&s;tion.</P>
<P>Sir, &s;aid he, not far off there is a great River which parts the Lands of the &s;ame Lord. I beg your Honour to hear me with Attention, for 'tis a matter of great weight and difficulty. Upon this River there is a Bridge, at one end of which there &s;tands a Gibbet, and not far from thence a little Hou&s;e, where four Judges are appointed to &s;it for the Execution of a certain Law, which is peculiar to the Lord of the Soil, and runs thus:</P>
<P><HI>He that intends to pa&s;s this Bridge from one end to the other, mu&s;t upon his Oath declare from whence he came, and whither he goes. If he &s;wear truth, he &s;hall pa&s;s freely without Interruption; but if he &s;wear fal&s;e, he &s;hall be hang'd forthwith, without mercy upon this Gibbet.</HI></P>
<P>Now this Law being known over all the Kingdom, whoever they are that pa&s;s this Bridge, they are examin'd, and if they &s;wear true, there's nothing more &s;aid to 'em. It happen'd one day that a certain Pa&s;&s;enger af|ter he had taken his Oath, upon his Examination made an&s;wer, That he parted from &s;uch a place, and that he was come to die upon that Gallows. Thereupon the Judges laying their Heads together, quo they, if we let this Man pa&s;s, he &s;wears a fal&s;e Oath, and according to the Law he mu&s;t die; if we hang him, he &s;wears Truth, and then by the &s;ame Law we mu&s;t let him pa&s;s. Now I humbly beg your Opinion, my Lord, what the Judges ought to do with this Man i' this Ca&s;e? For they are at a <HI>Non-plus</HI> at pre&s;ent, not knowing what to determine; but under&s;tanding by com|mon Fame your great Abilities in re&s;olving difficult Que&s;tions, they &s;ent me hither to crave your Judgment in &s;uch a knotty Point.</P>
<PB N="525" REF="281">
<P>To tell you truth, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> the Judges that &s;ent you hither, might as well have &s;par'd you the Labour: For I am not &s;o cunning as they take me to be; many times a Man that outwardly &s;eems a Man, may be a Bea&s;t within&s;ide. However let me hear your Que&s;tion once more, and I'le endeavour to under&s;tand it, perhaps I may at length hit the Nail i' the Head. Thereupon the Stranger propounded the Que&s;tion agen. To whom, when he had done, <HI>Sancho</HI> having paws'd a while, This Que|&s;tion in my opinion may be ea&s;ily an&s;wer'd in two Words, as thus: You &s;ay, the Man &s;wore he came to dye upon the Gibbet: If he dyes, he &s;wears true, now if he &s;wears true, the Law mu&s;t let him pa&s;s; and if they do not hang him, he &s;wears fal&s;e, and therefore he ought to be hang'd: is this true? You take it right, my Lord, reply'd the Stranger. Why then, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> let 'em pa&s;s that part of the Man that &s;wore true, and hang the other part of the Man that &s;wore fal&s;e; and &s;o the Law will be fully &s;atisfy'd.</P>
<P>But then my Lord, quo the Sranger, the Man mu&s;t be divided into two halves; which not being to be done without killing him, the Que&s;tion re|mains &s;till undecided.</P>
<P>Hark yee me, Sir, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> This &s;ame Stranger you talk of, either I am a Faggot Stick, or there is as much rea&s;on to di&s;charge him as to put him to death; for if the Lye condemn him, the Truth &s;aves him; and there|fore I would have yee tell the Judges, that &s;ent yee, &s;incee there is as much rea&s;on to ab&s;olve as to condemn him, that they let him go. For where the Ballance is even between Mercy and Rigour, the mild Judg is to be preferred before the &s;evere and cruel. And this is that which I would give yee under my Hand, if I knew how to write: Nor do I &s;peak this of my own Head, but I remember it as being a particular Precept, which my Lord <HI>Don Quixote</HI> gave me among others, the night before I came to govern this I&s;land; and this occa&s;ion has brought it to my Remembrance. Sir, &s;aid the Steward, your Sentence is &s;o ju&s;t and equitable, that <HI>Lycurgus</HI> him&s;elf, who gave Laws to the <HI>Lacedemonians,</HI> could never have given a better then the great <HI>Sancho Pancha</HI> has done. And now, Sir, I think you have &s;ate long enough for this Morning; be pleas'd to Adjourn the Court, while I go and look after Dinner. That's well &s;aid, quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> feed me well, and let 'em ask me as many Que&s;tions as a Hor&s;e will carry; if I don't &s;nuff 'em as bright as a Candle, I'me a Ragamuffin. Nor was the Steward wor&s;e then his word, as one that made a Con&s;cience of fami&s;hing &s;o wor|thy a Governour, and &s;uch a per&s;picatious Judg; be&s;ides that he had a de|&s;ire the next night to conclude the la&s;t Act, which he had prepar'd for <HI>Sancho,</HI> by the Dukes In&s;tructions.</P>
<P>And now had <HI>Sancho</HI> din'd to his full Content, in &s;pite of all the Apho|ri&s;ms of Doctor <HI>Ditto in Pomerania,</HI> when a Courrier entering the Hall, deliver'd him a Letter from <HI>Don Quixote.</HI> Which when the Secretary by <HI>Sancho</HI>'s order had read to him&s;elf, he told his Ma&s;ter, that it might not on|ly be publickly read, but that it de&s;erv'd to be engrav'd in Letters of Gold; and then proceeded to read as follows.</P>
<LETTER LANG="eng">
<HEAD>Don Quixote de la Mancha <HI>to</HI> Sancho Pancha <HI>Governour of the I&s;land of</HI> Barattaria.</HEAD>
<P>WHen I was afraid to have news of thy Negligence and Fooleries, all the Country rings of thy Prudence and Diligence; for which I return Thanks to Heaven. However becau&s;e I know there are &s;ome Relicks of thy former
<PB N="526" REF="282"> Meanne&s;s that hang about thee, I would have thee know how to rai&s;e thy &s;elf above the Vulgar, for the better &s;upport of thy Authority. Let thy Apparel be clean, fa&s;hionable and neat, not layd with Laces and Embroideries like a Courtier, but grave and decent like a Judg. Gain the Hearts of thy People by dealing upright|ly with all the World; and be &s;ure to pre&s;erve Plenty in thy I&s;land. For nothing hurries the <HI>Mobile</HI> &s;ooner to Tumult and revolt, then &s;carcity and Poverty.</P>
<P>Never make many new Laws; but &s;ee that &s;uch as are whol&s;ome and good be exactly ob&s;erv'd: For Laws that are not obey'd are no Laws; but like the Log that was given to rule the Frogs, which they fear'd at fir&s;t, but &s;corn'd and con|tem'd when they perceiv'd it without force or courage.</P>
<P>Reward Vertue and puni&s;h Vice; Vi&s;it the Pri&s;ons, the Shambles and the Publick Markets. For there particularly the Eye of a Governour is nece&s;&s;ary to prevent Extortion, and regulate the Enormities of Weights and Mea&s;ures, and the general Di&s;hone&s;ty of Traders. And let thy Exemplary puni&s;hments render thee formidable to all deceitful and fraudulent Dealers.</P>
<P>Avoid what thou wert alway naturally enclin'd to; Covetou&s;ne&s;s, Ambition, and irregular Love of Women: For &s;nares will then be certainly layd for thee, and thy Pa&s;&s;ion will be thy Ruin.</P>
<P>Read over and over Morning and Night the Admonitions which I gave thee in writing; of which thou wilt find the Benefit upon all difficult occa&s;ions. Write to thy Ma&s;ters, and lo&s;e no opportunity of making thy acknowledgments; for In|gratitude is the wor&s;t of all Vices.</P>
<P>Some Per&s;ons that par'd not their Nails were very &s;harp upon my No&s;e and my Cheeks within the&s;e few nights; but I am now pretty well recover'd agen: For tho there are &s;ome Necromancers that hate me, I have others that are my Friends. Send me word whether thou think&s;t the Steward were he that acted Madam <HI>Three-Skirts,</HI> as thou wert once of Opinion. For I am engag'd in a Bu&s;ine&s;s, which I am afraid will cau&s;e me to Break with the Duke. 'Tis true I owe him much for his Civilities, but I owe more to my Profe&s;&s;ion, <HI>Amicus Pla|to, &s;ed magis Amica veritas.</HI> I &s;ent thee this &s;ame &s;crap of Latin in hopes thou mai&s;t have in &s;ome mea&s;ure learnt the Language &s;ince thou cam&s;t to be a Gover|nour. So Heaven defend thee from all Misfortunes.</P>
<CLOSER><SIGNED>Thy Friend <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha, Knight of the Lyons.</HI></SIGNED></CLOSER>
</LETTER>
<P>This Letter was highly applauded, both for Sence and Integrity, while every body that heard it, judg'd <HI>Don Quixote</HI> to be an hone&s;t worthy well meaning Gentleman. And &s;uch was <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Zeal to an&s;wer it, that ri&s;ing from his Chair, he went and lockt him&s;elf up in his Chamber with his Secretary, whom he order'd to write as follows, without adding or dimi|ni&s;hing.</P>
<LETTER LANG="eng">
<P>MY Employment finds me &s;o much bu&s;ine&s;s, that I have no time &s;o much as either to &s;cratch my Head or pair my Nails; which is the rea&s;on they are now &s;o long that I could &s;cratch my Grannam out of her Grave. I tell you this, that you may know the rea&s;on why I have not wrote to yee all this while, to let you under&s;tand how things go.</P>
<P>The Duke &s;ent to me two days &s;ince, to inform me of certain Spies that were come di&s;guis'd into the I&s;land to kill me. But as yet they have done me no
<PB N="527" REF="282"> harm that I know of. Only here's a damn'd Hell hound of a Doctor, hir'd as he &s;ays by the I&s;landers, and I think &s;o too, to kill all the Governours that ever come neer it. They call him <HI>Dr. Pedro Puncinello</HI> of <HI>Ditto</HI> in <HI>Pomerania;</HI> and I tell yee his Name that you may be &s;ure never to give him a Fee. This Doctor &s;ays him&s;elf, he can never cure tho&s;e that are &s;ick already, only 'tis his bu&s;ine&s;s to prevent Di&s;ea&s;es; and the Phy&s;ick he pre&s;cribes is a Dyet, or rather no Dyet, that in time will leave a Man no Fle&s;h upon his Bones, as if want of Fle&s;h were not as bad as a Fever. For my part I am almo&s;t &s;tarv'd to death, and it makes me madd, that when I thought as a Governour to eat ro&s;ted Larks by the Bu&s;hel, to drink brisk Wine by the Gallon, and recreate my Bones between Holland Sheets and upon Down Pillows, I &s;hould be con&s;train'd to do Penance like a Hermite; which becau&s;e I do again&s;t my will, I am afraid the Devil will take his Opportunity, and carry me a Skeleton to Hell.</P>
<P>I have as yet not &s;o much as finger'd either Salary or Duties, and I cannot imagin the meaning of it; for I was told that the Inhabitants were wont either to give or lend their Governours Money before they enter'd into the I&s;land.</P>
<P>La&s;t night going my Rounds I met with a delicate young Miskin y'faith, in Boys Apparel, and her Brother in Womans Habit. My Landlord pre&s;ently fell in Love with the Girle, and they &s;ay intends to be at her; For my part I de&s;ign the Boy for my Son in Law. This day my Landlord and I are to di&s;cour&s;e the Father, one <HI>Diego de Lana,</HI> a Gentleman and a notable old Toper I warrant him.</P>
<P>I vi&s;ited the Markets according to your advice, and ye&s;terday&mdash;&s;tay&mdash;Yes, 'twas ye&s;terday&mdash; I met with an old Woman &s;elling a Nuts&mdash; She pretended to &s;ell new Filberds, but I found &s;he had mix'd a whole Bu&s;hel of old Nuts among 'em&mdash; pre&s;ently I confi&s;cated all her Ware, and &s;ent 'em to the Blewcoat-Boys to mend their Voices, and forbid the Woman to appear i' the Market in fifteen days; and they &s;aid I did well. To tell yee truth, I never met with &s;uch a Ra&s;|cally Sawcy Foulmouth'd Generation of People then the&s;e Market-folks&mdash; they make nothing to call Gentlewomen Whores that will not give 'em their price&mdash; but I &s;ent &s;ome of 'em to the Whipping-Po&s;t for their Civility.</P>
<P>I am glad my Lady Dutche&s;s has writ to <HI>Tere&s;a,</HI> and &s;ent her the Pre&s;ent you mean: By the Grace a' God I'le endeavour to requite her kindne&s;s when my lei|&s;ure &s;erves me. Pre&s;ent my Service to her, and tell her &s;he has not &s;trew'd her Favours upon the Water.</P>
<P>I wi&s;h you had no occa&s;ion to fall out with the Duke, for if you two quarrel, 'tis I &s;hall come by the wor&s;t on't. Nor do you follow the Precepts you give others, in &s;hewing your &s;elf ingrateful to tho&s;e who have been &s;o kind to you.</P>
<P>As for the&s;e Phari&s;ee's with long Nails, I can &s;ay little to't, only I find you are &s;till haunted after the old rate. I would ha' &s;ent you a Token, but I could not tell what to imagin worth your acceptance, unle&s;s it were half a dozen Gli&s;ter-Pipes, which they have the Art of making here to a Miracle, with the Bladders be|longing to 'em, and which they are very curious at &s;etting on i' this I&s;land. But if I &s;tay, I'le endeavour to &s;end yee a new Knife and Fork. If <HI>Tere&s;a</HI> writes me an An&s;wer, pray pay the Carrier, and &s;end me the Letter as &s;oon as you can; for I long to hear how &s;he does. Heaven pre&s;erve you from the Malice of En|chanters, and &s;end me &s;afe and &s;ound out of this Government, which I am much afraid of, as Doctor <HI>Ditto</HI> dyets me.</P>
<CLOSER><SIGNED>Your Wor&s;hips mo&s;t humble Servant <HI>Sancho Pancha</HI> Governour.</SIGNED>
<DATELINE><HI>From my I&s;land the &s;ame day that I wrote.</HI></DATELINE></CLOSER>
</LETTER>
<PB N="528" REF="283">
<P>The Letter being thus written, the Secretary Seal'd it, and di&s;patch'd away the Courrier. In the mean time they that play'd the Dukes Game re&s;olv'd to put an end to <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Government. But he that meant no harm was &s;tudying new Laws for the Regulation of abu&s;es in his I&s;land. To which purpo&s;e he &s;uppre&s;s'd all the publick Taverns; however he would not &s;top the Importation of Wine from any Part whatever, provided they told him whence it came, to the end it might be rated according to its Goodne&s;s, ordering withal, that they who &s;hould mix Water with their Wine, or any other way adulterate it, or &s;ell it in Flasks or &s;mall Bottles, &s;hould &s;uffer death as common Cheats and poys'ners of human Bodies. He brought down the Price of Shoes, which to him &s;eem'd exce&s;&s;ive. He &s;et a rate upon Servants Wages; deeming it un&s;ufferable that Maid Ser|vants &s;hould ask &s;o much and do &s;o little as now adays they did, and be at no command neither: And he al&s;o forbid Kitchen-wenches to wear Silk Gowns and Petticoats. He layd great Penalties upon Lampooners and Ballad-&s;ingers, and forbid the carrying about of all Penny Divinity Books, and all Vagabonds the reading of Godly Exhortations through the No&s;e i' the Streets. He al&s;o made a Peculiar Officer or Beadle to clear the City of tho&s;e &s;hoals of Raw-Heads and Bloody-Bones, that pe&s;ter'd the Streets with their &s;ore Legs and mangy Sculs, and hung about Church Doors like Bees to &s;uck the Honey of Peoples ignorant and irregular Charity, believ|ing nothing more ignominious to a well Regulated Common-wealth, then the &s;ufferance of &s;uch &s;warms of idle and lazy Vagabonds, that endur'd more hard&s;hip to be Idle, then they that took pains for their Living. And upon complaint of &s;ome that curs'd becau&s;e they mi&s;s'd an Alms, or were re|buk'd, he order'd 'em forthwith to the Whipping-Po&s;t. With &s;everal other whol&s;ome Con&s;titutions, which are ob&s;erv'd to this day, under the Title of <HI>The Con&s;titutions of the Great and Prudent Governour</HI> Sancho Pancha.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="19" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XIX.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">The Adventure of the Second Madam <HI>Sorrowful,</HI> otherwi&s;e Mi&s;tre&s;s <HI>Doroty.</HI></HEAD>
<P><HI>CId Hamet</HI> relates, that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> being cur'd of his Nail-marks, and growing weary of the lazie Life which he led in the Ca&s;tle, &s;o contrary to the Orders of his Profe&s;&s;ion, determin'd to take leave of the Duke and depart for <HI>Sarago&s;a,</HI> where he thought to purchace Immortal ho|nour at the approaching Fe&s;tivals. But as he was &s;itting at Table with the Duke, with a re&s;olution to reveal his Intention, a new Accident entangl'd, and for a time delay'd his laudable Purpo&s;es. For ju&s;t as he was u&s;hering in his de&s;ign with a graceful and &s;tudy'd Complement, behold two Wo|men enter'd the Room, clad in Mourning from Head to Foot. At what time, one of the two, throwing her &s;elf at <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Feet, and ki&s;&s;ing his Shoes, fetch'd &s;uch profound and doleful Sighs, as if &s;he would have breath'd out her Soul at the Champions Toes. All the Company were a&s;to|ni&s;h'd at the Spectacle; and tho the Duke and the Dutche&s;s imagin'd it to be &s;ome new Project upon <HI>D. Quixote,</HI> yet there appear'd a &s;orrow &s;o natu|ral and unfained in the Women, that he knew not what to think; till <HI>Don Quixote</HI> rai&s;ing her from the Ground, and with much Importunity having
<PB N="529" REF="283"> prevail'd with her to lift up her Vail, &s;he di&s;cover'd a Countenance all over|flown with Tears, and what they lea&s;t &s;u&s;pected, expos'd to view all the Lineaments of Mrs. <HI>Doroties</HI> Face, Mother of the Maids to the Dut|che&s;s, and found her to be the &s;ame. And at the &s;ame time they likewi&s;e perceiv'd, that the young Lady that attended her was her Daughter, that had been &s;o lately bauk'd by the Farmers Son. A Spectacle &s;o un|lookt for redoubl'd the A&s;toni&s;hment of all the Company, e&s;pecially of the Duke and Dutche&s;s; for tho they hnew her to be as &s;illy as Simpli|city it &s;elf could make her, a kind of an Image of <HI>Rye-dough,</HI> yet they ne|ver took her to be a madd Woman. But at length Mrs. <HI>Doroty</HI> addre&s;&s;ing her &s;elf to the Duke and the Dutche&s;s, after &s;he had dropt 'em a Midwifes Curchie, I be&s;eech your Excellencies, quo &s;he, permit me to di&s;cour&s;e this Knight a few Minutes, who is the only Per&s;on that can help me out at a dead Lift, di&s;honour'd as I am by the treacherous In&s;olence of a debau&s;h'd young Country Bumkin. Good leave have yee, quo the Duke, and I make no doubt but my Lord <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Ears are open to your Complaint. Then Mrs. <HI>Doroty,</HI> turning to <HI>Don Quixote,</HI></P>
<P>Some few days ago, quo &s;he, Mo&s;t Valiant Champion, I gave your Wor|&s;hip an accompt how ba&s;ely and perfidiou&s;ly an ungracious Villain of a Farmers Son had us'd my Daughter, this unfortunate Virgin which here you &s;ee before your Eyes, and then you promis'd to undertake my Quarrel, and revenge the Injury done me. But this day I under&s;tand you are about to leave this Ca&s;tle in &s;earch of new Adventures, which I be|&s;eech Heaven may redound to your Everla&s;ting honour. Neverthele&s;s I have one Boon to beg of your Wor&s;hip, that before you go, you would be pleas'd to challenge this Lourdain of a Clown, and compell him to Marry my Daughter according to his Promi&s;e, before &s;he vouch&s;af d him her la&s;t Favours. For as for my Lord Duke, I can expect no ju&s;tice from him for the Rea&s;ons I have already told yee. And this perform'd, the Pro|&s;perity of Heaven attend yee the Remainder of your days.</P>
<P>Dry up your Tears dear Lady, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and make a Truce with your Sighs. I am bound to do your Daughter Rea&s;on, tho doubt|le&s;s &s;he had done much better, had &s;he not given &s;uch unwary Credit to the Prote&s;tations of Lovers, who are lavi&s;h of their Vows, but rarely keep their words. But in &s;hort, the Jobb's done; and now the Matter is, how to &s;oder up the Crack agen. To which purpo&s;e I promi&s;e yee, with my Lord Duke's permi&s;&s;ion, to find out this young Hedgbird: Nay, I wil find him out if he be above ground, I will challenge him, and give yee a &s;a|tisfactory accompt of your bu&s;ine&s;s. And if he be &s;o audacious as not to &s;tand to his Bargain, I will deliver him into your hands to di&s;member him, if you plea&s;e. For the chief end of my Profe&s;&s;ion is to pardon the &s;ubmi&s;|&s;ive, and cha&s;tize the &s;tubborn. There will be no &s;uch need, Sir Knight, reply'd the Duke, for you to run after this &s;ame Country Lad, &s;o dreadfully complain'd of by this Lady; for I will undertake my &s;elf, he &s;hall accept your Challenge, and come here in Per&s;on to an&s;wer it; and I'le &s;ecure yee be&s;ides, a fair Stage, ob&s;erving the Laws, and Conditions cu&s;tomary upon &s;uch Occa&s;ions; and doing Ju&s;tice to both Sides, as Princes are oblig'd to do, that admit of &s;ingle Combats within their Territories. Upon this A&s;|&s;urance which your Highne&s;s gives me, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I renounce all my Punctilio's of Gentility and Knight-Errantry, and conde&s;cend to equal my &s;elf with my Antagoni&s;t: I yield my &s;elf to be as mean as he, and him to be as noble as my &s;elf, that he may be qualify'd to mea&s;ure Lances with me. And &s;o, let him be ab&s;ent or pre&s;ent, I defye him as a Traytor, that
<PB N="530" REF="284"> has abus'd this Poor Lady, and robb'd her of her Honour, or el&s;e to dye in her defence. And at the &s;ame time, pulling off his Glove, he flung it into the middle of the Room; which the Duke immediately took up, de|claring that he accepted the Challenge in the name of his Va&s;&s;al, and a&s;&s;ign'd the day for Combat to be the Sixth en&s;uing, and the place to be the Ca&s;tle Court, with Lance, Buckler and Armour of proof, according to the Cu|&s;tom of Knights, without Fraud or Treachery, or Enchantments, after &s;earch made by the Judges of the Field. On the other &s;ide, quo the Duke, this Lady and her di&s;tre&s;&s;ed Daughter mu&s;t depo&s;ite the Ju&s;tice of their Quarrel in the hands of their Champion, <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> for otherwi&s;e the Challenge is <HI>ip&s;o facto,</HI> void in Law. That I do withal my Soul, cry'd Mrs. <HI>Doroty,</HI> and &s;o do I, quo the Daughter, weeping and hold|ing her Fingers before her Eyes, like a ravi&s;h'd Maid giving Evidence at the Bar. All things thus concluded upon, the Dutche&s;s order'd that the Mo|ther and the Daughter &s;hould no longer be lookt upon as her Dome&s;tick Servants, but as Lady-Errants, that came to demand Ju&s;tice in her Ca&s;tle. To which purpo&s;e there was a peculiar Apartment appointed for 'em, where they were &s;erv'd and attended as Strangers, to the Amazement of all that under&s;tood not the My&s;tery of Mi&s;tre&s;s <HI>Doroties</HI> ra&s;hne&s;s and in|di&s;cretion.</P>
<P>Toward the conclu&s;ion of Dinner, as it were for the la&s;t Cour&s;e, in came the Page that had carry'd the Pre&s;ent to the Governours Wife. You may be &s;ure the Duke was eager to know the Succe&s;s of his Journey; to whom the Page made an&s;wer, that he had many things to tell his Grace, but in regard they were &s;uch as requir'd Secrecy, he de&s;ir'd that he might deliver his Relation in private. Thereupon the Duke having order'd the greate&s;t part of his Attendants to withdraw, the Page pre&s;ented the Dutche&s;s with two Letters; the one directed to her &s;elf, and the other to <HI>Sancho,</HI> with this Super&s;cription.</P>
<Q>For my Husband <HI>Sancho Pancha,</HI> Governour of the I&s;land of <HI>Barattaria,</HI> who&s;e Life God prolong.</Q>
<P>The Dutche&s;s had not patience to &s;tay a Moment, but pre&s;ently open'd her own Epi&s;tle, and finding there was nothing of &s;ecrecy in it, &s;he read it thus aloud.</P>
<LETTER LANG="eng">
<HEAD><HI>Tere&s;a Pancha</HI>'s Letter to the Dutche&s;s.</HEAD>
<OPENER><SALUTE>Madam,</SALUTE></OPENER>
<P>THE Letter which your Greatne&s;s &s;ent me, was like a Cordial to my Heart, and i' good feth law, you could not have better pleas'd me. The Necklace is a wonderful pretty Thing, and the Green Hunting Suit was as wel|com to me as my Wedding Smock. Our Village have rung the Bells for joy, that you made my Husband a Governour, and &s;ome of 'em were Tip&s;ie la&s;t night with drinking your Health; more e&s;pecially our Curate, Mr. <HI>Nicholas</HI> the Barber, and the young Schollard <HI>Carra&s;co.</HI> They would not believe it a good while, but what care I whether they believe it or no, as long as I am &s;ure on't. Truly I would not ha' believ'd it neither but for the Necklace and the Hunting Suit. For all our Neighbours take my Husband for an Hone&s;t Man; yet they wonder that a Man who never govern'd any thing but Goats and Sheep, &s;hould be able to Go|vern Cities. But they whom God a&s;&s;i&s;ts, are well aided. I mu&s;t tell yee dear Madam, that I intend within the&s;e few days to go to Court i' my Coach, tho it be but to &s;pite &s;ome of our Twittering Ladies. And therefore I de&s;ire yee to bid
<PB N="531" REF="284"> my Husband &s;end me good &s;tore of Money; for the Court's a chargeable Place; where a Loaf of Bread co&s;ts Sixpence, and a little Di&s;h of Meat, as they dre&s;s it, comes to a Crown; therefore let him &s;end to me quickly, for my Tail itches to be jogging. Be&s;ides, that my Neighbours tell me if I carry my &s;elf and my Daugh|ter to Court, hoity toity alamode in a Lacker Coach, I &s;hall be known by my Hus|band, and my Husband by me; while the People cry what Ladies are tho&s;e, and my Coachman makes an&s;wer, The Governour of <HI>Barattaria, Sancho Pancha</HI>'s Wife and Daughter. And thus &s;hall my Husband be known, and I &s;hall be honour'd by every Body as far as <HI>Rome</HI> it &s;elf.</P>
<P>You cannot think how I am troubl'd that our People have gather'd no Acorns as yet; but I will &s;end you half a Bu&s;hel of my own which I pick'd up i' the Woods my &s;elf: nor is it my fault if they be not as big as Turky Egs.</P>
<P>Pray do not forget your Promi&s;e of writing to me, which I &s;hall be &s;ure to re|taliate with an An&s;wer, and to &s;end you all the news in our Village. My Son <HI>San|cho,</HI> and <HI>Sancha</HI> my Daughter, pre&s;ent their humble Service to your Greatne&s;s.</P>
<CLOSER><SIGNED>She that more de&s;ires your acquaintance then to write to yee, Your Affectionate Servant <HI>Tere&s;a Pancha,</HI> The Governour <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Wife.</SIGNED></CLOSER>
</LETTER>
<P>This Letter was very acceptable to all that heard it: But the Dutche&s;&s;es Curio&s;ity was not yet &s;atisfy'd, and therefore having obtain'd <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s permi&s;&s;ion to open the Letter directed to <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;he could not forbear read|ing it as follows.</P>
<LETTER LANG="eng">
<OPENER><SALUTE>DEar Honey <HI>Sancho,</HI></SALUTE></OPENER>
<P>I receiv'd thy Letter, and I vow and prote&s;t to thee upon the Faith of a Catholick Chri&s;tian, that I was within two Fingers breadth of running mad for joy. I was &s;o tran&s;ported, my Chuck, to hear thou wert made a Governour, that I thought I &s;hould ha' given the Crow a Pudding. For thou know&s;t, my dear Chuck, that &s;ometimes &s;udden Joy as well as violent Sor|row kills. And as for thy Daughter <HI>Sancha,</HI> &s;he was &s;o ravi&s;h'd with delight, that &s;he went Figet, Figet, about the Hou&s;e as if her Tail had been &s;tung with Cowitch. I &s;aw the Suit before my Eyes, had the Dutche&s;&s;es Necklace about my Neck, held the Letters i' my hands, and talkt with the Me&s;&s;enger, and yet I thought my &s;elf in a Dream. For who could ha' thought that a Goat-keeper &s;hould ever have been Governour of <HI>Barattaria?</HI> But what &s;aid thy old Grandmother, and &s;he was a wi&s;e Woman, God re&s;t her Soul, <HI>Little knows the Wife that &s;its by the Fire, how the Wind blows in Hurly Burly &s;wire.</HI> I &s;peak this be|cau&s;e I hope to &s;ee thee one day a Farmer of the Cu&s;toms or the Exci&s;e; for tho they be Offices that &s;end many to the Devil, yet they bring Grice to the Mill. My Lady Dutche&s;s will tell thee, that I have a de&s;ire to go to Court; pray &s;end me word whether thou think&s;t it proper or no; for I intend to go i' my Coach, be|cau&s;e I would not di&s;honour thee. The Curate, the Barber, nor the Schollar, nay the very Sexton neither will believe thou art a Governour, but &s;ay 'tis &s;ome of thy Ma&s;ters Dreams or one of his Frantick Enchantments; and the Schollar threatens to come and tear the Government from thy Shoulders, and cut thy Ma&s;ter of the Simples. For my part I laugh at 'em, when I look upon my Necklace, and the Suit which I am about to fit for thy Daughter. I am to &s;end my Lady Dutche&s;s &s;ome Acorns, and I wi&s;h they were of Gold; do thou &s;end me &s;ome Pearl, enow to make another Necklace, if there be any grow i' thy I&s;land.</P>
<PB N="532" REF="285">
<P>The news here is that Gaffer <HI>Barrueca</HI> has marry'd his Daughter to a Sign-Po&s;t-Painter, who came to our Town to paint all he met with. The Churchwardens have order'd him to paint the King s Arms over their Pew in our Church, for which they offer'd him an Angel in yellow Gold. He was eight days about it, but could make nothing of it; &s;ince that, he has taken a Spade upon his Shoulders, and goes a digging i' the Turnep Gardens. <HI>Peter Lobo</HI> the Crier of Carrots is turn'd Prie&s;t and wears a Ca&s;&s;ock; but young <HI>Min&s;a</HI> the Chandlers Daughter &s;ues him in the Arches upon a promi&s;e of Marriage; they &s;ay &s;he is with Child by him; but &s;he &s;tiffly denies it. T'other day there march'd a Company of Soldiers through this Village; however they &s;tai'd long enough to pick up three of our Town Girles, and carry'd 'em away along with 'em. I dare not name the Girles, becau&s;e it may be, they may return when the Soldiers ha' done with 'em. We have had few Olives this Year, neither is there any Vinegar to be got for Love or Money. <HI>Sancha</HI> makes Cabbidg-Nets, and gets her Sixpence a day, which &s;he lays up for her Por|tion, only a little &s;he &s;pends in Apples and Ginger-bread; but now &s;he's a Gover|nours Daughter &s;he intends to go to the Dancing-School. Ye&s;terday a violent clap of Thunder broke down the Gallows, I wi&s;h it had &s;tood a little longer for &s;ome bodies &s;ake. I expect thy An&s;wer about my going to Court. So God &s;end thee a long Life and a merry; and the &s;ame I wi&s;h to my &s;elf; for I would not willingly leave thee behind me.</P>
<CLOSER><SIGNED>Thy Wife <HI>Tere&s;a Pancha.</HI></SIGNED></CLOSER>
</LETTER>
<P>The&s;e Letters were a plea&s;ant Diverti&s;ement, &s;olemniz'd and admir'd by the Duke and all the re&s;t of the Company. And to compleat their Mirth, at the &s;ame time the Courrier enter'd, that brought <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Letter to <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> which was read publickly, and indeed &s;tartl'd all the Hearers who took the Governour for a Fool. To whom we are now to return, as be|ing the Flowre and Mirrour of all Mankind that ever govern'd I&s;lands.</P>
</DIV3>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="4" TYPE="book">
<PB N="533" REF="285">
<HEAD>THE FOURTH BOOK Of the Ingenious KNIGHT Don Quixote DE LA MANCHA. PART II.</HEAD>
<DIV3 N="1" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. I.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing the toil&s;ome Conclu&s;ion of <HI>Sancho Pancha</HI>'s Government.</HEAD>
<P>THere is nothing certain in this World, cry'd <HI>Cid Hamet,</HI> the <HI>Ma|hometan</HI> Philo&s;opher: The Sea&s;ons devour one another; Time pa&s;&s;es away; Day &s;wallows Night; and Night the Day; yet all things in their order &s;till appear agen: Only the Life of man runs headlong to its end, and labours under &s;hort Vici&s;&s;itudes, not able to call any thing his own, nor Ma&s;ter of his pre&s;ent Enjoyments. But this &s;ame Moral Reflection of our Author is not here to be &s;uppos'd as meant by him in its full and univer&s;al extent, it being plain, that he intended it only to &s;hew the In&s;ta|bility of <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Fortune, cropp'd in the Bud of his Preferment, and thrown from the Pinnacle of his Honour to the mean degree from whence he ro&s;e, ere he had time to look about him; &s;o that his Government &s;o happily be|gun, &s;eem'd only to be a Dream; and that he wak'd out of his Sleep when he return'd to his former Condition.</P>
<P>For it was now but the &s;eventh Night of his Rule, when the careful Go|vernour had betaken him&s;elf, tho late, to his Re&s;t, with his Belly more full of di&s;patch of Bu&s;ine&s;s then Vittles, either &s;umptuous or homely; and more tir'd with labouring the Reformation of Abu&s;es, and &s;tudying the good of the People under his Care, then with the nocturnal Toils of drink|ing and gaming. And now he thought to have refre&s;h'd his animal Spirits with Sleep, and was beginning to clo&s;e his Eyes, when of a &s;udden he heard mo&s;t dreadful Out-cries, the Bells rung backward, and the confu&s;ed noi&s;es of Tmuult and Uproar at once invaded his Ears, as if his I&s;land had been
<PB N="534" REF="286"> &s;inking to the bottom of the Ocean. Pre&s;ently he &s;tarted upon his Breech, and li&s;ten'd like a Hare in her Form, as attentive as an old Woman at a Lecture, and full of Meditation how far this Hurly Burly might concern him. But while he was thus mu&s;ing, without the Gift of Divination, the Drums and Trumpets gave a fre&s;h Alarum; and what with the Bawling and Cries of the People i' the Street, what with the hideous Jangling of the Bells, there was &s;uch a Doom's day Clutter, that the Bolts of <HI>Sancho</HI>'s back &s;ide were ready to fly open. Up he leapt out of his Bed, and opening the Chamber-door in his Shirt, he &s;aw above twenty of his Subjects making with all &s;peed to|ward him through a long Gallery, with their Flambeaus lighted in one Hand, and their Swords glittering in the other, crying out, <HI>Arm, arm,</HI> my Lord Governour, the Enemy is already i' the I&s;land, and we are all undone and lo&s;t for ever, unle&s;s a&s;&s;i&s;ted by your Valour and Prudence. In this pan|nick Con&s;ternation approaching the Governour, one cry'd out, <HI>Arm, for Heavens &s;ake, arm, Sir, or certain Bondage attends both you and all your Sub|jects.</HI></P>
<P>What would ye have Me arm for, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> who know nothing what belongs to Arms?&mdash; If your danger be &s;o great, &s;end for <HI>Don Quixote</HI> my Ma&s;ter, he'll di&s;patch your Enemies in the twinkling of an Eye. For as I'm a Sinner to Heaven, I under&s;tand not what belongs to the&s;e things. Oh, my Lord Governour! what a cowardly Excu&s;e is this? Arm, Sir, for the love of Mercy, arm; will you abandon us in our nece&s;&s;ity, we that bring you Arms offen&s;ive and defen&s;ive?&mdash; Shew your &s;elf a Governour, you that are our Captain and Governour. Why then arm me with a Vengeance, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;ince I mu&s;t be arm'd. With that they brought him two long Bucklers as he &s;tood in his Shirt, and ty'd the one behind upon his Back, and the other before upon his Brea&s;t, leaving out both his Arms, and fa&s;tning the Shields to his Body as hard as well they could bind 'em with tough Lea|thern Thongs. So that the poor Governour was clos'd up like a Heater in a Smoothing-Iron, not able &s;o much as to bend his Knees. And now ha|ving thus cas'd him, they be&s;ought him to lead 'em on, and head 'em a|gain&s;t the Enemies, telling him withal, that they were a&s;&s;ur'd of Victory, having him for their Commander. Well! but how d' ye think I am able to go now, thus &s;queez'd as I am, like a Bag of &s;weet Almonds in a Potecary's Pre&s;s? You mu&s;t 'een carry me to the Place where you would have me to &s;tand, and I'le defend that &s;ingle Spot either with my Lance, or my Iron Body&mdash; that's all I can do, that I know of. No, no,&mdash; my Lord Governour, 'tis your fear, not the weight of your Armour that &s;tiffens your Legs&mdash; Move Sir, move, the Alarum grows hotter and hotter, the Enemy's at hand, and delay redoubles our danger. Poor <HI>Sancho</HI> thus taunted and upbraided, endeavour'd to put on, but the fir&s;t &s;tep he took threw him to the ground at his full length, where he gave over all his Bones for Broken. Nor was it po&s;&s;ible for him to ri&s;e again, but there he lay like a ma&s;&s;ie Tortoi&s;e, or like a great Boat overturn'd upon the Sands, with the Keel upward. Nor had tho&s;e drolling <HI>Cannibals</HI> the Compa&s;&s;ion of Hangmen upon him as he lay; but on the other &s;ide, they put out their Lights, and making a hideous Hurly burly and clattering with their Swords, as if it had been the Battel of <HI>Lepanto,</HI> they trampled to and agen upon the poor Governours body, and by and by laying on upon his Buckler, like Farriers making Hor&s;e-&s;hoes, they put the di&s;con&s;olate and helple&s;s Governour into &s;uch a Fright, that he lay &s;weating like a piece of Beef in an Oven, and praying for Deliverance from the cur&s;ed Trade of governing of I&s;lands. Some kick'd him, &s;ome fell upon him for the nonce; and one ungracious Hang-dog jump'd full up|on
<PB N="535" REF="286"> him, and there &s;tood for &s;ome time, like a General encouraging his Souldiers, and giving Orders, crying out, There Boys, there, &s;top that Gap, make good that Ground, down with tho&s;e Scaling-Ladders, bring more melted Pitch, more Bombs, more Granado's, fly Boys, fly, and fetch more &s;calding Tallow. In &s;hort, he bawl'd out for all the di&s;mal Trinkets, and killing In&s;truments of Murder he could think of, and pour'd out &s;o thick, and &s;o fa&s;t &s;uch a thundering Peal of hard Names, that <HI>San|cho</HI> lay in his Shell half murder'd with the &s;ound of the words; and near expiring with Fear, quo he to him&s;elf, Would to God this I&s;land were taken once, and I either well i' my Grave, or el&s;e deliver'd from this un|&s;ufferable Torment.</P>
<P>At length Heaven heard his &s;oft Ejaculations, and when he lea&s;t ex|pected it, he heard 'em cry <HI>Victory, Victory;</HI> courage Mr. Governour, the Enemy's put to flight: Ri&s;e, my Lord, cry'd another, ri&s;e, my Lord, and come and &s;hare with us the Fruits of our Conque&s;t. Help me up, cry'd <HI>Sancho</HI> in a doleful and lamentable Tone. And when they had &s;et him up|on his Legs; The Enemy that I ha' kill'd, quo he, let him come and drive a Nail i' my Forehead; and therefore divide the Spoils among your &s;elves, I ha' nothing to &s;ay to 'em. But if I have any one Friend here, let him give me a Gill of Brandy, for I am ready to faint; and for Heaven's &s;ake let me have a Towel, for I am all over in a Water. Thereupon they gave him a draught of Sack, wip'd him dry, and uncas'd him; at what time finding him&s;elf at Liberty, and going to re&s;t him&s;elf upon his Bed, what with the Fright, and what with his being violently teaz'd and hara&s;s'd, he fell into a Swoon: In&s;omuch that they who had acted the Droll, began to repent that they had carry'd their Pa&s;time &s;o high. But that pious Qualm was &s;oon over, when they &s;aw him revive agen, which he did in a little time.</P>
<P>No &s;ooner was he come to him&s;elf, but he ask'd what 'twas a clock? They an&s;wer'd, ju&s;t break of day. Upon that, without &s;aying a word more, he dre&s;t him&s;elf with all the &s;peed imaginable; the Company ad|miring all the while both at his ha&s;te and his &s;ilence. But he having dre&s;s'd him&s;elf, not without &s;ome Member-twitches ye may be &s;ure, ob|&s;erving his fir&s;t re&s;erv'dne&s;s, and taking no notice of any body, trudg'd to|ward the Stable, follow'd however by all the Company, and coming within a hairs breadth of his Grizzle, he embrac'd the dumb Bea&s;t, ki&s;s'd his Forehead, and with Tears in his Eyes, Come hither, my Joy, &s;aid he, the faithful Companion and Con&s;olation of my Mi&s;eries. When thee and I liv'd together, and had a right under&s;tanding one of another, then all my Cares were only to get Vittles for thee, and look after thy Pack-&s;addle; happy were my Days, my Months, and Years. But when I for&s;ook thee, and clamber'd up the Towers of Pride and Ambition, a thou&s;and Hard&s;hips, carking Thoughts and Tribulations have harra&s;s'd my very Soul, and plung'd me over head and ears in Mi&s;erie. At the &s;ame time he &s;addl'd his A&s;s, and got upon her Back; and then addre&s;&s;ing him&s;elf to the Steward, the Doctor, and the re&s;t of the Company, Open the Gate, &s;aid he, and let me return to my former Liberty, &s;uffer me good now, to &s;eek my old Cour&s;e of Life, that I may ri&s;e again from that &s;ame death that buries me here alive. I find I am not born to be a Governour, nor to defend I&s;lands again&s;t Fools and Knaves: I better under&s;tand how to go to Plough and Cart, and fill a Dung-pot, then to make Laws, and govern Cities and Provinces. St. <HI>Peter</HI> lives at <HI>Rome,</HI> that is to &s;ay, let every Man mind the Employment he was bred to. A Spade does better in my Hand, then a
<PB N="536" REF="287"> Mar&s;hal's Truncheon: And I had rather have a Sop in a Me&s;s of Onion-Broth, then lie at the Mercy of a Son of a Whore Mountebanck, that would &s;tarve me to death before he can find what's proper for me to eat. I can &s;leep as well under an Oak i' the Summer, and i' the Winter nuzzl'd up in an <HI>Iri&s;h</HI> Rugg, as in the be&s;t Holland Sheets that ever were &s;pun. Give me a good warm <HI>Kenti&s;h</HI> Cloth, and the Devil take your Foins and your Furs for me. Once more, Gentlemen, farewel, and tell my Lord Duke from me, that naked I came, and naked I return; I have neither won nor lo&s;t; without a Farthing I came into the I&s;land, and without a Farthing I leave it, quite contrary, I am &s;ure, to the Cu&s;tom of other Governours. Good night and good morrow, Gentlemen, and &s;o let me pa&s;s, and go &s;eek out a Surgeon, for i' my Con&s;cience all my Bones are broken; God reward my Enemies that &s;tamp'd upon my Back like &s;o many Fencers.</P>
<P>You will not be thus unkind, I hope, good my Lord Governour, re|ply'd the Doctor, I will give you a Bal&s;om to drink, that &s;hall ea&s;e all your Pains, and re&s;tore ye to your former Vigour. And then for your Diet, you &s;hall eat what you plea&s;e, and as long as you plea&s;e.</P>
<P>'Tis too late, Mr. Doctor, reply'd <HI>Sancho;</HI> I thank ye for your Bal&s;oms, but you &s;hall as &s;oon make me turn <HI>Turk</HI> as &s;top me. By the Lord <HI>Harry,</HI> if ever ye catch me panting after Governments agen, I'le give ye leave to make a Whi&s;tle o' my Tail. No, no, Mr. <HI>Gli&s;ter-pipe,</HI> I find you don't know the <HI>Pancha's;</HI> for when they &s;ay 'tis odd, it &s;hall be odd, in &s;pite of all the World. Go too then, let's begon, and leave behind us tho&s;e Flies Wings that would ha' been mounting me up i' the Air to eat Swallows. Now fair and &s;oftly; when pinkt Cordovan Pumps fail us, good Neats-Leather will carry us through thick and thin. <HI>Every Sheep to her Mate; and let us not be more Bea&s;ts than the Wolf that devours us.</HI> And &s;o let me go; 'tis late.</P>
<P>My Lord Governour, quo the Steward, Heaven forbid that we &s;hould &s;top your Lord&s;hip; yet we cannot but let you know how much it grieves us to part with &s;uch a per&s;on, who&s;e Merit and Chir&s;tian Behaviour has &s;o high|ly oblig'd us. But you know that every Governour when he knows his Em|ployment, is bound to give an Account of his Admini&s;tration. Be pleas'd therefore to give an Account of yours, and we &s;hall detain ye no longer. No body has power to call me to an Account, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> unle&s;s it be the Duke him&s;elf, and to him it is that I am going; tho it may well be thought, that a Man that goes away pennile&s;s, as I do, has had no great Bargain of his Admini&s;tration. Before <HI>George,</HI> cry'd the Doctor, the Great <HI>Sancho</HI> is in the Right, and therefore we ought to let him go; be&s;ides that I know that the Duke has a great de&s;ire to &s;ee him. Thereupon they all agreed to let him pa&s;s, proffering withal to attend him, and furni&s;h him with what he wanted for his Journey. <HI>Sancho</HI> thank'd 'em for their Civility, but told 'em that all he de&s;ir'd, was a little Barley for his A&s;s, and a piece of Bread and Chee&s;e for him&s;elf. With that they embrac'd him, and took their leaves; and then <HI>Sancho</HI> gave them his Benediction, and &s;et forward, leaving the Company in Admiration of his rational Di&s;cour&s;es, and his &s;udden Re|&s;olution.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="2" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="537" REF="287">
<HEAD>CHAP. II.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing &s;everal things that tend to the Illu&s;tration of this Hi&s;tory, and no other.</HEAD>
<P>THE Duke and the Dutche&s;s who de&s;ir'd nothing more then to di|verti&s;e them&s;elves, re&s;olv'd that <HI>Don Quixot</HI>'s Challenge &s;hould not &s;leep. And tho the Country Lad were fled into <HI>Flanders,</HI> for fear of being Madam <HI>Doroty</HI>'s Son-in-law, they made choice of a <HI>Ga&s;coyn</HI> Lacquey to &s;upply his Room, who&s;e Name was <HI>To&s;illos;</HI> to whom they gave In&s;tructions be|fore hand how to play his Game. The Duke al&s;o told <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that within two days his Antagoni&s;t would return, and four days after that, would meet him arm'd at all Points to maintain, that the young Dam&s;el was a Strumpet, and ly'd, to &s;ay that he had ever promis d her Marriage. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was over joy'd at the News, as one that long'd for an opportunity to &s;hew the Extent of his Courage, and the Strength of his Arm in &s;uch good Company; and therefore waited as impatienly for the end of the&s;e four days, as a Lover for the appointed hour of an A&s;&s;ignation.</P>
<P>Now therefore while <HI>Don Quixote</HI> lies idle, let us &s;ee what becomes of poor <HI>Sancho,</HI> who was now upon the Road, better &s;atisfy'd to find him&s;elf upon the Back of his faithful <HI>Grizzle,</HI> then afflicted for the lo&s;s of his Government. Nor was he got far from his I&s;land, or City, or Village, for we could never yet tell what it was, before he met &s;ix Pilgrims, with their Staves, of that merry &s;ort, that beg &s;inging, like your Sweet Sing|ers of <HI>I&s;rael.</HI> So &s;oon as they drew near him, they divided them&s;elves, and &s;urrounding his A&s;s, fell a &s;inging all together, but in &s;uch a kind of <HI>Pedlers French,</HI> that <HI>Sancho</HI> could not under&s;tand a word they &s;aid, but only the Word <HI>Alms;</HI> by which he conjectur'd, that 'twas Money they wanted. Thereupon, being a very charitable per&s;on, as <HI>Cid Hamet</HI> reports him, he pull'd out half his Bread and Chee&s;e, and gave it 'em, make|ing &s;igns withal, that he had nothing el&s;e to give 'em. They gladly re|ceiv'd his kindne&s;s, but &s;till not &s;o &s;atisfy'd, they &s;till cry'd out, <HI>Guelt, Guelt.</HI> Friends, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> y' good faith I do not under&s;tand this <HI>Gibberi&s;h</HI> of yours. Thereupon one of the Gang pull'd out a Pur&s;e out of his Bo&s;ome, and &s;hew'd it to <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;haking it as he held it in his Hand. But he put|ting his Thumb to his Throat, and extending his four fingers toward his Mouth, made a &s;ign that he had not a Farthing; and &s;o was riding on as fa&s;t as he could: at what time one of the Pilgrims calling him to remem|brance, made him &s;top; and clipping him about the middle, Good God! &s;aid he, Who's this? What, my old Friend <HI>Sancho?</HI> 'Tis he I'm &s;ure, for I am not yet drunk. <HI>Sancho</HI> was &s;trangely &s;urpriz'd to hear him&s;elf call'd by his Name, and to &s;ee him&s;elf &s;o lovingly hugg'd by the Pilgrim, that he fix'd his Eyes upon him for &s;ome time without &s;peaking a word; but for all his looking and gaping, he could not, for the life of him, tell who he was. So that the Pilgrim beholding <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Amazement, What, &s;aid he, don't you know your old Acquaintance, <HI>Ricot</HI> the <HI>Moor,</HI> that &s;old Hogs Cheeks and Chitterlings i' your Town? Then <HI>Sancho</HI> calling him to mind, and hug|ging him about the Neck, as he &s;ate upon his A&s;s&mdash; Who the Devil, quo he, could ever ha' known <HI>Ricot</HI> the <HI>Moor</HI> in this &s;ame &s;trange Di&s;|gui&s;e? Why how dur&s;t thou return into <HI>Spain?</HI>&mdash; y' good faith I would not be i' thy Coat, &s;hould&s;t thou be di&s;cover'd. If thou do&s;t not betray
<PB N="538" REF="288"> me, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo the <HI>Pilgrim,</HI> no Man living can know me i' this Habit. But let us get out of the Road, and retire to yonder Wood, where the re&s;t of my Comrades are re&s;olv'd to repo&s;e them&s;elves: there thou &s;halt dine with us too; for they are choice Lads, I'le a&s;&s;ure thee, and &s;uch as will plea&s;e thy Humour; and there I &s;hall have lei&s;ure to tell thee how I have &s;pent my time &s;ince I was forc'd to leave the Village. And &s;o &s;aying, he return'd to his Company; with whom after he had jabber'd a while, they went all together to the Wood, where, after they had laid by their <HI>Pilgrims</HI> Staves, and their Shoulder-Blankets, they were almo&s;t naked. They were a Knot of brisk young <HI>Gu&s;mans,</HI> notable Tongue Pads, lov'd ea&s;e and a merry life, but car'd not how they came by what they had. Onely <HI>Ricot</HI> was &s;omewhat &s;tricken in years, and by con&s;equence Ma&s;ter of Mi&s;rule. Every one carry'd his Wallet, and that well furni&s;h'd too. They wanted not their good Bits, nor their Shoeing horns to draw down good Liquor, e&s;pecially Bolony Sawcidges and Caveer: &s;pecial Saints where the Devil wore the Cro&s;s.</P>
<P>Nature had furni&s;h'd 'em with a Table-cloth, which was the green Gra&s;s; &s;o that the Cloth being laid, every one clubbing according to what Fortune had &s;ent him, pre&s;ently there was a comfortable appearance of Bread, Salt, Knives, Nuts, halfe Chee&s;es; and &s;ome Bones on which there were &s;till &s;ome good pickings left, together with &s;everal Pots of Caveer: Olives they had al&s;o good &s;tore, tho none of the moi&s;te&s;t. But the chief Glory of the Fea&s;t, was &s;ix Bottles of Wine, every one contributing his &s;hare; and <HI>Ricot,</HI> who was now transform'd from a <HI>Moor</HI> to a <HI>Dutchman,</HI> pretended above all the re&s;t, to have a choice piece of the Pipe next the Wall. To be &s;hort, to't they went tooth and nail, for they were too &s;harp &s;et to make u&s;e of their Knives; and then finding drouth &s;tealing upon 'em, all at once they lifted up their Arms, and turning the bottoms of their Bottles up i' the Air, with their Eyes devoutly fix'd upon the Skies, they &s;uffer'd the precious Liquor to &s;tream down their Throats, moving their heads all the while like Puppets in a Show, to &s;ig|nifie the Raptures they were in. Nor could you &s;ay they were Jades, for they drew after the manner of Men, with Deliberation, not like Hor&s;es. <HI>Sancho</HI> admir'd this harmonious fa&s;hion of Drinking; and to &s;hew he was able to bear his part in &s;uch a Con&s;ort, and that when he was at <HI>Rome,</HI> he could do as they did at <HI>Rome,</HI> he de&s;ir'd <HI>Ricot</HI> to lend him his Bottle; and when he had it at his Mouth, he gave 'em to under&s;tand, that he wanted neither Method nor Breath. At what time one of the <HI>Pilgrims</HI> giving <HI>San|cho</HI> his right hand, God a mercy <HI>Spaniard,</HI> well done <HI>Dutchman,</HI> quo he, the Bottle makes good Companions I &s;ee&mdash; As good as ever wet Whi&s;tle, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> Ho&mdash;ho&mdash;ho&mdash; and then holding his fat Sides, he fell a &s;hew|ing his two rows of broad Teeth for half an hour together, no more con|cern'd for the lo&s;s of his Government, then for the lo&s;s of a Scape, that will away. Four times they rang the &s;ame Peal, but 'twas impo&s;&s;ible to ring the fifth; for by that time they had not left a <HI>Supernaculum</HI> drop to drown a Nit, which turnd their Mirth into Sorrow. However, as their Bellies were full, their Bones de&s;ir'd to be at re&s;t; and &s;o five of the &s;even fell fa&s;t a&s;leep. Only <HI>Sancho</HI> and <HI>Ricot</HI> having weighty Concerns to di&s;|cour&s;e of, betook them&s;elves under the covert of a Hedge, where <HI>Ricot</HI> ha|ving chang'd his Language, thus began:</P>
<P><HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;aid <HI>Ricot,</HI> thou well know&s;t how I was compell'd to fly the Kingdom upon the King's &s;evere Proclamation. I do confe&s;s, I cannot blame His Maje&s;ty; for to my Knowledge my Countrymen had very dangerous De&s;igns again&s;t him; and therefore I think he was in&s;pir'd by Heaven to
<PB N="539" REF="288"> expel tho&s;e Snakes out of the Bo&s;om of his Kingdom. For my part I was in nothing their Confederate, as being a good Chri&s;tian and no <HI>Moor.</HI> But finding my &s;elf wrapt up in the &s;ame danger with the re&s;t of my Country|men, I thought it not &s;afe to abide where there was no &s;ecurity for me. For that rea&s;on it was, as thou know&s;t, that I left our Town, and went into <HI>France,</HI> with &s;ome other of my acquaintance, where after I had &s;taid awhile, having a running Pate of my own, I travel'd into <HI>Italy,</HI> and from thence into <HI>Germany;</HI> where me-thought I lik'd the humour of the People, as not being &s;o inqui&s;itive and prying into their Neighbours affairs, and living with more freedom, and more &s;ociably one with another; be&s;ides, that every one enjoys the Liberty of his own Con&s;cience. This made me make &s;ure of a Dwelling in a Village neer <HI>Au&s;purgh,</HI> where I met with the&s;e Pilgrims, who make it their Bu&s;ine&s;s frequently to vi&s;it the Shrines of the <HI>Spani&s;h</HI> Saints, which they look upon as their Mines of <HI>Peru,</HI> as being certain to be no lo&s;ers by their Journey. For which purpo&s;e they ramble all the Kingdom over, not mi&s;&s;ing a Village, where they are &s;ure to meet with &s;ome good Prog or other, and many times ready Silver with the Kings Picture fairly engraven. And they husband their bu&s;ine&s;s &s;o well, that at the end of their Travels they are able to mu&s;ter up a hunder'd Crowns in a bright heap, which they change into Gold and croud into the hollow of their Staves, or quilt into their Mantles; and are &s;o indu&s;trious as to &s;cape all &s;earches at their going out of the Kingdom.</P>
<P>Now my de&s;ign in returning hither is to fetch a certain parcel of Mo|ney that I buried upon my departure out of the Realm; which I may the better do, in regard it is in a place quite out of the Town. And having done that, I intend to go and fetch my Wife and my Daughter out of <HI>Bar|bary,</HI> and return into <HI>Germany</HI> agen. For I am &s;ure my Wife and my Daugh|ter are as good Catholicks and as true Chri&s;tians as my &s;elf. Only I won|der, <HI>Sancho,</HI> that my Wife &s;hould rather choo&s;e to go for <HI>Barbary</HI> then into <HI>France,</HI> where &s;he knew &s;he might live like a Chri&s;tian.</P>
<P>That was none of thy Wives fault, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> for her Brother-in-Law to my knowledg took her along with him, and &s;he made him her Compani|on the rather, believing he could be&s;t provide for her, as being a rank <HI>Moor.</HI> But Neighbour, my fears are that thou go'&s;t in vain to look after thy hid|den Trea&s;ure: Alas&mdash; alas&mdash; the Bird's flown. For the report was hot among us, that they had &s;eiz'd a great Quantity of Pearls and Gold which thy Wife and thy Brother-in-Law were privately conveighing away. That may be <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Ricot,</HI> but I am &s;ure they have not met with my Hoord, for I never told &s;o much as my Wife where I had hid my concerns for fear of the wor&s;t. And therefore if thou wilt go along with me and help me to carry off this Money, I will give thee two hunder'd Crowns, and that will be better to Thee, then a flap with a Fox Tail.</P>
<P>I would do it withal my Heart, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> but I am not covetous; for if I had lov'd Money, I would nere ha' quitted an Employment, as I did this Morning, wherein I might ha' got enough to ha' til'd my Hou&s;e with Gold if I would ha' &s;tai'd, and before &s;ix Months had been at an end, might ha' fed my Hor&s;es in Silver Mangers. And therefore becau&s;e I believe it would be a piece of Trea&s;on to the King, to &s;erve his Enemies, I would not go with thee, tho thou would&s;t double the Sum, and pay it me down in ready Ca&s;h. What Employment prithee <HI>Sancho,</HI> is this which thou ha&s;t &s;o Self-denyingly left? quo <HI>Ricot.</HI></P>
<P>Why, I have left the Government of an I&s;land; and &s;uch an I&s;land that there is not the like of it again i' the World; 'tis above a quarter of a
<PB N="540" REF="289"> League in Compa&s;s. Where does this I&s;land lye? quo <HI>Ricot.</HI> Where does it lye? quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> about two Leagues off, and it is call'd the I&s;land of <HI>Cheap-&s;ide.</HI> What do&s;t mean, <HI>Sancho?</HI> reply'd <HI>Ricot;</HI> be there any I&s;lands upon the main Land? Why not? quo <HI>Sancho</HI>&mdash; I tell thee, I parted from thence this Morning; and la&s;t night I commanded it like an Emperor; yet I left it, becau&s;e 'tis my Judgment, that the Office of a Governour is not only troubule&s;om, but very dangerous. And what did&s;t get during thy Government? quo <HI>Ricot.</HI> What the Catt left i' the Malt, quo <HI>Sancho</HI>&mdash; only I learnt that I was not born to be a Governour, unle&s;s it were over a Flock of Sheep; and then agen, I learnt that Governours get their Wealth by watching and toyling, and hunger and drougth. For in I&s;lands Gover|nours never eat, e&s;pecially if they have Phy&s;icians to take care of their Health.</P>
<P>Who the Devil &s;hould this be, quo <HI>Ricot,</HI> that was &s;uch a Fool to give thee an I&s;land to Govern? could he find out no body to Govern his I&s;land but &s;uch a <HI>Gee-ho-man</HI> as thou? Certainly <HI>Sancho,</HI> thou dream&s;t and tak'&s;t fool's Paradi&s;e for an I&s;land&mdash; Come&mdash; come&mdash; come along with me and help me away with my Money&mdash; there will be the Bird i' thy hand. I ha' told thee my Re&s;olution already&mdash; let it &s;uffice that I make no di&s;co|veries, and &s;o adieu&mdash; <HI>He that will dye well mu&s;t live well&mdash; and he gains enough that &s;capes an ill offer&mdash; and Goods ill got &s;eldom pro&s;per.</HI> Well&mdash; <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Ricot,</HI> I'le pre&s;s thee no farther&mdash; but little do&s;t thou know what a Shoe thy Hor&s;e has lo&s;t&mdash; And now prithee tell me&mdash; wer't thou i' the Town when my Brother carry'd away my Wife and my Daugher? Yes I was, by the &s;ame token there was &s;uch crowding to &s;ee thy Daugh|ter, as if it had been at a Show, and every body cry'd, there goes the Primro&s;e of <HI>Spain.</HI> 'Tis thought there were young Men enow that would ha' lockt her up i' their Cabinets, &s;he was &s;uch a Jewel. Among the re&s;t, they &s;ay the young Rich Batchelour <HI>Peter Gregory</HI> was mad for her&mdash; The truth is, he hath never been &s;een i' the Town &s;ince &s;he went&mdash;which makes &s;ome think, that he is run a Wild-Goo&s;e chace after her. Death o' the De|vil, quo <HI>Ricot,</HI> I always thought that young Whip&s;ter had a Plot upon my Daughter&mdash; but I hope the Girl's hone&s;t, or at lea&s;t that &s;he knows how to play her Game wi&s;ely&mdash; For I mu&s;t tell yee, your inamour'd Chri|&s;tians will many times play a young Virgin a Heatheni&s;h Trick, if &s;he does not look well to her &s;elf&mdash; And &s;o farewel hone&s;t Neighbour&mdash; Farewel, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> and good Fortune attend thee. With that <HI>Ricot</HI> return'd to his Fellow Pilgrims, who by this time had fetch'd out their Naps, and <HI>San|cho</HI> continu'd his Journey.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="3" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. III.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">What befel <HI>Sancho</HI> upon the Road, which is all Truth.</HEAD>
<P>BUT this &s;ame Story of Father <HI>Ricot</HI> had kept <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;o long, that be|fore he could reach within a League of the Ca&s;tle it grew dark, &s;o that <HI>Sancho</HI> was forc'd to &s;eek out for the next Summer Lodging he could find. But his unfortunate Hour being come, &s;o it happen'd, that poor <HI>Grizzle,</HI> not &s;eeing her way, tumbl'd of a &s;udden into a deep Cellar, which belong'd to the Ruins of an old Hou&s;e that had formerly &s;tood in that Place. <HI>Sancho</HI> perceiving him&s;elf a going, as he thought to the Center
<PB N="541" REF="289"> of the Earth, had all his Prayers at his Fingers end. But there was no need of &s;o much Devotion; for by that time he had de&s;cended the depth of two Stories, di&s;may'd <HI>Grizzle</HI> lighted upon her Feet like a Cat, and made a full &s;top. Pre&s;ently <HI>Sancho</HI> began to con&s;ider the Condition of his Bones, held his Breath, and felt upon his No&s;e to try whether any Blood came, and finding him&s;elf &s;ound in all his Members, gave thanks to Hea|ven in the fir&s;t place for his deliverance from the Aby&s;s. Then lighting from his A&s;s, he felt about to examin whether there might be any pa&s;&s;age; but none could be found. The Walls were &s;o &s;teep and high, that there was no footing for a Mou&s;e. On the other &s;ide poor <HI>Grizzle</HI>'s Lamentati|ons peirc'd his Ears; and not without Rea&s;on, whil&s;t her Crickling Hams were hardly able to &s;upport the weight of her Body. <HI>Sancho</HI> therefore to comfort her in her mi&s;ery, Ah, poor Soul, cry'd he, how many are the unfortunate and unexpected Calamities that befal us Mortals in this Vale of &s;orrow, call'd the World! Who would have thought that he who but ye&s;terday &s;ate in the Throne of an I&s;land Governour, &s;hould now be found buried in a bottomle&s;s Pit without Slaves or Servants to a&s;&s;i&s;t him! All our Comfort is in &s;peedy Death, thou dying of thy Hurts, and I of Mortal Hunger, or grief to &s;ee thee go before me. There is nothing but good and bad Luck i' this World&mdash; We are fall'n below the hopes of &s;uc|cour, when <HI>Don Quixote</HI> could find a Table ready &s;pread at the bottom of <HI>Monte&s;inos</HI>'s Dungeon. His Bed was made in a &s;econd Hell again&s;t his com|ing, and plea&s;ant Vi&s;ions attended him; while we are like to be Compa|nions for none but Toads and Serpents. Unfortunate, whether will my Folly and my fond Imaginations hurry me! Had we dy'd at home and among our Friends, we &s;hould ha' found tho&s;e that would ha' clos'd our Eyes at the point of Death, and &s;een us layd in our Graves.</P>
<P>Oh! my Dear Companion and Friend, how ill do I reward thee for all thy Faithful Services! But pardon me, for 'tis none of my fault&mdash; and there|fore implore of Fortune the be&s;t thou can&s;t, to deliver us out of this Plunge, and thou &s;halt &s;ee I will not prove Ingrateful. Thus <HI>Sancho</HI> com|plain'd, but what&s;oe're &s;he thought, the afflicted <HI>Grizzle</HI> an&s;wer'd not a word. Her pains were &s;o great, that &s;he could not &s;tudy Complements in return of her Ma&s;ters Kindne&s;s.</P>
<P>At length the Sun appear'd once more, and <HI>Sancho</HI> finding then the Im|po&s;&s;ibility of getting forth without help, he &s;et up his Throat like a Cryer of Flounders; but he was far from Neighbours. So that now altogether helple&s;s and de&s;pairing, he ca&s;t his Eyes upon <HI>Grizzle,</HI> and &s;eeing her &s;tretcht forth upon the Ground, as he thought with Tears in her Eyes, he went to her and per&s;waded her to ri&s;e; which with much ado, by means of his a&s;&s;i&s;tance, at la&s;t &s;he did; and then, as tender of her as of his old Bedrid Mother, he gave her for a Cordial all the Bread he had in his Wallet; telling her withal, that Vittles did well in Affliction. In the highth of this Di&s;con&s;olation, at length he perceiv'd a hole in the Wall of the Cellar, wide enough for a Man to pa&s;s thorough, which led into a Vault, that &s;eem'd to enlarge it &s;elf the farther it extended.</P>
<P>Thereupon <HI>Sancho</HI> fell to work, and being a Man of Labour, and one that knew what belong'd to digging, he &s;o well be&s;tir'd his hands and his Nails, that in a &s;hort time he had open'd a pa&s;&s;age for his A&s;s. Then ta|king her by the Halter, he led her along fair and &s;oftly through the Vault, &s;ometimes in the light, &s;ometimes i' the dark; but &s;till perplex'd with a thou&s;and fears and frightful Imaginations. Heavens defend me, &s;aid he, what a Heart of a Gudgeon have I! This were now a fit Adventure for my
<PB N="542" REF="290"> Ma&s;ter&mdash; He would fancy the&s;e Profundities and Ruins for lovely Gardens and magnificent Palaces, and expect to be led out of the&s;e Ob&s;curities into &s;ome Cele&s;tial Paradi&s;e. While luckle&s;s I, depriv'd of all my Sences, and fainting every &s;tep I take, am &s;till afraid of every Chink I &s;ee, le&s;t it &s;hould be &s;ome cunning Trap-door of Satan's to &s;end me Po&s;t to his Infernal Man&s;ions.</P>
<P>With the&s;e doleful Lamentations, and de&s;pairing Thoughts, <HI>Sancho</HI> crept on &s;lowly about half a League; but then the Day began to come in &s;o bright and comfortable, that he began to be &s;omewhat refre&s;h'd, in hopes his deliverance was at hand. But here <HI>Benengeli</HI> leaves him awhile to return to <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who impatiently expected the Day appointed for the Combat between him and the Di&s;honourer of Madam <HI>Doroties</HI> Daughter.</P>
<P>In the Interim, it was his con&s;tant Cour&s;e to ride out <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> every Morning to air and keep him in breath, that he might not fail him in his Nece&s;&s;ity. Now to &s;ee how &s;trangely Fortune will bring her conceits about; for it &s;o fell out, that the &s;ame Morning that <HI>Sancho</HI> was in <HI>Lob's Pound, Ro&s;inante</HI> being upon the Gallop, pitch'd both his Fore Legs upon a yielding piece of Ground, that di&s;cover'd a villanous Hole by the fall of the Earth; and into which both Hor&s;e and Champion had tumbl'd without redemption, had not <HI>Don Quixote</HI> by his Skill and Dexterity forc'd <HI>Ro&s;i|nante,</HI> contrary to his con&s;iderate Humour, to take a &s;aving leap. And now <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> being out of danger, would needs &s;atisfie his Curio&s;ity; to which purpo&s;e, wheeling about, he rode up to the Hole, which he found to be wide and large, as if it had been the Mouth of another <HI>Mon|te&s;inos</HI>'s Cave. But this was not all; for while he was attentively mu&s;ing, and making way for a thou&s;and Crotchets that were crowding into his Noddle, he thought he heard a Voice that utter'd the&s;e words in a Mourn|ful tone. Ah, woe is me, is there no good Chri&s;tian that hears me, no Charitable Knight to take compa&s;&s;ion of a Sinner, and Succour a dri&s;tre&s;|&s;ed Governour, that knew not how to Govern the Reins of his own Bea&s;t?</P>
<P>Pre&s;ently <HI>Don Quixote</HI> fancy'd that this mu&s;t be <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Voice; and for his better &s;atisfaction, with a roaring Sound, Who's that below, quo he, that makes tho&s;e doleful Complaints? Who &s;hould it be, to his &s;orrow cry'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> but the mo&s;t wretched of Men, <HI>Sancho Pancha,</HI> for his Sins, and the puni&s;hment of his Tran&s;gre&s;&s;ions, made Governour of the I&s;land of <HI>Barattaria,</HI> formerly Squire to the mo&s;t Famous <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha.</HI></P>
<P>The&s;e words redoubl'd <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Amazement; for immediately it came into his Pate that <HI>Sancho</HI> was dead, and that his Soul was in Purgato|ry. Full of tho&s;e Imaginations, I conjure thee, cry'd he, by all that can conjure thee, to tell me who thou art; and if thou art a Soul in Pur|gatory, let me know what 'tis thoud'&s;t have me do to give thee ea&s;e. For as my Profe&s;&s;ion obliges me to &s;uccour all that are afflicted in this World, &s;o am I bound to relieve the di&s;tre&s;&s;es of tho&s;e that are helple&s;s in the other World. Surely, Sir, 'twas an&s;wer'd from below, by the Tone of your Voice, you &s;hould be the Valiant Knight <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha.</HI> My name is <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> reply'd the Knight, and my Profe&s;&s;ion it is to a&s;&s;i&s;t and comfort the Dead as well as the Living. Tell me then who thou art thy &s;elf? for if thou be'&s;t <HI>Sancho,</HI> and dead, provided thou art not already i' the Devils Clutches, but only detain'd in Purgatory, there is that Mercy &s;till on Earth that can redeem thee from tho&s;e Pains, and for my part I &s;hall do whatever lyes in my power. But tell me then &s;incerely and quickly, who thou art?</P>
<PB N="543" REF="290">
<P>Why then, reply'd the Voice, As one Chri&s;tian may believe another, I do &s;wear and make oath, that I am <HI>Sancho Pancha</HI> your Squire, and that I never was dead yet i' my Life. Only &s;ince I quitted my Government, for rea&s;ons now too long to tell yee, la&s;t night I fell into this Cave, where I am &s;till becau&s;e I know not how to get out, and <HI>Grizzle</HI> with me, that will not &s;uffer me to Lye; and immediately as if the A&s;s had under&s;tood what her Ma&s;ter &s;aid, &s;he fell a <HI>Ronking</HI> &s;o &s;trenuou&s;ly in confirmation of her Ma&s;ters <HI>Affidavit,</HI> that you wou'd ha' &s;worn there had been a thou&s;and A&s;|&s;es braying together i' the Cavern. I need no other Te&s;timony, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I &s;ee thou art my real Squire, <HI>Sancho</HI>&mdash; &s;tay therefore till I gallop to the Ca&s;tle and fetch more Company to help thee out. Make ha&s;te I be&s;eech yee, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> and come quickly agen, for my Im|pri&s;onment here is very tedious, and my Guts ready to go together by the ears with my Stomach.</P>
<P>Away <HI>Don Quixote</HI> po&s;ted to give the Duke and Dutche&s;s an accompt of the Di&s;a&s;ter that had befall'n <HI>Sancho;</HI> but they were &s;trangely &s;urpriz'd to hear that <HI>Sancho</HI> had de&s;erted his Government, before they had Informa|tion of it. However they &s;ent their Servants with Ropes and Ladders, who with much Labour and Indu&s;try, at length recover'd <HI>Sancho</HI> and his <HI>Grizzle</HI> from uncomfortable Darkne&s;s to behold once more the light of the Sun.</P>
<P>At what time a certain Schollar &s;tanding by, that had never &s;een <HI>Sancho</HI> before, 'Twere well, &s;aid he, that all &s;uch Governours might leave their Go|vernments as this <HI>Shack-rag</HI> of a Governour has done, half &s;tarv'd to death, and as I believe without a Cro&s;s in his Pocket. What's that you &s;ay, Mr. Coffee-board-Cen&s;urer? quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> 'Tis now eight days &s;ince I enter'd up|on this Government which they gave me, and in all that time I have nere had my Belly full but once. I have been per&s;ecuted by a Phy&s;ician; my Enemies have trampl'd me under their Feet; &s;o that I had not time to rob or pillage. Which being &s;o, I think I de&s;erv'd a better pa&s;&s;age out, then through the Gates of Hell. <HI>But Man propo&s;es, and God di&s;po&s;es: He knows what be&s;t &s;uits with every Mans Condition&mdash; We must take our lot as it falls&mdash; There's no Man can &s;ay I will not drink of this Water&mdash; We count our Chic|kens before they be hatch'd</HI>&mdash; But I &s;ay no more, whatever I think&mdash;</P>
<P>Nere trouble thy &s;elf, friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> &s;o thy Con&s;cience be free, let the World talk at random, as it u&s;es to do, 'tis not a Pin matter what the be&s;t of 'em prate over their <HI>Parch'd-Bean-Porridge.</HI> They that go about to tye Fooles Tongues, may as &s;oon carry the City Gates to <HI>High-gate.</HI> If a Governour returns Rich from his Government, then they &s;ay he has been an Oppre&s;&s;our; if Poor, then they call him <HI>Simpleton</HI> and <HI>Ill-Husband.</HI> Truly, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> they that call me <HI>Simpleton,</HI> I think are not much out of the way; but for a <HI>Fleecer</HI> or an <HI>Oppre&s;&s;our,</HI> I defie all the World.</P>
<P>In the mid&s;t of the&s;e and &s;uch like Di&s;cour&s;es, with a great number of Boys and &s;uch &s;ort of Rabble at their Heels, they at length arriv'd at the Ca&s;tle, where the Duke and the Dutche&s;s waited for their coming in one of the Galleries; but <HI>Sancho</HI> was re&s;olv'd to di&s;pence with all Ceremonies and Complements, till he had &s;een his <HI>Grizzle</HI> well litter'd and meated. Which done, away he went to attend their Excellencies; at what time throw|ing him&s;elf upon his Knees, My Lord, &s;aid he, I have been to govern your I&s;land of <HI>Barattaria,</HI> whether your Excellencies &s;ent me, and which was more your kindne&s;s then my de&s;ert. Naked I enter'd, and naked I return. Whe|ther I govern'd well or ill, there are &s;ome in this Room that can tell; and
<PB N="544" REF="291"> let them tell, if they plea&s;e, that can tell better then I can. I unriddl'd hard Que&s;tions, I determin'd Differences, and all the while ready to eat my Fingers ends for hunger, thanks to <HI>Dr. Pedro Puncinello</HI> of <HI>Ditto</HI> in <HI>Pome|rania,</HI> Executioner in Ordinary to the Devil. At night the Enemy fell up|on me, and after they had almo&s;t trampl'd me to Death, the I&s;landers cry'd out, that the &s;trength of my Arm had got 'em the Victory; and if 'twere &s;o, <HI>Mitch que ditch</HI> 'em with their Victory; but I de&s;ire 'em to get &s;ome bo|dy el&s;e to conquer for 'em next time. However it were, I did my utmo&s;t to performe all the Duties of a Governour, but I found that my Shoulders were not &s;trong enough to bear the burthen, and that I was not cut out for a Ruler. So that I was re&s;olv'd, before the Government left me, to leave the Government. And &s;o ye&s;terday Morning I quitted the I&s;land as I found it, with the &s;ame Streets and the &s;ame Hou&s;es, ju&s;t cover'd as they were when I fir&s;t enter'd. I borrow'd of no body, nor made any Pro|vi&s;ion for rainy days&mdash; 'Tis true indeed I intended to have made &s;ome whol&s;ome Laws, but I made none, becau&s;e I did not find the People di|&s;pos'd to keep 'em. Thus as I &s;aid before, I quitted the I&s;land without any other Company, but only poor <HI>Grizzle</HI> and my &s;elf. At night we fell both into a Hole, where we &s;taid all night, and might ha' &s;taid till Doom&s;day, had not Heaven &s;ent my Lord <HI>Don Quixote</HI> to releive us. And now my Lord Duke and Madam Dutche&s;s, here's your Governour <HI>Sancho Pancha</HI> agen, who by a Government of ten days has learnt to know &s;o much of Government, that he would not give a &s;traw for all the Governments i' the World. And &s;o I humbly ki&s;s your Excellencies Feet, and with your per|mi&s;&s;ion Li&s;t my &s;elf again in the Service of my old Ma&s;ter, with whom I have my Belly full, tho many times I take pains for't; yet &s;till I eat; and for my part, provided my Belly be but full, 'tis all one to me whether of Ha&s;ty Pudding or Turky-Powts.</P>
<P>Thus <HI>Sancho</HI> concluded his Speech, to the great &s;atisfaction of <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who was afraid he would not have &s;o well contain'd him&s;elf. The Duke embrac'd him, and told him withal, that he was very &s;orry he had quitted his Government &s;o &s;oon, but that he would take care to find him out &s;ome other Employment that &s;hould be more beneficial and le&s;s trouble&s;ome. The Dutche&s;s al&s;o was no le&s;s kind, giving order that he &s;hould want for nothing that her Hou&s;e would afford; which la&s;t command &s;o comforted the Cockles of <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Heart, that &s;eiz'd with a Courtier-like rapture, he profe&s;s'd their Excellencies Favours were to him more ac|ceptable then all the Governments under the Sun.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="4" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. IV.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Of the &s;trange Combat between <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and the Lacquey <HI>To&s;ilos,</HI> in vindication of Madam <HI>Doroties</HI> Daughter.</HEAD>
<P>AND now the Story &s;ays, the day was come appointed for the long ex|pected Combat; nor had the Duke been wanting to give <HI>To&s;ilos</HI> all requi&s;ite In&s;tructions how to vanqui&s;h his Enemy; and yet neither kill nor hurt him. To which purpo&s;e he order'd that the Lances &s;hou'd be di&s;arm'd of their Steel Heads. And to pacifie <HI>Don Quixote</HI> he made him &s;en&s;ible, that Religion, for which he had &s;o great a Veneration, forbad propen&s;e Malice in &s;uch Combats as tho&s;e; and that it was &s;ufficient he had fair
<PB N="545" REF="291"> play and a clear Stage, where the Conque&s;t would be as honourable tho won by drye Blows only, as by Murder. To which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> reply'd, that his Excellency had the &s;ole di&s;po&s;al of all things within his own Do|minions, and that it was only his duty to obey his Graces Orders.</P>
<P>And now the day for wonders being come, the Duke caus'd a Scaffold to be erected for the Judges of the Combat, and for the Injur'd Ladies that made the Complaint. Nor can you imagin what a noi&s;e this Combat had made all over the Country, &s;o that the People flock'd from all parts far and near to behold this terrible Conflict, the like to which had nere been heard of &s;ince the days of <HI>Amadis de Gaul.</HI> Co&s;termongers with their Apples, Ginger-bread Women and Brandy Booths cover'd all the neighbour|ing Fields. All the <HI>Cuckolds-point</HI> and <HI>Triple-tree Heath</HI> Fairs were nothing to this Inundation of Butchers, Weavers, Dyers, &amp;c. and the &s;hoals of Wo|men and Children that crowded to behold this dreadful Encounter.</P>
<P>The fir&s;t that appear'd within the Barriers was the Mar&s;hal of the Field, who came to &s;urvey the Ground, and &s;ee there were no Pitfalls, nor Plots upon <HI>Ro&s;inante.</HI> After that enter'd the Complaining Ladies, who &s;eated them&s;elves in their Places, all in clo&s;e Mourning, that &s;hew'd their Grie|vance was not &s;mall, and that they were not &s;o &s;ad for nothing. By and by, at one end, enter'd the Formidable Skipkennel <HI>To&s;ilos,</HI> preceded by a great number of Trumpeters, <HI>Tantantararing</HI> before him, all enclos'd in Bright &s;hinning Iron, as if he had been under the Bone-&s;etters Cure for crooked Legs and a hunch Back, mounted on a Steed as big as a Dray|mans Hor&s;e, but &s;omewhat more fiery; and &s;etting &s;o hard, that he &s;hook the very Earth. Afterwards appear'd the Peerle&s;s Champion <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> whom the Duke had be&s;ought to &s;pare his Adver&s;aries Life, and to that purpo&s;e to be merciful in his fir&s;t Career. <HI>To&s;ilos</HI> fetch'd a Compa&s;s about the Barriers, and at length making a &s;top right again&s;t the two Ladies, ca&s;t a leering Eye upon the young Dam&s;el that demanded him in Marriage. On the other &s;ide the Judges of the Field call'd to <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and in <HI>To&s;ilos</HI>'s pre&s;ence, ask'd the Ladies whether they con&s;ented that <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha</HI> &s;hould defend the Ju&s;tice of their Quarrel? and whether they would &s;tand or fall by the Fortune of their Champion? All this the Duke and Dutche&s;s, to their great content beheld from a Gallery that was over the Barriers, where the number of Spectators was &s;uch, that they were almo&s;t &s;tifl'd to death.</P>
<P>The Conditions to which the Combatants were oblig'd, were the&s;e, That if <HI>Don Quizote</HI> were the Victor, his Adver&s;ary &s;hould marry Madam <HI>Doro|ties</HI> Daughter; and if he were overcome, then that the Conquerour &s;hould be quit of his Promi&s;e; and that he &s;hould not be bound to make her any &s;atisfaction for the kindne&s;s he had receiv'd. Then the Mar&s;hal of the Field divided equally between 'em the Advantage of the Sun; and a&s;&s;ign'd to each his place where they &s;hould &s;tart. And now both Champions &s;eem|ing to be ready, the Drums rattl'd, and the Trumpets fill'd the Air with their Martial &s;ounds, that eccho'd back the loud Signals of Battel. At what time the Spectators trembl'd, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> in pithie Ejaculations bequeath'd his Soul to Heaven and his Body to the fair <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> and all was &s;ilent of a &s;udden, in expectation of the I&s;&s;ue of the Fatal event of the fir&s;t A&s;&s;ault.</P>
<P>But <HI>To&s;ilos</HI> had other thoughts in his Pate. For the cunning Varlet, as I &s;aid before, having beheld the amiable Countenance of his lovely Enemy, immediately happen'd to be ravi&s;h'd with her Beauty; which that little blind Elf yee call Love no &s;ooner perceiv'd, but as he is one that makes it
<PB N="546" REF="292"> his bu&s;ine&s;s to improve his Triumphs over poor Mortals, he took his Advan|tage and &s;hot the poor Skipkennel &s;o &s;martly 'i the Ball of his Eye, that he was wounded to the Heart before his Antagoni&s;t had touch'd him; &s;o that now no le&s;s the &s;lave of Beauty, then he was before his Ma&s;ters Footman, he forgot what he was to do.</P>
<P>On the other &s;ide, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> had no &s;ooner heard the &s;ignal given, but clapping Spur to <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> he began to thunder upon his Enemy with the &s;wiftne&s;s of a <HI>Bomb</HI> out of a Morter Piece. At what time <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;eeing him &s;tart, Heavens pre&s;erve, cry'd he, the Flowre and Cream of Chival|ry Errant, and grant thee Victory and Conque&s;t according to thy ine&s;ti|mable Merits.</P>
<P><HI>To&s;ilos</HI> &s;aw <HI>Don Quixote</HI> coming on with a Vengeance; but Love having &s;trangl'd all his Malice, &s;o far was he from making either defence or offence, or any Fence i' the World, that he call'd out three times as loud as he could to the Mar&s;hal of the Field, who riding up to him; Sir, &s;aid he, is it not the de&s;ign of this Combat to con&s;train me to Marry yonder Lady? Yes, reply'd the Mar&s;hal&mdash; Why then, quo <HI>To&s;ilos,</HI> there need no Blood&s;hed for the Matter&mdash; my Con&s;cience is awake&mdash; I yield my &s;elf vanqui&s;h'd; for my Con&s;cience tells me I mu&s;t marry her; and I am ready to do it before all the&s;e Witne&s;&s;es&mdash; This &s;ubmi&s;&s;ion of <HI>To&s;tlos</HI> put the Mar&s;hal of the Field to &s;uch a Nonplus, that he knew not what to an&s;wer. On the other &s;ide <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;top'd in the middle of his Careere, &s;eeing his Opponent made no re&s;i&s;tance. The Duke was amaz'd; nor could he imagin what the mat|ter &s;hould be, till being inform'd by the Mar&s;hal, he bit his Lips, and call'd his Footman Ten thou&s;and Sons of Whores and Cowardly Dogs, but did not think it a time convenient then to di&s;play his Indignation.</P>
<P>In the mean time, <HI>To&s;ilos</HI> advancing where the Ladies &s;ate, after a Re|verend Obey&s;ance to the Scaffold; Madam, cry'd he, my Heart relents&mdash; I am ready to marry your Daughter without the trouble of Law Suits and Combats, which I dare not undertake without the hazard of my Soul. Which words <HI>Don Quixote</HI> heard, and pre&s;ently riding up to the Judges; then, quo he, I am di&s;charg'd of my Promi&s;e. The Knight y' good faith, has taken the &s;afe&s;t Cour&s;e; let him een marry the Lady and enjoy the Fruits of his Repentance.</P>
<P>At the &s;ame time the Duke coming down, and applying him&s;elf to <HI>To|&s;ilos;</HI> Is it true, Sir Knight, that you yield your Enemy the Conque&s;t, and through remorce of Con&s;cience are re&s;olv'd to marry the Dam&s;el? 'Tis right what your Lord&s;hip &s;ays, reply'd the Lacquey. Marry and I think 'tis very well done, quo <HI>Sancho</HI>&mdash; For what &s;ays the Proverb, <HI>Give the Cat willingly what thou ha&s;t to give her and keep thy &s;elf out of trouble.</HI></P>
<P>In the mean time <HI>To&s;ilos</HI> made ha&s;te to unlace his Helmet, and in the Tone of a Penitent call'd out for A&s;&s;i&s;tance to help him off with it, as being &s;o choakt up with his Armour, that he could hardly breath. But then Mrs. <HI>Do|roty</HI> and her Daughter knowing who he was, a <HI>Cheat,</HI> a <HI>Cheat,</HI> they cry'd, This is <HI>To&s;ilos,</HI> the Dukes Footman, &s;uborn'd to counterfeit my Daughters Husband&mdash; Ju&s;tice of Heaven and the King&mdash; This is a piece of Trea|chery not to be endur'd.</P>
<P>Ladies, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> never afflict your &s;elves; 'tis neither Cheat nor Treachery&mdash; or if there be, I'me &s;ure the Duke is in no fault&mdash; But tho&s;e perpetual Plagues of mine the <HI>Necromancers,</HI> they are the Traytors that have put this trick upon us, who envying the Honour I &s;hould have won by this Combat, have transform'd my Antagoni&s;t into the &s;hape of a Footman. And therefore Madam, &s;peaking to the young Dam&s;el, take my
<PB N="547" REF="292"> Advice and marry the Knight; for I dare undertake 'tis the &s;ame Per&s;on you Challenge, or el&s;e I'le be bound to marry my Hor&s;e. The Duke heard all this, and tho he were &s;o mad with his Footman, that he could ha' kickt him to the Devil, yet he could not choo&s;e but laugh, to hear how neatly <HI>Don Quixote</HI> had excus'd him. In truth, &s;aid he, tho&s;e Accidents that eve|ry day befal the Champion of <HI>Mancha</HI> are every one &s;o extraordinary, that I am ea&s;ily induc'd to believe this Knight could be none of my Footman. But for our better &s;atisfaction let us defer the Marriage for fifteen days, and in the mean while &s;ecure this Per&s;on that has put us into this Confu|&s;ion; it may be by that time he may re&s;ume his former &s;hape. For &s;urely this inveterate Animo&s;ity of the&s;e <HI>Necromancers</HI> again&s;t my Lord <HI>Don Quixote</HI> cannot always la&s;t, e&s;pecially, when they &s;hall find that all their tricks and contrivances &s;o little availe. Oh, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> the&s;e De|vils of <HI>Necromancers</HI> are not &s;o &s;oon tir'd, as you think for; they'l not leave my Ma&s;ter &s;o ea&s;ily, my Life for yours. Where my Ma&s;ter is concern'd, they form and deform, and turn this into that, and that into t'other. By the Holy <HI>Shrove-Tue&s;day,</HI> 'tis not long ago that they transform'd the <HI>Knight of the Looking-Gla&s;&s;es,</HI> whom my Ma&s;ter had vanqui&s;h'd in open Field, into the Schollar <HI>Carra&s;co,</HI> the Schoolma&s;ter of our Village, and our familiar Ac|quaintance. But for the Lady <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> our Mi&s;tre&s;s, what d' yee think they ha' done with her? They ha' chang'd her and chopt her, and chopt her and chang'd her from the faire&s;t Prince&s;s alive, into the mo&s;t deformed Trugmullion that ever was born in <HI>Kent-&s;treet;</HI> and i' good faith, either I am mi&s;taken, or this Footman will be a Footman as long as he lives.</P>
<P>Let him be what he will, reply'd Mrs. <HI>Doroties</HI> Daughter, if he'll have me, I'le have him; for I had rather be a Lacqueys Wife, then Mi&s;tre&s;s to a Knight that makes no more Con&s;cience of cheating tho&s;e he pretends to relieve.</P>
<P>But at la&s;t the Conclu&s;ion of all was, that <HI>To&s;ilos</HI> was &s;ecur'd between two Walls, to &s;ee whether he would recover his former &s;hape or no. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was proclaim'd Victor by general Con&s;ent; and the Rabble di|&s;per&s;t, very much dejected becau&s;e the Combatants had not cut one another to pieces to make them &s;port; according to their wonted Cu&s;tom, to be &s;orry when there is but one Man to be hang'd, and there comes a Re|prieve for him too. As for Mrs. <HI>Doroty</HI> and her Daughter, they took their di&s;appointment a little heinou&s;ly; however they were in hopes the Skie would one day fall, and then they &s;hould catch Larks. Which was all the pre&s;ent Con&s;olation they had.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="5" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. V.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">How <HI>Don Quixote</HI> took his leave of the Duke, and what pa&s;s'd between him and the Di&s;creet but Impudent Hoyden Madam <HI>Tomboy.</HI></HEAD>
<P>AT length <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> quite tir'd out with the lazie Life which he led in the Ca&s;tle, &s;o aver&s;e to his Nature, and &s;o oppo&s;ite to his Profe&s;|fe&s;&s;ion, he re&s;olv'd to take his leave of the Duke and be gone. The Duke &s;eem'd very unwilling to part with him; but the Champions rea&s;ons were &s;o convincing, that his Grace was forc'd at la&s;t to &s;ubmit to him that con|quer'd as well with his Tongue as with his Arm.</P>
<PB N="548" REF="293">
<P>At the &s;ame time the Dutche&s;s al&s;o gave <HI>Sancho</HI> his Wives Letter, which he had no &s;ooner heard read, but with Tears in his Eyes, Who would have imagin'd, &s;aid he, that the hopes which my Wife conceiv'd at the news of my Advancement, &s;o &s;oon &s;hould vani&s;h into Smoak, and that I &s;hould be reduc'd again to trot after my Unfortunate Ma&s;ter in &s;earch of hunger and broken Bones. However I am glad <HI>Tere&s;a</HI> was &s;o mindful of her duty as to &s;end your Lady&s;hip the Acorns; which if &s;he had not done, I &s;hould ha' lookt a&s;quint upon her as long as &s;he had liv'd. And I am glad that no Man can &s;ay the Pre&s;ent was any Bribe that ever I receiv'd in the I&s;land, &s;ince it came to your Lady&s;hips hands without my knowledge: And tho it be but &s;mall, yet it &s;hews we are not come of an Ingrateful Generation. In &s;hort, naked I went into the I&s;land, and naked I return'd; and unle&s;s it be for my Teeth and my Beard, here I am, ju&s;t as my Mother brought me into the World. The&s;e were <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Sentences at his Departure, which I repeat for the Pondero&s;ity of the words, which it behoves not a true Hi&s;torian to omit.</P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> had taken his &s;olemn leave of the Duke and Dutche&s;s over night, and therefore he was up before the Sun the next Morning, and in a &s;hort time appear'd all in Armour mounted upon &s;ober <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> ready to be gone, all the Galleries round the Court-yard being fill'd at the &s;ame time with Spectators, curious to behold the Formalities of his departure. <HI>San|cho</HI> was al&s;o got upon his Patient <HI>Grizzle</HI> with his Cloak-bag and his Wallet, much better furni&s;h'd then he thought he had been, for the Steward by the Dukes order had lin'd it with two hunder'd Crowns in Gold, to defray Expences, which was more then <HI>Don Quixote</HI> knew. And now being rea|dy to &s;et forward in the mid&s;t of the crowd, the Brazen-fac'd Gip&s;ie Ma|dam <HI>Tomboy,</HI> ca&s;ting a Sheeps Eye after him, with a loud, and Amorou&s;ly melting Voice, breath'd forth the following Madrigale.</P>
<Q><LG>
<L>STay, &s;tay, oh &s;tay, remorcele&s;s Knight,</L>
<L>And yet my only Hearts delight?</L>
<L>What Nettle &s;tings in thee Britch?</L>
<L>Whither, ah, whether do&s;t thou Spur</L>
<L>That brok'n winded Hackney, which</L>
<L>No Man would give Five Shillings for.</L>
<L>Thou Fly'&s;t not, Orphans brave defender,</L>
<L>From an enraged Vipers &s;ting,</L>
<L>But from a Lamb more &s;oft and tender</L>
<L>Then either Swans or Thi&s;tle Down,</L>
<L>A Bedfellow for any King,</L>
<L>Sound Wind and Limb, and Woman grown.</L>
<L>Ill luck attend a Hangman &s;o uncivil,</L>
<L>And <HI>Barabbas</HI> conduct thee to the Devil.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Mon&s;ter of Men, thou'a&s;t di&s;appointed</L>
<L>The faire&s;t Nymph, altho I &s;ay't,</L>
<L>That ever with <HI>Diana</HI> hunted,</L>
<L>Or ever did on <HI>Venus</HI> wait;</L>
<L><HI>Eneas</HI> thus for&s;ook with &s;corn</L>
<L>The vainly Fond <HI>Phoenician</HI> Queen,</L>
<L>That quench'd his Heat, her &s;elf to burn;</L>
<L>But thou art &s;till more fal&s;e then he,</L>
<L>For I alas, made &s;ure of thee.</L>
<PB N="549" REF="293">
<L>Ill luck attend a Hangman &s;o uncivil,</L>
<L>And <HI>Barabbas</HI> conduct thee to the Devil.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>My Heart the Thief has &s;toll'n too,</L>
<L>Prophanely ravi&s;h'd from my Brea&s;t;</L>
<L>A heart too precious for a Jew,</L>
<L>Tho I did love him, I prote&s;t.</L>
<L>Nor did the Ruffian &s;tick to pull</L>
<L>My Garters from my Legs, and tear</L>
<L>Two rich lac'd Night-Coifes from my Hair,</L>
<L>While I am robb'd to plea&s;e his Trull.</L>
<L>A thou&s;and Sighs too he has got,</L>
<L>No cooling Bla&s;ts, but Furnace hot;</L>
<L>Enough a thou&s;and <HI>Troys</HI> to fire,</L>
<L>So fiery hot was my De&s;ire.</L>
<L>Ill luck attend a Hangman &s;o uncivil,</L>
<L>And <HI>Barabbas</HI> conduct thee to Devil.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>May that &s;ame Splay-foot Squire of thine</L>
<L>Forget his Vows and &s;pare his Hide;</L>
<L>And cur&s;t Enchantment &s;till confine</L>
<L>Thy Tatter'd Harlot of a Bride.</L>
<L>In <HI>Bridewell</HI> every Friday whipt,</L>
<L>And to her Task &s;everely kept;</L>
<L>May &s;he the due Cha&s;ti&s;ements feel</L>
<L>To thy Obdurate Heart of Steel:</L>
<L>In thy Adventures wretched prove;</L>
<L>To every Tap&s;ter forc'd to yield;</L>
<L>And may I live to &s;ee fulfill'd</L>
<L>The wi&s;hes of my &s;corned Love.</L>
<L>Ill luck attend a Hangman &s;o uncivil,</L>
<L>And <HI>Barabbas</HI> conduct thee to the Devil.</L>
</LG></Q>
<P>After Mrs. <HI>Tomboy</HI> had thus concluded her Poetical complaint, <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who had fix'd a &s;erious look upon her all the while, return'd her not a word of An&s;wer good or bad, but pre&s;ently turning about to <HI>Sancho,</HI> ha&s;t thou any Heart or Night-coifs, or Garters, &s;aid he, that belong to this Dam&s;el i' thy Cloak-bag? As for any Hearts or Night-Coifes, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> no more then upon the back of my Hand&mdash; As for the Garters, I wont be &s;o confident. The Dutche&s;s altogether a &s;tranger to this la&s;t part of the Game, could not tell what to think of it; for tho &s;he knew Mrs. <HI>Tomboy</HI> to be Hoyden and Ramp enough, yet &s;he did not believe her Waiting Gentlewoman would be &s;o familiar with the Knight, as to give him tho&s;e wanton Opportunities. But the Duke being pleas'd with the Humour, and re&s;olv'd to put it forward; In truth Sir Knight, &s;aid he, this was not done like a Gentleman and a Per&s;on of Honour, as I took you to be, e&s;pecially after &s;uch a civil Entertainment as you have had here i' my Ca|&s;tle&mdash;Therefore re&s;tore the Lady her Garters agen, or el&s;e upon my word you and I mu&s;t have a Career for't. To which purpo&s;e I fling yee my Glove, and let the Enchanters do their wor&s;t with their Transformations. God forbid, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that I &s;hould draw my Sword again&s;t a Per|&s;on &s;o Illu&s;trious as you are, at who&s;e hands I have receiv'd &s;o many Fa|vours and Kindne&s;&s;es. As for the Garters I will cau&s;e 'em to be re&s;tor'd, if
<PB N="550" REF="294"> they are to be found, for I ever took <HI>Sancho</HI> to be hone&s;t; but for the Coifs let the Dam&s;el go look for 'em in her Night-bag, for I never &s;aw nor heard of any &s;uch Female Toys of hers i' my Life. I am no Pilferer, my Lord, nor ever was born with that mean and narrow Soul; but this Lady you &s;ee talks like one that is in Love, and &s;eeks her revenge becau&s;e &s;he finds me engag'd to another. So that having no occa&s;ion to beg pardon either of her or your Excellency, I only be&s;eech your Excellency to have a better Opinion of me, and to permit me to continue my Journey. Farewel my Lord <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> reply'd the Duke, and may your good Fortune be &s;uch, that we may always be ble&s;t with the joyful Tidings of your great Atchieve|ments. Go in Peace, &s;ince your Pre&s;ence does but add fre&s;h Fuel to the Flames which you have kindl'd in the&s;e Ladies Brea&s;ts, and which your Ab|&s;ence only can cure.</P>
<P>One word more I be&s;eech yee mo&s;t Valiant Champion, then cry'd Ma|dam <HI>Tomboy,</HI> I beg your Pardon for laying the Felony of my Garters to your Charge, for i' my Con&s;cience I have 'em on; but the Raptures of my Love were &s;uch, that I was like the Butcher, who lookt for his Knife when he had it in his Mouth. And I hope you are &s;o much a Gentleman as to take this acknowledgment before all this Company for full &s;atisfaction. Marry gap, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> my Ma&s;ter had had a great Prize indeed of this Ladys old Garters, as if he had not Money in his Pocket to buy other <HI>Princum Prancums,</HI> were it the Fa&s;hion for Hor&s;es to wear Forehead-Knots. Thus <HI>Sancho</HI> having had the la&s;t word, as was his due, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> bow'd to the Pommel of his Saddle, and after he had made his Obey&s;ance to the Duke and all the Company, he turn'd about and took the Road for <HI>Sarago&s;a.</HI></P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="6" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. VI.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">How <HI>Don Quixote</HI> met with Adventures upon Adventures, &s;o thick that he knew not which way to turn him&s;elf.</HEAD>
<P><HI>DON Quixote</HI> once again perceiving him&s;elf in the open Field, and free from Mrs. <HI>Tomboys</HI> Importunities, began to be now more Zealous then ever in the chace of Adventures and di&s;charge of the Duty of his Profe&s;&s;i|on. Liberty, &s;aid he to <HI>Sancho,</HI> is the greate&s;t ble&s;&s;ing that Heaven can be&s;tow upon Mankind. Not all the Trea&s;ures conceal'd within the Bowels of the Earth, nor what the Sea has &s;wallow'd up within her va&s;t Aby&s;&s;es, are to be compar'd in any mea&s;ure with it. We run the hazard of our Lives for the &s;ake of Liberty, as well as for the &s;ake of Honour, accompt|ing &s;ervitude the greate&s;t Mi&s;ery we can endure. Thou wert a Witne&s;s, <HI>Sancho,</HI> of that overflowing Plenty which we met with in the Ca&s;tle, yet in the mid&s;t of all tho&s;e exqui&s;itely &s;ea&s;on'd Viands, and delicious Wines as cool as Snow, my thought I &s;uffer'd the extremity of Hunger, becau&s;e I did not enjoy 'em with that freedom as if they had been my own. For the Obligations that lye upon us to make an&s;werable returns for tho&s;e Kindne&s;|&s;es, are Knots that a free Soul can never unravel. Happy the Man whom Heaven has ble&s;t, tho but with a Mor&s;el of Bread, for which he has no far|ther Obligation to any body, but only to Heaven that gave it&mdash; How|ever, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> interrupting his Ma&s;ter, I cannot but think my &s;elf oblig'd
<PB N="551" REF="294"> for the two hunder'd Crowns in Gold which the Dukes Steward gave me, and which I have here in a Pur&s;e, and cheri&s;h i' my Bo&s;om, as a &s;acred Re|lick again&s;t Nece&s;&s;ity, and a Catapla&s;m to pre&s;erve us from all unlucky Acci|dents. For, for one Ca&s;tle where we met with our Bellies full, we may meet with a hunder'd Inns where we may have our Bones and our Limbs bruis'd like Egg-&s;hels.</P>
<P>Thus di&s;cour&s;ing together, the two Adventurers had not rid above a League, before they e&s;py'd about a dozen People in the Habit of Country|men, &s;itting at Dinner upon the Gra&s;s, and clo&s;e by 'em they beheld &s;eve|ral white Table-Cloaths &s;pread upon the Ground that cover'd &s;ome thing that was underneath. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> rode up to 'em, and after he had giv'n 'em the Time of the Day, he ask'd 'em what they had got under tho&s;e Linnen Cloaths? Sir, &s;aid one of the Company, they are certain Images that we are going to place upon a new Altar, which we have erected in our Pari&s;h Church. We carry 'em upon our Shoulders for fear they &s;hould break, and we cover 'em to keep 'em from the Air and the Du&s;t. I would you would do me the favour to let me &s;ee 'em, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for con&s;idering the care you take of 'em, they &s;hould be Pieces of no &s;mall va|lue&mdash;You would &s;ay &s;o, reply'd the other, &s;hould we tell you what they co&s;t; for there is nere a Figure that &s;tands us in le&s;s then fifty Ducats&mdash; and with that, &s;tarting up upon his Legs, he took off the Linnen Cloth from one that happen'd to be a <HI>George</HI> a Hor&s;e-back, trampling a terrible Dragon under his Feet, with his Lance in the Mon&s;ters Mouth; all as they u&s;e to &s;ay, Fire new guilt with Gold. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> having viewd the Figure, this Knight, &s;aid he, was one of the Valiante&s;t <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> that ever handl'd a Lance. His name was St. <HI>George,</HI> a great Protectour of Ladies Honour; &s;hould a Fellow ha' bragg'd to him of his Familiarity with a Lady that never &s;aw her in his Life, he would ha' made him chaw'd his Tongue and &s;pit it out agen. What's the next I be&s;eech yee?&mdash; Which being un|cover'd, prov'd to be St. <HI>Martin</HI> a Hor&s;e-back. This Knight, &s;aid he, was one of the be&s;t natur'd <HI>Knight-Errants,</HI> that ever put Foot in a Stirrup; for he divided his Cloak with a poor Man, and gave him half; and 'tis thought 'twas Winter-time, or el&s;e he would ha' given it him whole, he was &s;o Charitable. That was not the rea&s;on on't, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> but to &s;hew he under&s;tood the Proverb, <HI>He that lends his whole Breech mu&s;t &s;hite through his Ribs.</HI> Very right <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> thou wilt ha' thy &s;aying&mdash; but now to the next. Which being di&s;cover'd prov'd to be the Patron of <HI>Spain,</HI> with his Bloody Sword, mowing down the <HI>Moors</HI> like Ripe Barley. Ay marry, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> this was one of the mo&s;t Famous <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> that ever fought under the Standard of the Cro&s;s; He was call'd St. <HI>James,</HI> and Sirnam'd the <HI>Scourge-Moor:</HI> I would not ha' given three Pence for any Mans Life, if he once lay'd his Clutches on him; he was no le&s;s Pious then Valiant, and now re&s;ts in Heaven.</P>
<P>The next that appear'd was the Figure of St. <HI>Paul,</HI> falling from his Hor&s;e, with all the Circum&s;tances u&s;ually painted, upon his Conver&s;ion;&mdash; Oh, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I know him&mdash; this was once the bloodie&s;t Per&s;e|cutor, and afterwards the greate&s;t Defender of the Chri&s;tian Faith that ever was in the World&mdash; A <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> for his Cour&s;e of Life, that was always in motion, but &s;teadfa&s;t in the Faith till Death; an Indefati|gable Labourer in the Vinyard of Chri&s;t, and Pa&s;tor of the <HI>Gentiles,</HI> who deriv'd his Doctrine from Heaven, while the Lord of Heaven vouch&s;af d to be his Ma&s;ter. And now my good Friends, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I take this &s;ight which I have &s;een for a pro&s;perous Omen to my Undertakings. For
<PB N="552" REF="295"> the&s;e Saints and Knights follow'd the Profe&s;&s;ion that I do, which is that of Arms: Only that they are Saints, and fought according to the Rules of Ho|ly Di&s;cipline; and I am a Sinner, and combat after the manner of Men. They took Heaven by force (for Heaven I mu&s;t tell yee &s;uffers Violence) but after all my travel and pains, I know not of any thing Con&s;iderable that I have won. Neverthele&s;s, were my dear <HI>Dulcinea</HI> but once deliver'd from that Captivity &s;he endures, upon the change of my Condition and the return of my Sences, I might perhaps redeem my time, and recover what I have lo&s;t. God grant it, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> and give us Grace to forget our old Sins.</P>
<P>All this while, the Country Fellows gap'd and &s;tar'd, like &s;o many Bum|kins in <HI>Henry the Sevenths Chappel;</HI> for both his Garb and his Language were a &s;train too high for their Under&s;tanding. So that after they had made an end of their Dinner, they &s;houlder'd their Images, took their leaves of <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and continu'd their Journey.</P>
<P>And now <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;urvey'd his Ma&s;ter more then ever he had done before, wondring how he &s;hould come to know all the&s;e things, yet believing there was not that Hi&s;tory or Adventure i' the World but he had it at his Fin|gers ends. Sir, &s;aid he, in troth Mr. Ma&s;ter of ours, if what has befallen us to day may be call'd an Adventure, it is the mo&s;t quiet and plea&s;ant one that ever we met with in all our Rambles. We are rid of it without &s;o much as a dry ba&s;ting; we have not &s;o much as laid our Hands upon our Swords; nor has any body call'd us wor&s;e then our own names; we are here &s;afe and &s;ound, neither a dry nor a hungry. Thanks be prais'd, that I ha' &s;een all this with my own Eyes; for I &s;hould nere ha' believ'd it el&s;e, tho an Angel had told it me. Thou &s;ai&s;t well, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> but there are Sea&s;ons and Times, and Times and Sea&s;ons, but neither the&s;e Sea&s;ons nor Times are always the &s;ame. And threfore what the Vul|gar admire as Forebodings and Omens, a wi&s;e Man only ought to call by the name of <HI>Happy Encounters.</HI> One of the&s;e Super&s;titious Bigots, going out betimes i' the Morning, met a Franci&s;can Fryer, and as if he had met St. <HI>Georges</HI> Dragon, pre&s;ently run back again, and barr'd up his Doors. An|other thought him&s;elf undone, to &s;ee the Salt-celler overturn'd upon the Table, as if &s;uch &s;light Accidents as the&s;e could be any a&s;&s;ured Progno&s;ticks of ill Fortune. He that has but a Grain of Prudence and Chri&s;tianity ne|ver troubles him&s;elf to dive into the Secrets of Heaven, nor frights him&s;elf with the&s;e little Punctillio's of old Womens Divination. <HI>Scipio</HI> landing in <HI>Africa,</HI> &s;tumbl'd and fell down; the Soldiers were aga&s;t at the Accident, which they pre&s;ently took for an ill Omen: but he embracing the Earth with both Arms, I have thee fa&s;t <HI>Africa,</HI> &s;aid he, thou &s;halt not &s;cape me. And thus, friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> I take it for a good Omen to have met the&s;e Images.</P>
<P>I believe it to be as you &s;ay, quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> but I would fain know, why, when the <HI>Spaniards</HI> invoke St. <HI>James</HI> the <HI>Scourge-Moor,</HI> before they engage in Battel, they cry St. <HI>Jago, and clo&s;e up Spain:</HI> Is it becau&s;e <HI>Spain</HI> is divid|ed like my Buttocks and wants to be clos'd up again? Pray what's the mean|ing of that Ceremony? 'Slife, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> what an ignorant Booby art thou? Do&s;t thou not know that this Renowned Knight of the Vermili|on Cro&s;s is the Protector of <HI>Spain,</HI> and more e&s;pecially of the Soldiery in all the de&s;perate Battels that have been fought again&s;t the Infidels. There|fore they invoke him in all their bloody Ingagements; and he has been Per&s;onally &s;een hacking, hewing, &s;la&s;hing, cutting, overturning and de|&s;troying whole Squadrons of the Enemy at a time. <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;eem'd well &s;atisfy'd, and therefore changing the Di&s;cour&s;e, I cannot but admire, quo
<PB N="553" REF="295"> he, at the Impudence of Madam <HI>Tomboy,</HI> my Lady Dutche&s;&s;es Waiting Gentlewoman; Be&s;hrew my Heart, that Slip&s;tring Love, mu&s;t have given her a plaguy Wound; in at the Armpits, and out at the Navel, a whole Ell long i' my Con&s;cience. And yet I have heard &s;ay, that the Mo|de&s;ty and Re&s;ervedne&s;s of a young Virgin will many times blunt the Points of tho&s;e Amourous Darts, as if they had been &s;hot again&s;t a Flint; But the contrary appears by Mrs. <HI>Tomboy,</HI> as if her Cha&s;tity had rather &s;et an edg upon 'em. Love, Friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> acts without con|&s;ideration or guidance of Rea&s;on. For like Death, he &s;pares neither Prince nor Pea&s;ant; and wherever he gets Po&s;&s;e&s;&s;ion, the fir&s;t thing he does, is to turn fear and &s;hame quite out of Doors. Which were no &s;ooner &s;trangers to Mrs. <HI>Tomboy,</HI> but you &s;ee &s;he made nothing to di&s;cover her wanton De|&s;ires, to him that rather &s;corn'd then pity'd her lo&s;e Amours. That's an inhumane piece of Cruelty, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> an unheard of Ingratitude&mdash; had the poor Dam&s;el addre&s;s'd her &s;elf to me, I dare &s;ay I &s;hould have yielded at the fir&s;t word&mdash; Surely you mu&s;t have a Heart of Marble and Bowels of Bra&s;s&mdash; But now I think on't, what did that poor Creature &s;ee i' your Face, to make her out-run the Con&s;table as &s;he did? Where the Devil was the noble Air, the &s;parkling Eye, or Beauty that bewitcht her? I have &s;urvey'd yee a hunder'd times from Head to Foot, and by my Life, not to flatter yee, I never could &s;ee any thing i' your Face that was not more likely to &s;care then enamour a young Lady; &s;o that either this un|fortunate Virgin mu&s;t be blind, or el&s;e Enchantment has a Finger i' this Pye.</P>
<P>Do&s;t thou not know, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that there are two &s;orts of Beauty, the one of the Soul, the other of the Body? That of the Soul appears in a Mans Wit, his Vertue, his Genero&s;ity and his prudent Car|riage and Demeanour; and all the&s;e Graces of the mind may happen to meet together in a Per&s;on not &s;o accompli&s;h'd in outward Features: and when a Lady fixes her Eyes upon this Beauty, the A&s;&s;aults of Love are far more vigorous and &s;urprizing. For my part, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I know I am no Beauty, neither am I a Mon&s;ter&mdash;and therefore &s;eeing 'tis &s;ufficient for a Man to be belov'd for the Graces of his Mind, I wonder how I &s;cape making holes in Ladies Hearts.</P>
<P>In the mid&s;t of the&s;e and &s;uch like Di&s;cour&s;es, they found them&s;elves entring into a Forre&s;t quite out of the Road; and <HI>Don Quixote</HI> afore he knew where he was, perceiv'd him&s;elf entangl'd in certain little Nets of Green Silk that were &s;pread among the Trees. With that, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo he, either I am deceiv'd, or this is one of the &s;trange&s;t Adventures that ever I met with. Let me dye now if I don't believe my Capital Enemies the <HI>Ne|cromancers</HI> to be at work; and now their de&s;ign is to entangle me in the&s;e Nets, on purpo&s;e to &s;top my Journey, and revenge my Contempt of Mrs. <HI>Tomboys</HI> Folly. But I'le &s;poil their Plots; for were the&s;e Nets as &s;trong as tho&s;e wherewith the Jealous God of Fire envelop'd once the God of War and the Godde&s;s of Beauty, I would make no more to break 'em, then &s;o many Spiders Webs. And &s;o &s;aying, he put briskly forward, with a re&s;o|lution to tear the Silken Encomberments that environ'd him: at what time there &s;prung from a Thicket of Bu&s;hes two fair Shepherde&s;&s;es, at lea&s;t they appear'd to be &s;o by their Habits; only with this difference, that they were Richly clad in &s;umptuous Ti&s;&s;ue. Their dis&s;hevel'd Locks hung dang|ling down about their Shoulders in a Thou&s;and Curles; enterwoven with Garlands of Lawrel, Mirtle, and &s;everal &s;orts of Flowers; nor did they &s;eem to be above fifteen or &s;ixteen Years of Age. This Vi&s;ion of <HI>Don
<PB N="554" REF="296"> Quixote</HI> and the Shepherde&s;&s;es, &s;o unexpected to both, equally &s;urpriz'd as well the one as the other, and held 'em for &s;ome time in the &s;ame &s;u&s;pence and &s;ilence; till at length one of the Shepherde&s;&s;es opening her Corral Lips, cry'd out, Hold Sir Knight, and do not tear tho&s;e Nets, which we have on|ly &s;pread for our diverti&s;ement, and not to catch &s;uch Birds as you. And therefore to let yee know our de&s;ign, and who we are, I &s;hall tell yee in few words.</P>
<P>Two Leagues from hence lies our Village, where live a great number of Wealthy Gentlemen; among whom the younger &s;ort have made up a Com|pany together all of the &s;ame humour, to come and diverti&s;e them&s;elves in this place, which is one of the plea&s;ante&s;t in all the&s;e parts; to which purpo&s;e we have de&s;ign'd to act a New Pa&s;toral, the young Men in the habit of Shepherds and the young Virgins in the dre&s;s of Shepherde&s;&s;es. We have all got our parts by heart, &s;ome out of the Famous <HI>Garcila&s;&s;o,</HI> and others cull'd from the works of the mo&s;t Excellent <HI>Comoes,</HI> a <HI>Portugue&s;e</HI> Poet. Ye&s;terday was the fir&s;t day of our Arrival, and we have &s;et up our Tents neer the Banks of a River that Waters all the Meadows round about. And la&s;t night we &s;pread the&s;e Nets to catch &s;uch little Birds, as the noi&s;e we made &s;hould &s;care into the Silken Snares. Now Sir if you think fit to make one of our Society, you &s;hall be extreamly welcom; and you may be a&s;&s;ur'd that the re&s;t will be as glad as we of your good Company.</P>
<P>In truth, fair Lady, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I do not believe <HI>Acteon</HI> was more &s;urpriz'd to &s;ee <HI>Diana</HI> bathing her &s;elf, then I was to meet your Beau|ty. I applaud your Innocent Mirth, and I return yee a thou&s;and Thanks for the favour of your obliging offers. If you think me capable to &s;erve yee, you may command the Per&s;on that will &s;tudy an exact obedience to all your Impo&s;itions: For my Profe&s;&s;ion is to defie Ingratitude, and do good to all Mankind; and particularly to Per&s;ons of your Sex, your Quality, and your Merit: And let me tell yee, were the&s;e Nets &s;pread over the Surface of the whole Earth, I would &s;eek to find &s;ome other Pa&s;&s;age into another World, before I would break the &s;malle&s;t Thread that conduces to your Pa&s;time. Nor will you que&s;tion the Truth of what I &s;ay, when you under&s;tand that he who acknowledges your Civility is <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> if e're his Name has reach'd your Ears.</P>
<P>Oh, Si&s;ter, Si&s;ter, cry'd the other, what good Fortune have we! This worthy Per&s;on, who d' yee think he is? the hone&s;te&s;t, be&s;t natur'd Knight i' the World, if the Hi&s;tory of his Life &s;peak truth. I ha' read it, Si&s;ter, and I'le hold an even Wager, that the Punchin that is with him is <HI>Sancho Pan|cha</HI> his Squire, one of the plea&s;ante&s;t <HI>Merry-Andrews</HI> that ever droll'd upon a Mountebanks Stage. You &s;ay very true, Madam, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I am that very <HI>Merry-Andrew,</HI> that Squire you &s;peak of, and this Gentleman, My Ma|is the &s;ame <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> &s;o famous in his Hi&s;tory, Nay then, Si&s;ter, if it be &s;o, we mu&s;t entreat 'em to &s;tay; the whole Company will be overjoy'd to &s;ee 'em&mdash; I have already heard of his Valour and his Ver|tue, the &s;ame thou now tell'&s;t me&mdash;They &s;ay moreover that he is one of the mo&s;t con&s;tant and amorous Per&s;ons i' the World, and that his Mi&s;tre&s;s, one <HI>Madam Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o,</HI> is the faire&s;t Lady in all <HI>Spain.</HI> They do not talk without Book, quo <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> tho no di&s;paragement to your Tran|&s;cended Beauties neither; tho of all that ever I yet beheld, you are the on|ly Per&s;ons capable to di&s;pute the Advantage with her. But Ladies I be&s;eech yee loo&s;e no time, for the Duties to which my Profe&s;&s;ion obliges me are &s;o nice and exact, that they will not permit me to &s;tay long in any Place.</P>
<PB N="555" REF="296">
<P>At the &s;ame time arriv'd the Brother of one of the Shepherde&s;&s;es, clad like a Swayn, but in a Garb nothing inferiour to the Gallantry of the young Ladies. Brother, cry'd his Si&s;ter, now you have the Happine&s;s to &s;ee with your own Eyes, the Famous <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> and <HI>Sancho</HI> his Squire, who&s;e Life you have &s;o often read over with &s;o much plea&s;ure and delight. Thereupon the young Shepherd &s;o highly Complemented <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and begg'd his Company with that Importunity, that 'twas impo&s;|&s;ible for the Champion to deny him. At the &s;ame time they heard the hooping and hallowing of &s;everal Voices at a di&s;tance, which drave a thou|&s;and Birds of different &s;orts into the danger which they &s;ought to avoid. This united all the re&s;t of the Company, who made toward the Nets, to the number of about fifty Per&s;ons variou&s;ly habited in Shepherds and Shep|herde&s;&s;es Weeds, and overjoy'd that they had met with <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and his Squire, carry'd 'em to their Tents, where Dinner was ready upon the Table. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was con&s;train'd to take the place of Honour, tho not without a great deal of mode&s;t Re&s;i&s;tance; and all the while that Dinner la&s;ted, there was not one that did not gaze with admiration to behold &s;o &s;trange an Object.</P>
<P>But at length the Cloth being taken away, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> with a grave and &s;erious Countenance lifting up his Voice, Of all the &s;ins which Men commit, &s;aid he, in my Opinion Ingratitude is the fowle&s;t, notwith&s;tand|ing the judgment of others, who affirm Pride to be a greater; and I ground my Allegation on this, that Hell is &s;aid to be &s;tufft with the ungrateful. Ever &s;ince I have had the u&s;e of Rea&s;on, I have always endeavour'd to avoid this Crime. For tho I have not been able always to return acknow|ledgments an&s;werable to the Benefits I have receiv'd, yet I repay 'em with the real intentions and de&s;ires of my Heart; and as a mark of my acknow|ledgment, I make 'em known to all the World: For he that proclaims the Kindne&s;&s;es he has receiv'd, at the &s;ame time declares his de&s;ire to make re|quital, were it in his power. But the greate&s;t part of tho&s;e that receive, being Inferiour to tho&s;e that give, it is a difficult thing for &s;uch to di&s;|charge the Obligation but in Thanks. God, who is infinitely above all the World, be&s;tows his Favours and his Ble&s;&s;ings upon us, &s;o va&s;tly more then we de&s;erve, that all the acknowledgment which Men can make, can never hold proportion with his Goodne&s;s. Neverthele&s;s Men are not ab&s;olutely deem'd ungrateful, while they &s;upply their want of Power with their cor|dial De&s;ires, their Thanksgivings, and the Confe&s;&s;ions of their own un|worthine&s;s.</P>
<P>Gentlemen, I am in this condition in re&s;pect of your &s;elves; you have treated me with all the Civilities Imaginable, you have entertain'd me like a Prince, while I am utterly unable to make an acknowledgment equal to the Kindne&s;&s;es I have receiv'd. I &s;hall therefore contain my &s;elf within the narrow Limits of my own Abilities, and only offer yee what I have within my Power. Which is to maintain for two whole days toge|ther in the middle of the Road that leads to <HI>Sarago&s;a,</HI> that the&s;e Ladies here di&s;guiz'd in the Habit of Shepherde&s;&s;es, are the faire&s;t and the civille&s;t La|dies in the World, the Lady <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o</HI> only excepted, &s;ole Mi&s;tre&s;s of my Thoughts; without offence to all that hear me be it &s;poken.</P>
<P>Here <HI>Don Quixote</HI> made a Pau&s;e; at what time <HI>Sancho</HI> believing it his Turn, before any body el&s;e could have liberty to chop in a word of an|&s;wer to his Ma&s;ter; Is it po&s;&s;ible, &s;aid he, that there &s;hould be any People in the World &s;o arrogant, as to &s;ay my Ma&s;ter is a Fool? Pray tell me La|dies and Gentlemen, did you ever know any of your Country Par&s;ons that
<PB N="556" REF="297"> pretend to talk Greek and Hebrew, that ever di&s;cours'd &s;o <HI>Metemphi&s;ically</HI> as he does; or any of your <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> with all their Rodomontado's that ever made &s;uch a Frank and Generous offer as he has done? How! quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> turning toward <HI>Sancho,</HI> and beholding him with Eyes full of Fiery Indignation, Yee Pewter-button'd Rake&s;hame, quo he, is there any Man living upon the Face of the Earth, that would take thee for any other then the meere&s;t Changeling that ever begg'd at a Towns end with a blew Coat and a Muckender, or at lea&s;t for a Sawcy Imperti|nent Hobnail Hangdog as thou art? Who made you &s;o bold, good Mr. <HI>Apple-Squire,</HI> to bu&s;ie your &s;elf with my Folly or Wi&s;dom? Dog in a Doublet, make no replyes, if you love your Sconce; but go and &s;addle <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> that this noble Company may &s;ee I am no <HI>Bouncer,</HI> but one that does as he &s;ays; and as I have Right of my &s;ide, you may number tho&s;e among the Dead already that deny the contrary. And &s;o &s;aying he flung from the Table in a dreadful Fury, to the wonder of all the Company, who were in a quandary what Judgment to make of him, whether Fool or Madman. They per&s;waded him to lay his Challenges a&s;ide, for that they were a&s;&s;ur'd of his Gratitude, without the hazard of &s;uch dangerous Demon&s;trations; and for his Valour they were &s;ufficiently convinc'd of it, by what they had al|ready read of his famous Exploits.. By the Body of <HI>Pharoah,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> 'twas never que&s;tion'd yet, nor ever &s;hall be; and &s;o &s;aying he mounted <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> &s;houlder'd his Target, and with his Lance couch'd in his Re&s;t, mauger all per&s;wa&s;ion to the contrary, he went and po&s;ted him&s;elf in the middle of the High-way, attended by <HI>Sancho</HI> and all the Company, who were de&s;irous to behold the Event of &s;uch a Hairbraind Re&s;olution. And now having taken his Ground, he rang the&s;e loud Expre&s;&s;ions through the neighbouring Air.</P>
<P>All you who e're you are, Knights-Errant, Squires, a foot or a hor&s;e-back, that pa&s;s or &s;hall pa&s;s this Road for the&s;e two days together, know that <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> Knight-Errant, &s;tays here to aver and main|tain that the Nymphs which inhabit the&s;e Woods and Meadows, &s;urpa&s;s in Beauty and Civility all the Beauties of the Earth, except the Mi&s;tre&s;s of my Soul, the Lady <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o.</HI> And he that will uphold the con|trary, let him dare venture hither, where I expect his coming. The&s;e lofty words he twice in vain repeated, for all the Knight Adventurers were deaf or el&s;e a &s;leep i' their Graves. But Fortune, his dear Friend, that al|ways would be cutting him out work to make her &s;elf &s;port, &s;hew'd him a jolly &s;ight; for by and by he &s;aw at a di&s;tance a great number of People a Hor&s;e-back, and &s;ome with Lances in their Hands, all trooping together, and in great ha&s;te. The Company that were with <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> no &s;ooner beheld &s;uch a number of Cavaliers driving the Du&s;t before 'em, but they got out of harms way, not judging it &s;afe to be &s;o neer danger. Only <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;helter'd him&s;elf behind <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> while <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;tood like an Oak, and with an undaunted Courage daring all Extremities. At length when the Hor&s;emen drew neer, one of the foremo&s;t calling out to <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> What a Devil, cry'd he, does the fellow &s;tand there for! get out of the way and be hang'd, do yee intend the Bulls &s;hould gore yee to pieces.</P>
<P>Scoundrels, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> don't think to &s;care me with your Bulls or your Bears either; but acknowledg, I &s;ay acknowledg what I maintain to be Truth, or el&s;e prepare to fight me. But the Cowherd had no lei&s;ure to make him any an&s;wer; neither had <HI>Don Quixote</HI> any time to get out of the way if he would; for the Bulls came powdring on apace, and being
<PB N="557" REF="297"> chaf'd by their Drivers, bore down all before 'em, Champion and Squire, Hor&s;e and Man; and they that came after, never minding where they trod, trampl'd Valour, Gratitude and Fidelity under foot, at a mo&s;t unmerciful rate. Never were human Bodies &s;o poach'd and be&s;mear'd with Bulls Dri|vel, Foam, and Du&s;t before i' this World: Nor did they leave poor helple&s;s <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> and <HI>Grizzle</HI> in&s;en&s;ible of the weight of their Hoofs But for all this, after the unruly Herd was pa&s;t, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;tarted up, &s;tunn'd with his fall and brui&s;es, reeling, &s;taggering, &s;tumbling; then falling, then up agen, and running a Dog trot as fa&s;t as he could, made a hideous noi&s;e, bawlling all the way as loud as he could open his Throat, and crying out after the unmannerly Cowherds, &s;top Scoundrels, &s;top, and an&s;wer the Challenge of a &s;ingle Knight, who &s;corns the Humour of making a Golden Bridg for his flying Enemy. But no body vouch&s;af'd him an an|&s;wer; nor no body minded his threats or his Rodomentado's; &s;o that Men and Bea&s;ts by this time being out of &s;ight, <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> Sinew-&s;prain'd, Shoulder-pight, and Hip-&s;hot, but mo&s;t of all tormented in his Soul for the lo&s;s of his Revenge, was forc'd to &s;it down i' the middle of the Road, till <HI>Sancho</HI> arriv'd with <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> and <HI>Grizzle,</HI> all three &s;o mortify'd, that they were hardly able to creep. However the two Adventurers made a &s;hift to mount their Four-footed Cripples, and a&s;ham'd of their bad &s;uc|ce&s;s, held on their Journey, without ever taking leave of the Shepherds of New <HI>Arcadia.</HI></P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="7" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. VII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">What happen'd to <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> which may be truly call'd an Adven|ture.</HEAD>
<P>A Fountain of clear and cool Water which they met with in a &s;mall Coppice not far from the Field of their Misfortune, was the only Refre&s;hment that could be found to comfort the forlorn and tir'd Adventu|rers. By the Brink of which, leaving <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> and <HI>Grizzle</HI> unbridl'd and unhalter'd to their own di&s;cretion, they &s;ate down, and after they had du&s;t|ed them&s;elves, as you would have du&s;ted two pieces of old Hangings, they wa&s;h'd their Hands, their Faces and their Mouths. Which done, <HI>Sancho</HI> the mo&s;t careful of his Belly, of all Squires Errant under the Sun, went to his Wallet, which he always call'd his <HI>Vade Mecum,</HI> and having brought forth his Provi&s;ion, &s;et it before his Ma&s;ter. But <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Stomach was too full of his Misfortunes to eat, and <HI>Sancho</HI> was &s;o mannerly, that he would not fall too before his Ma&s;ter; however at la&s;t, finding that his Ma&s;ters &s;orrows would not permit him to lift his Hand to his Mouth, he laid a&s;ide all con&s;iderations of good behaviour, and fell a cramming his Jaws, as if he had not eaten in fifteen days before. Eat, friend <HI>Sancho,</HI> cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> eat and enjoy the Plea&s;ures of this Life, which thou ha&s;t the happine&s;s to reli&s;h with a more plea&s;ing Gu&s;to then I can. I am born, <HI>Sancho,</HI> to live like one continually dying, and thou to dye continu|ally eating. And for proof of this, do but reflect upon me, Famous in the Hi&s;tory of my Life, more famous by my Exploits, honour'd and e&s;teem'd by Kings and Princes, belov'd by Ladies of the highe&s;t Quality; yet after all this, when I expected Laurel Wreaths, and the Triumphs which my Atchievements Merit, behold me Morter-trod, and trampl'd like the High-way
<PB N="558" REF="298"> Dirt, under the Hoofs of unclean Bea&s;ts, and likely to be the &s;corn of all that &s;hall come to under&s;tand the fatal I&s;&s;ue of &s;o generous an underta|king. The con&s;ideration of the&s;e Misfortunes it is that files my Teeth; that dulls my Appetite and &s;tupifies my Sences: for to tell thee truth I have not the Courage to lift my Hand to my Mouth, as fearing more to live, then &s;tarve my &s;elf to death; tho I confe&s;s it to be a mo&s;t unnatural thing for a Man to have &s;uch a grudge again&s;t him&s;elf. Then you don't approve of the Proverb belike, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> munching and &s;wallowing all the while, <HI>He mu&s;t needs be Friendle&s;s that dyes with an empty Stomach.</HI> For my part I am not &s;o &s;imple yet as to kill my &s;elf&mdash;I am like the Shoemaker that &s;tretches his Leather with his Teeth; I am for prolonging my Life by eat|ing&mdash; and I'le &s;tretch it with my Teeth as far as Heaven will let it run&mdash; In good faith Ma&s;ter, there is no greater Madne&s;s i' this World, then for a Man to de&s;pair&mdash; And therefore take my advice, follow my example and eat; and when yee have done, lye down upon the fre&s;h Gra&s;s with your Belly to the Sun, and take a Nap; and if you ben't the better for it when you wake, &s;ay I'm a Fool and no Phy&s;ician.</P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> yielded to <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Arguments; for he was convinc'd that the Squire &s;poke good Natural Philo&s;ophy at that time. However, ha|ving another project in his Head; Ah, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo he, my Stomach is at thy di&s;po&s;al, and the ponderous weight of my Cares would &s;it much more light upon my Shoulders, if thou would&s;t but &s;tep a&s;ide, and unca&s;ing thy blind Cheeks, give thy &s;elf &s;ome two or three hunder'd &s;mart Licks with the Reins of <HI>Ro&s;inantes</HI> Bridle, and put 'em to accompt of what are pa&s;t, and what are to come toward the di&s;inchantment of thy di&s;tre&s;&s;ed Mi&s;tre&s;s <HI>Dul|cinea.</HI> For in truth 'tis a &s;hame that poor Lady &s;hould &s;uffer all this while through thy Negligence.</P>
<P>That's a Bu&s;ine&s;s requires a more &s;erious Con&s;ideration, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> fir&s;t let's go &s;leep, and then we'll debate that que&s;tion more at lei&s;ure. Do you think 'tis a rea&s;onable thing for a Man to whip him&s;elf in cold Blood, e&s;pe|cially when the La&s;hes mu&s;t light upon a body &s;o &s;orrily lin'd within as mine is? Patience good Madam <HI>Dulcinea</HI>&mdash; one of the&s;e days you &s;hall &s;ee me with as many holes i' my Skin as a Cullender&mdash; There's nothing lo&s;t that comes at la&s;t&mdash; I'le warrant yee for a <HI>Grave&s;end</HI> To&s;te, you'l find me exact to my Promi&s;e. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> return'd his Squire many thanks; and &s;o laying them&s;elves down at their full length upon the green Gra&s;s, they betook them&s;elves to their Re&s;t; leaving <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> and <HI>Grizzle</HI> to feed or repo&s;e at their own di&s;cretion.</P>
<P>The day was now far gone when the Adventurers wak'd, and made ha&s;te to mount their Spittles, in hopes to get to an Inn before it grew dark. I call it an Inn, becau&s;e <HI>Don Quixote</HI> call'd it &s;o him&s;elf; contrary to his cu|&s;tom, as being wont to take Inns for Ca&s;tles; nor was <HI>Sancho</HI> any way di&s;|pleas'd at his de&s;ign. And here fortune favour'd 'em, for they had not rode above a League before they met with what they &s;ought for. Where being arriv'd, <HI>Sancho</HI> ask'd the Innkeeper whether he had any lodging?&mdash; Yes&mdash; quo the Innkeeper, and the be&s;t Conveniencies of any Inn in all <HI>Spain.</HI> Thereupon they alighted, and <HI>Sancho</HI> having lock'd up his Port|mantle and Wallet in his Chamber and taken the Key, after he had &s;een <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> and <HI>Grizzle</HI> well provided for i' the Stable, went to find out his Ma&s;ter, whom he found &s;itting upon a Bench in the Yard. Supper-time approaching <HI>Don Quixote</HI> went up to his Chamber; and <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;taying with the Ho&s;t, ask'd him what he had to eat. For Fle&s;h and Fi&s;h, quo the Innkee|per, you cannot &s;peak but have&mdash; let him but take mea&s;ure of his Mouth
<PB N="559" REF="298"> and he would fit him with Birds of the Air, Barn-door Fowl, Bea&s;ts of the Field, or of the Forre&s;t, and what not? And then for Wine he had all &s;orts, <HI>Vin Chablay, Vin de bon, Puntack, Obryan, Champain, Vin de Pari, Hermitage, Rou&s;illon,</HI> and twenty more hard names, that <HI>Sancho</HI> thought him&s;elf in Paradi&s;e.</P>
<P>There's no need of all this, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> two good Capons will do our bu&s;ine&s;s, and what's left will &s;erve for Breakfa&s;t; for my Ma&s;ter has a very nice Stomach, and eats &s;o little at a time, that the Pe&s;tle of a Lark will &s;erve his turn, but only that I eat for him and my &s;elf too. As for Ca|pons, reply'd the Ho&s;t, we have none, for no le&s;s then four Lords din'd here to day and had all we had. Why then, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> roa&s;t us a couple of Pullets with Eggs, &s;o they be young and tender. Pullets! quo the Inn|keeper, in truth, in truth, now I think on't, I &s;old above Fifty ye&s;terday to a Hegler to carry to the City: But &s;etting a&s;ide Capons and Pullets, you may have any thing el&s;e. Why then let's have a good Joynt of Veal or Lamb, quo <HI>Sancho.</HI> 'Slife, now I remember me, here were &s;ome Ci|tizens and their Wives this Morning that clear'd my Larder. Cou-rage, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> there's Life in a Mu&s;cle yet&mdash; now will I hold a Wager, that all this Mon&s;trous Bill of Fare will end in a Di&s;h of Collops and Eggs at la&s;t. There you have found it out indeed, quo the Ho&s;t, I told yee I had no Hens, and you would have me have Eggs. The Devil twi&s;t the Neck of thee for a Fool, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> prithee tell me what thou ha&s;t, and don't put me to puzzle my Brains i' this fa&s;hion. Why then look yee d' yee &s;ee, quo the Innkeeper, in &s;hort, I ha' two Neats Feet ready dre&s;t, with Oni|ons and Mu&s;tard, a Di&s;h for a Prince. Neats Feet! quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> let no body touch 'em, but keep 'em for me, I'le pay thee thy own rate. By the Gho&s;t of St. <HI>Marriot,</HI> there's nothing I love better. I'le warrant 'em &s;ecure, quo the Innkeeper, for all the Gue&s;ts at pre&s;ent in my Hou&s;e are Per&s;ons of Qua|lity, that carry their Steward, their Cook and their Butler along with 'em, and cater abroad for them&s;elves. As for Per&s;ons of Quality, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> let that pa&s;s, my Ma&s;ter's a Per&s;on of as good Quality as the proude&s;t He of 'em all, but his Profe&s;&s;ion does not allow him Butlers nor Cooks. We gene|rally dine i' the Field under a Tree or a Hedg, and many times have nothing neither to dinner but a few Che&s;tnuts, or a Sallad of my Ma&s;ters own Pick|ing. Thus ended the Di&s;cour&s;e between <HI>Sancho</HI> and the Innkeeper; for as to the Innkeepers Interrogatories concerning his Ma&s;ters Quality and Pro|fe&s;&s;ion, <HI>Sancho</HI> was not then at lei&s;ure to make him any an&s;wer.</P>
<P>And now Supper-time being come, the Innkeeper carry'd up his <HI>Ragou,</HI> &s;uch as it was, into the Champions Chamber; but ere <HI>Don Quixote</HI> had &s;et his Teeth to the fir&s;t Mor&s;el he put in his Mouth, i' the next Room, be|tween which and his own there was but a &s;lender partition, he over-heard two Gentlemen talking together, and the one &s;aying to the other, I pray Signour <HI>Jeronimo</HI> let us read one Chapter of the &s;econd Part of <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> till Supper come in. The Knight no &s;ooner heard him&s;elf nam'd, but he ro&s;e from the Table, and went to hark'n what they &s;aid; at what time he heard <HI>Jeronimo</HI> make an&s;wer, wherefore have you &s;uch a de&s;ire to read tho&s;e Impertinencies, Signour <HI>Don John?</HI> Methinks that af|ter you have read the fir&s;t Part, you &s;hould take but little delight in read|ing the &s;econd. I agree wi' yee, reply'd <HI>Jeronimo,</HI> however, there is no Book &s;o bad, but there is &s;omething of good to be pickt out of it. Only that which I mi&s;like in this part is this, that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> does not &s;eem to be &s;o much enamour'd of <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o</HI> as he was in the &s;econd. Up|on tho&s;e words, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> all Fire and Tow, cry'd out, Whoever &s;ays
<PB N="560" REF="299"> that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> has forgot, or is capable to forget <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o,</HI> lyes in his Throat, and I'le make him eat the Blade of his Sword; for the Peer|le&s;s <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o</HI> is not a Per&s;on to be forgot; and &s;uch a forgetful|ne&s;s would be beneath <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha: Con&s;tancy</HI> is his <HI>Motto,</HI> and his Profe&s;&s;ion is to pre&s;erve his Fidelity inviolable.</P>
<P>Who's that prates there, cry'd one of the Gentlemen, i' the other Chamber? Who &s;hould it be, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> but <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> the &s;ame that will maintain what he has &s;aid, my Life for yours; for a good Payma&s;ter never grudges to part with his Money.</P>
<P><HI>Sancho</HI>'s words were no &s;ooner out of his Mouth, but the two Gentle|men made bold to enter <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Chamber; and one of the two throwing his Arms about <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Neck, Your Pre&s;ence, Sir Knight, does no way belye your Reputation, nor your Reputation your Pre&s;ence&mdash; you are certainly the true and undaunted <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> the Load-&s;tone and North-Star of Chivalry-Errant, in de&s;pight of him that has u&s;urpt your Name, and endeavours to eclip&s;e the Lu&s;ter of your fa|mous Exploits, as appears by this Book which I have here i' my Hand. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> took the Book, without &s;aying a word, turn'd over the Leaves, and then returning it agen, I find fault, &s;aid he, with three things that de&s;erve Reprehen&s;ion. Fir&s;t, I except again&s;t &s;ome words that are in the Pre|face; the next is, that the Language is <HI>Aragonnois;</HI> and in the third place, he &s;hews him&s;elf an Ignoramus, while he fails in one of the principal parts of the Hi&s;tory, in calling <HI>Sancho Pancha,</HI> my Squires Wife, <HI>Mary Gutteridge,</HI> when her name is <HI>Tere&s;a Pancha,</HI> and I'me afraid that an Author who mi|&s;takes in &s;uch an Important Pa&s;&s;age of the Story, may commit as many Errors in the Re&s;t. By my Faith, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> he's a very plea&s;ant Fellow of a Hi&s;torian, to call my Wife <HI>Tere&s;a, Mary Gutteridge</HI>&mdash;the Devil <HI>Gutte|ridge</HI> him for a Coxcomb&mdash; pray Sir will you be pleas'd to read a little i' your Book, that I may hear whether he &s;ays any thing of me, and whe|ther he ha' not chang'd my name too. Then I find you are <HI>Sancho Pancha,</HI> reply'd <HI>Jeronimo,</HI> Squire to Mon&s;ieur <HI>Don Quixote.</HI> Yes, Sir, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> and I would have yee to know, I am not a little proud of my Employment. In truth, Sir, quo the Gentleman, then the la&s;t Author does not deal &s;o civilly by yee as you de&s;erve. For he gives you the Character of a half-witted Guttle-gut; not able to &s;ay <HI>Bo</HI> to a Goo&s;e. Heaven pardon him, quo <HI>Sancho;</HI> however he might ha' let me alone, unle&s;s he had known me better, but St. <HI>Peter</HI> is at <HI>Rome.</HI></P>
<P>Pre&s;ently the Gentlemen invited <HI>Don Quixote</HI> to &s;up with them in their Chamber, for that they well knew there was nothing in the Inn that was fit for him to eat. A mode&s;t reque&s;t, which <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who was all Civility and Complai&s;ance would not deny; &s;o that he went along with the Gentleman to better Chear then his own. And now <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;eeing him&s;elf Ma&s;ter of the &s;ou&s;t Neats Feet, plac'd him&s;elf at the upper end of the Table, and bidding the Innkeeper &s;it down by him, they both fell on with keen Appetites, drinking and laughing as if they had had a Ma&s;ter and Wardens Fea&s;t before 'em.</P>
<P>In the mean time, as they were at Supper i' the next Room, <HI>Don John</HI> ask'd <HI>Don Quixote</HI> when he had heard of Madam <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o,</HI> whe|ther &s;he were marry'd; whether &s;he had any Childern; and whether &s;he were with Child or no; or whether he thought &s;he would tarry to reward the Con&s;tancy of her faithful Servant <HI>Don Quixote? Dulcinea,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> is &s;till a Maid, and my thoughts are &s;till the &s;ame that ever they were; but alas, &s;he is disfigur'd, and her Beauty is transform'd into the
<PB N="561" REF="299"> Deformity of a Country-dowdy; and with that he up and told the Gent|lemen the whole Story of her being Enchanted, what had befallen him in the Cave of <HI>Monte&s;inos,</HI> and the means that <HI>Merlin</HI> had pre&s;crib'd for <HI>Dul|cineas</HI> Relea&s;ement, which now depended &s;olely upon <HI>Sancho</HI>'s flogging him|&s;elf only for an hour or two. The Gentlemen were overjoy'd to hear from <HI>D. Quixote</HI>'s own Mouth, the &s;trange Adventures of his Life, not more a&s;to|ni&s;h'd at his Extravagancies, then at his Eloquent manner of relating 'em.</P>
<P>By this time <HI>Sancho</HI> having &s;upp'd, and half fuddl'd his Ho&s;t, chang'd Rooms, and coming into the Gentlemans Chamber, let me be hang'd, quo he, Gentlemen, if I believe that he who wrote that Book had any de&s;ign that ever he and I &s;hould take a loving Cup together&mdash; I wonder he did not blazon me for a Drunkard as well as a Glutton. So he does, I will a&s;&s;ure yee, reply'd <HI>Geronimo,</HI> but I cannot well turn to the Place; only I remember he is forc'd to &s;train hard for his Jea&s;ts, and now I find that <HI>San|cho's</HI> Phy&s;iognomy proves him a Lyar. Believe me, Gentlemen, quo <HI>Sancho, Benengeli</HI>'s <HI>Sancho</HI> and his <HI>Don Quixote</HI> can never be the &s;ame Per&s;ons with tho&s;e your Book talks of. For <HI>Benengeli</HI>'s <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was Prudent, Vali|ant and Amorous; and his <HI>Sancho</HI> Simple and Merry, but neither Glutton nor Drunkard. I believe as you do, reply'd <HI>Don John,</HI> and for my part I think 'twere fit that all other Writers whatever &s;hould be forbid to write <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Life, but only <HI>Cid Hamet</HI> the fir&s;t Author; as <HI>Alexander</HI> for|bid all other Painters to draw his Picture except <HI>Apelles.</HI> Let who's will draw my Picture, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> but let him have a care he takes it right; for there are &s;ome Injuries will provoke a Saint. There's no Man can injure <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don John,</HI> but he is able to revenge him|&s;elf, e&s;pecially if once he lay a&s;ide his Patience and take up his Buckler; for then I'me &s;ure the World mu&s;t be at an end with &s;ome body.</P>
<P>The&s;e and &s;uch like di&s;cour&s;es wa&s;ted a good part of the Night; and tho <HI>Don John</HI> mo&s;t earne&s;tly de&s;ir'd <HI>Don Quixote</HI> to read on, and &s;ee if he could find any more mi&s;takes of the Hi&s;torian, he could by no means prevail with the Knight, who&s;e an&s;wer was, that if the Author &s;hould ever come to know he had had it in his Hand, he would be proud to think he had read it; whereas he &s;corn'd to vouch&s;afe a Fabulous Writer &s;o much as the Glance of his Eye. Thereupon <HI>Don John</HI> made bold to ask him what de|&s;ign he was now upon, and which way he was travelling. To which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> an&s;wer'd, that he was going for <HI>Sarago&s;a,</HI> to be pre&s;ent at the Turnaments annually held i' that City. Why, quo <HI>Don John,</HI> this &s;ame Book tells yee a Story of <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s being at <HI>Sarago&s;a</HI> once before at a publick Running at the Ring; &s;o wretchedly &s;imple, &s;o mi&s;erably poor, but &s;o full of Extravagancies and Rodomontado's, that nothing could be more ridiculous. Why now you &s;hall &s;ee, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> what a Lyar I will make of this Hi&s;torian, for I'me re&s;olv'd for his &s;ake not to &s;et foot i' the City&mdash; and then the World &s;hall know whether I am his <HI>Don Quixote</HI> or no. You will do very well, reply'd <HI>Don John,</HI> be&s;ides there is a Grand Turnament at <HI>Barcellona,</HI> where you may Signalize your Valour as well as at <HI>Sarago&s;a.</HI> That's my De&s;ign, and &s;o Gentlemen good Night and good Repo&s;e to yee&mdash; and pray do me the favour to number me among your be&s;t and mo&s;t faithful Servants&mdash; Pray Genlemen do me the &s;ame honour too, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> it may be you may find me good for &s;omething.</P>
<P>Thus the Knight and the Squire retir'd to their Chamber, leaving the Gen|tlemen fully &s;atisfy'd, that the&s;e two Per&s;ons were the &s;ame <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;o famous in the fir&s;t part of their Hi&s;tory. So &s;oon as it was day,
<PB N="562" REF="300"> <HI>Don Quixote</HI> went and took his leave of the Gentlemen, while <HI>Sancho</HI> recken'd with his Ho&s;t, whom he paid like an Emperour, advi&s;ing him withal, to brag le&s;s, and furni&s;h his Inn better.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="8" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. VIII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">What befel <HI>Don Quixote</HI> going to <HI>Barcellona.</HI></HEAD>
<P>'TWas a fair Morning, and promis'd a fair day, when <HI>Don Quixote</HI> left the Inn, after he had taken In&s;tructions to guide him in the Road to <HI>Barcellona.</HI> For he was re&s;olv'd he would not &s;o much as &s;ee <HI>Sarago&s;a,</HI> that he might make the <HI>Arroganian</HI> a Lyer, who had &s;o foully be&s;pat|ter'd him in his Hi&s;tory. Six days he rode on, not meeting with any Ad|venture Con&s;iderable; but the &s;eventh toward Evening, having lo&s;t his way, and being &s;urpriz'd by the Night, he was con&s;train'd to &s;top under a Covert of thick Trees, not being able to travel any farther. There they alighted both, and laying them&s;elves down at the foot of a &s;preading Oak, they re&s;olv'd to expect Day-light. <HI>Sancho</HI> having drank a little hard that day, quickly fell a &s;noaring; but <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> amus'd with his wonted Whims and Fancies, could not &s;o much as clo&s;e his Eyes, while his ro|ving Imagination kept his bu&s;ie Sences hurry'd a thou&s;and &s;everal ways at once. Sometimes he thought him&s;elf in <HI>Monte&s;inos</HI>'s Cave, where he &s;aw his deformed <HI>Dulcinea</HI> skipping upon on A&s;&s;es Back like a Country Hoyden; &s;ometimes he thought him&s;elf di&s;cour&s;ing with the Necromancer <HI>Merlin,</HI> and taking new In&s;tructions how to di&s;inchant her. Then a fit of de&s;pair &s;eiz'd him, to think how carele&s;s <HI>Sancho</HI> was, and how remi&s;s in the Executi|on of his Penance, which was never likely to be accompli&s;h'd, con&s;idering the &s;low rate that he went on, as not having given him&s;elf above five La&s;hes in three Weeks. And this Reflection &s;o tormented him, that he re&s;olv'd to put an end to his Affliction forthwith. If <HI>Alexander,</HI> &s;aid he, cut the <HI>Gordian</HI> Knot, when he could not untye it, and yet became Lord of all <HI>A&s;ia,</HI> why may not I have the &s;ame &s;ucce&s;s by whipping <HI>Sancho</HI> my &s;elf? For if the force of the Remedy con&s;i&s;ts in <HI>Sancho</HI>'s receiving three thou|&s;and three hunder'd La&s;hes, what matter is it, whether he be his own Pedagogue, or whether another lay on the &s;troaks for him; &s;eeing the main Point is this, that he mu&s;t be &s;courg'd. Thereupon having taken this Re&s;olution, and the Stirrup Leathers from <HI>Ro&s;inantes</HI> Saddle, he &s;tole &s;oftly upon <HI>Sancho,</HI> and began to untru&s;s his Points. With that <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;tarted out of his &s;leep, Who's there? cry'd he, who&s;e that untru&s;&s;es my Breeches? 'Tis I, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I am come to repair thy Negligence, and to &s;eek the Remedy of my Torments. I come to whip thee, <HI>Sancho,</HI> and di&s;charge thee of that Debt, for which thou &s;tand&s;t engage. Poor <HI>Dul|cinea</HI> peri&s;hes, and I langui&s;h in De&s;pair and Affliction: untru&s;s therefore peaceably and willingly, for my de&s;ign is only to give thee about two thou|&s;and &s;tripes while we are here alone together.</P>
<P>Hands off, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> pray be patient and let me alone, or el&s;e by all the Monuments of my Progenitours, I'le make &s;uch a noi&s;e as &s;hall alarum all the Dead within ten Miles round. The La&s;hes which I am to give my &s;elf, are to be voluntary and not by compul&s;ion; I am to be whipt neither by Beadles nor Hangmen; and at this time I have no m nd to be whipt at all; 'tis &s;ufficient that I promi&s;e yee to &s;courge
<PB N="563" REF="300"> my &s;elf, when the Humour takes me; but you mu&s;t &s;tay my Humours lei&s;ure.</P>
<P>I am not to &s;tand to thy Curte&s;ie, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> thou ha&s;t a hard Heart, hard and flinty toward a di&s;tre&s;&s;ed Lady, but tender and compa&s;&s;ionate toward thy own Skin: and &s;o &s;aying, he fell to untying his Squires Points with all his force. Which <HI>Sancho</HI> perceiving, &s;tarted upon his Legs, and taking his Ma&s;ter about the middle, gave him a trip, and threw him fairly upon his Back; and then &s;etting his Knee upon his Brea&s;t, held his Hands &s;o fa&s;t, that he could hardly &s;tir or fetch his Breath.</P>
<P>How Traytor! cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> what, rebel again&s;t thy Ma&s;ter! again&s;t thy natural Lord! again&s;t him that gives thee Bread! I commit neither Murder nor Man&s;laughter, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I am purely i' my own de|fence, as being my own Ma&s;ter, Lord and King. If your Wor&s;hip will promi&s;e to let me alone, and lay a&s;ide your whipping de&s;ign, I will give yee leave to ri&s;e; if not, you &s;hall dye, like a Traytor and an Enemy of <HI>Gammer Sancho,</HI> as you are. Thereupon <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was forc'd to &s;ubmit, and &s;wore by the Life of <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> not to touch a Hair of his Head, but to leave the whipping of him&s;elf to his own free will and di&s;cretion.</P>
<P><HI>Sancho,</HI> having thus conquer'd his Ma&s;ter, ro&s;e up and went to another place to &s;leep out the re&s;t of his &s;leep, at &s;uch a di&s;tance from the Knight, where he thought he might lye &s;ecure. At what time he had no &s;ooner laid him&s;elf down at the feet of another Tree, but feeling &s;omething lye hard again&s;t his Head, he put forth his Hand and felt a couple of Feet with Shoes and Stockins. This put him in a deadly fright, &s;o that ri&s;ing from thence, he betook him&s;elf to another Covert, where the &s;ame Accident befel him again. But then ten times more &s;car'd and terrify'd then he was before, he &s;et up his Throat, and fell a bawling for help as loud as he could yawl. Immediately <HI>Don Quixote</HI> flying to his A&s;&s;i&s;tance, what's the matter, quo he? Why, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;ure the&s;e Trees walk, I can find nothing but Legs and Feet at the Roots of 'em&mdash;Thereupon <HI>Don Quixote</HI> felt, and pre&s;ently conjecturing what was probable enough&mdash;Oh, quo he, Thou wer't more afraid then hurt&mdash; This place is the Common place of Execution, and the Fruit which the&s;e Trees bear are High-way-men and Robbers, hang'd upon the Boughs for their Crimes and Villanies. For Ju|&s;tice is con&s;train'd to hang 'em up by Twenties and Thirties at a Time; and this makes me think we are not far from <HI>Barcellona;</HI> wherein he was not mi&s;taken. Soon after day appearing, they &s;aw the Trees laden with the Bodies of executed Felons. But while they were con&s;idering this Me|lancholy Spectacle, they were more &s;urpriz'd to &s;ee a whole Regiment of St. <HI>Nicholas</HI>'s Clerks come ru&s;hing out of the Thickets, and crying out, &s;tand, and &s;peak with their Captain. 'Twas then a word of Com|mand that mu&s;t be obey'd, for <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was a foot, his Hor&s;e unbridl'd, and his Lance not to be recover'd, &s;o that unable to make any defence, he was forc'd to cro&s;s his Arms and &s;hrug up his Shoulders. Pre&s;ently the Rakehells di&s;charg'd <HI>Grizzle</HI> of her Burthen, the Portmantle and Wallet; and well it was that <HI>Sancho</HI> had his yellow Boys about him, fa&s;t ty'd in the Lappet of his Shirt, which however tho&s;e hone&s;t Men would ha' found out, tho' they had been hid in the Pith of his Back (for they were begin|ning to unca&s;e him) had not their Captain appear'd at the &s;ame In&s;tant. He had on a Coat of Male, and four Pocket Pi&s;tols &s;tuck in his wa&s;te Belt: He was about Thirty years of Age; vigourous and lu&s;ty; proper and well featur'd; brown of Complexion; his Locks black and dangling; and the Air of his Countenance &s;urly and re&s;olute; yet where there appear'd how|ever
<PB N="564" REF="301"> &s;omething of Gentility and good Nature. Upon his approach, &s;eeing his Squires undre&s;&s;ing <HI>Sancho,</HI> he commanded 'em to hold their Hands and quit him, which they did at the fir&s;t word. Then looking about him, and not a little &s;urpriz'd to &s;ee a Lance &s;et up again&s;t a Tree, a Buckler ly|ing upon the Ground, and <HI>Don Quixote</HI> in his <HI>Cap-a-pe,</HI> walking with a &s;ad pen&s;ive Look, like a Merchant newly &s;tript at Sea, and &s;et a&s;hore; he made up to the Knight, and with a &s;miling A&s;pect, come, Sir, quo he, be a' good Chear, you are not fallen into the hands of a Cruel Enemy; but into the hands of <HI>Roques Guiniard,</HI> who never injures them that never injur'd him. Mo&s;t Valiant <HI>Roques,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> my di&s;contents ari&s;e not from my being at thy Di&s;po&s;al, but that thy Soldiers &s;urpriz'd me unawares and unprovided, whereas by the Laws of my Order of <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> which I profe&s;s, I &s;hould have been upon the watch, and guarding my &s;elf as my own Sentinel. For thou know'&s;t brave <HI>Roques,</HI> had they found me a Hor&s;e-back with my Lance and Shield ready fix'd, they had not &s;o ea&s;ily been Ma&s;ters of my Per&s;on. The Apprehen&s;ive <HI>Roques</HI> &s;oon gue&s;s'd by the&s;e la&s;t words, what was <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Di&s;ea&s;e: He had often heard of him, but could not believe what was reported of him to be true, or that &s;uch Fanta&s;tick Whim&s;ies could ever enter the thoughts of a rational Man. Neverthele&s;s he was glad he had met with &s;uch an Opportunity to judge whether the Original agreed with the Copie. Renowned Knight, &s;aid he, never droop for this; nor count it any Act of Sini&s;ter Fortune, which I am apt to think will rather redound to the advancement of your Fame, and the rai&s;ing higher then ever your depre&s;t and lanqui&s;hing condition.</P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> was about to have return'd the Generous <HI>Roques</HI> a Comple|ment befitting him&s;elf, but he was prevented, by the trampling, as they both conjectur'd, of &s;everal Hor&s;es. However it prov'd to be but one &s;ingle Hor&s;eman, mounted like a Prince, and riding full &s;peed, as if he had been galloping for a Doctor of Phy&s;ick. Turning about, they di&s;cover'd him to be a young lovely Gentleman, about Twenty years of Age, clad in a green Damask Suit laid with Gold Lace, with his Hat button'd up a one &s;ide, his Boots new and pull'd up, Hor&s;eman like; his Sword, his Dagger and his Spurs guilt, and two Pocket Pi&s;tols fix'd to his wa&s;te Belt. His &s;peed &s;oon brought him to the Company, where making a &s;tand, Brave <HI>Roques,</HI> &s;aid he, 'tis thee I &s;eek, to find, if not the Cure, at lea&s;t th' A&s;&s;wagement of my Sorrows. And therefore, not to keep thee long in &s;u&s;pence, for I perceive thou know&s;t me not; I am <HI>Claudia Geronima</HI> the Daughter of <HI>Simon the Strong,</HI> thy particular Friend, and &s;worn Enemy of <HI>Clauquel Torrellas.</HI> His Son <HI>Don Vincent Torrellas</HI> not long &s;ince fell in Love with me, which he find|ing a means to di&s;cover to me, faith I, finding him civil and hand&s;om, lent him a favourable Ear; in&s;omuch that at length we &s;truck up a Bargain, and he gave me his Hand, and I gave him mine upon it; but we did not go pre&s;ently to Church, becau&s;e we &s;taid to have both our Parents con|&s;ent. Neverthele&s;s this very Morning was this ungrateful wretch to ha' marry'd another; but I think I ha' &s;poil'd his &s;port; for under&s;tanding they were to be marry'd in the Country, I overtook him within a League of this Place, and without &s;tanding to expo&s;tulate the matter, or to give him leave to &s;ay his Prayers, I clapt a brace of Bullets in his middle Region, and made him pay with the lo&s;s of his Heart blood, for the Affront he had done me. Now my reque&s;t to you is, that you would conduct me &s;afe out of the Kingdom, where I may &s;hift in &s;afety for my &s;elf, and at your return, that you would &s;tand by my Father, &s;hould any of <HI>Don Vincents</HI> Relations or Friends pretend to revenge his Death.</P>
<PB N="565" REF="301">
<P><HI>Roques,</HI> no le&s;s &s;urpriz'd at the daring Courage then at the dazling Air and Beauty of the <HI>Virago,</HI> promis'd to accompany her wherever &s;he went. But fir&s;t, &s;aid he, let's be certain whether your Enemy be dead, and then we &s;hall con&s;ider what to do.</P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> hearing all the&s;e Pa&s;&s;ages, There's no nece&s;&s;ity, &s;aid he, for this Lady to &s;ue for any Mans Protection, 'tis my bu&s;ine&s;s to undertake it, and provided I may but have my Arms, I'le find out this Per&s;on my &s;elf, and either alive or dead I'le make him &s;tand to his word. Nay then i' faith the work's done, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> if once my Ma&s;ter comes to have a Finger i' the Pye; he has the luckie&s;t hand at &s;odering broken Matches of any Man i' the World. 'Twas but t'other day that he forc'd a perfidious Whip&s;ter to keep his word with a Lady in &s;pight of his Teeth; &s;o that had not his profe&s;s'd Enemies the <HI>Necromancers</HI> chang'd the young Hector into the &s;hape of a Lacquey, they had been marry'd upon the &s;pot, and the young Lady had been half got with Child before this. But <HI>Roques</HI> had now con|cerns of greater importance in his Head, then to mind what either the Man or the Ma&s;ter prattl'd; and therefore having order'd his Men to return the plunder they had taken from <HI>Sancho,</HI> and to keep clo&s;e in the Wood where they were before; away rode he with <HI>Claudia</HI> to &s;ee what was be|come of <HI>Don Vincent.</HI></P>
<P>They arriv'd in a &s;hort time at the place where <HI>Claudia</HI> left him, but finding nothing there unle&s;s it were the &s;tains of his &s;till reaking Blood, they rode on, and at la&s;t overtook the wounded <HI>Vincent</HI> in the Arms of his Servants and Friends, and with a dying and langui&s;hing utterance de|&s;iring 'em to let him dye quietly in that place; for that the lo&s;s of his Blood, and the pain of his Wounds would not permit him to go any farther. At the &s;ight of &s;o &s;ad a Spectacle <HI>Claudia</HI> alighted, &s;he took <HI>Don Vincent</HI> by the hand, and between pity and complaint; Ah, <HI>Vincent,</HI> &s;aid &s;he, had&s;t not thou been treacherous to me, thou had&s;t not been in this Condition. At which words <HI>Don Vincent</HI> opening his Eyes half way, and knowing <HI>Claudia</HI>'s Face; I know, &s;aid he, dear <HI>Claudia,</HI> I know tho&s;e hands of thine have gi|ven me my deaths wound; but how I di&s;oblig'd thee, that I know not, for neither in my actions or my thoughts I ever yet de&s;erv'd that thou &s;hould&s;t u&s;e me thus. How! reply'd <HI>Claudia,</HI> wer't thou not going this Morning to marry <HI>Leonora</HI> the Rich <HI>Balva&s;tro</HI>'s Daughter? Who I? reply'd <HI>Don Vincent,</HI> a&s;&s;uredly I never had it in my thoughts. But thy Misfortune deluded thee to take away my Life; which I now willingly re&s;ign thee, &s;ince 'tis my happine&s;s to &s;urrender it into thy embraces. For proof of this dear <HI>Claudia,</HI> give me thy hand, and take him for thy Husband that nere deceiv'd thee yet; but now dyes overjoy'd that he has liv'd &s;o long to un|deceive thee of thy Errour. <HI>Claudia</HI> gave him her hand, and con&s;cious of the foul Crime &s;he had committed, dropt in a &s;woon upon the Body of her Husband; who at the &s;ame in&s;tant breath'd out the la&s;t remainders of his Life. <HI>Claudia</HI> came quickly to her &s;elf agen; but too late ob&s;erving the patience of a Con&s;tant Lover in departed <HI>Vincents</HI> Cheeks, like one di&s;tracted, &s;he cry'd, lamented, rung her Hands, and tore her Hair, &s;he curs'd her in|con&s;iderate Folly, and made a thou&s;and vain complaints and moans for him that now was pa&s;t recovery.</P>
<P>At length <HI>Roques</HI> gave order to <HI>Don Vincents</HI> Servants to carry his Body back to his Fathers Hou&s;e, and leave the Di&s;con&s;olate <HI>Claudia</HI> to bewail her mi&s;apply'd revenge. And &s;o returning to his Crew, he found <HI>Don Quixote</HI> a Hor&s;e-back, in the mid&s;t of 'em, preaching Reformation and amend|ment of Life. But they being People of another humour gave little ear to
<PB N="566" REF="302"> his Morality, and did but laugh at all his pious Sentences. On the other &s;ide <HI>Roques</HI> ask'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> whether his Squires had return'd him all his Things? Every thing, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> but only three Night-coifs, worth three Cities. How the Devil can that be, cry'd one of the Fellows? 'tis I that have 'em, and they are not worth three Sixpences. That's very true, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> but my Squire &s;o e&s;teems 'em; for the Per&s;ons &s;ake that gave him the Pre&s;ent. Thereupon <HI>Roques</HI> order'd the Coifs to be re&s;tor'd him likewi&s;e; and then commanding his People to bring forth their la&s;t Booty of Jewels and ready Money; he made a di&s;tribution of the whole with &s;o much equality and ju&s;tice, as if it had been <HI>Solon</HI> him|&s;elf. Which done, <HI>Roques</HI> turning about to <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> thus you &s;ee, Sir, &s;aid he, how punctual and ju&s;t, the mo&s;t unju&s;t of Men are forc'd to be one to another; without which there were no living among us. Ay, by my Faith, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> certainly Ju&s;tice mu&s;t be a mo&s;t Excellent thing when Thieves are forc'd to make u&s;e of it. Which grave Sentence of <HI>Sancho</HI>'s being overheard by one of the High way men, he up with the Butt end of his Carbine, and had certainly &s;poil'd <HI>Sancho</HI> for a Proverb-monger, had not <HI>Roques</HI> prevented the Execution of the blow. This was &s;uch a fair warning to <HI>Sancho,</HI> that he re&s;olv'd to &s;ow up his Lips &s;o long as he quarter'd with &s;uch Robu&s;tious Company.</P>
<P>At the &s;ame time came one of the Crew who had been &s;et Sentinel to &s;py what Pa&s;&s;engers travell'd the Road, and addre&s;&s;ing him&s;elf to his Cap|tain, A Prize, a Prize, cry'd he, yonder's a Jolly Company going for <HI>Barcellona.</HI> What are they, &s;aid <HI>Roques?</HI> &s;uch as &s;eek us, or &s;uch as we &s;tay for. Such as we &s;tay for, quo the Sentinel, Hor&s;e and away then, Boys, cry'd <HI>Roques,</HI> bring 'em all hither &mdash; let none e&s;cape.</P>
<P>With that, the whole Crew put Spurs to their Hor&s;es, and now <HI>Roques, Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho</HI> being left alone, &s;aid he to <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I war|rant you look upon this to be a &s;trange Cour&s;e of Life&mdash;for we always meet with change of Adventures, and always run great Hazards. Truly I mu&s;t confe&s;s, 'tis a trouble&s;ome and di&s;orderly Life we lead; and for my part I am thus engag'd by certain Motives of Revenge, that many times &s;ubdues our Prudence and our Rea&s;on. I am naturally of a mild and compa&s;&s;ionate Humour, but the eager de&s;ire of Revenging an Affront that has been offer'd me, ranver&s;es all my &s;ober Re&s;olutions, and forces me to follow this un|con&s;cionable Trade, contrary to my natural Inclinations. And not only &s;o, but as one Whirlpool &s;wallows another, and Crimes are link'd together, I not only &s;eek my own, but pro&s;ecute the Revenge of others. And yet I am in hopes that Heaven at length, &s;o compa&s;&s;ionate as it is of human Frail|ty, will by a divine Hand retrieve me from this di&s;orderly Cour&s;e, not ha|ving power to do it of my &s;elf.</P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;tood amaz'd at <HI>Roques</HI>'s di&s;cour&s;e, not dreaming to have found among &s;o leud a Crew, for whom the Gallows daily &s;igh'd, &s;uch Sen|timents of Con&s;cience and Remor&s;e in any one; and therefore laying hold of the Opportunity to &s;hew his Piety, Mon&s;ieur <HI>Roques,</HI> &s;aid he, 'tis a great &s;tep to Health, for a Man to under&s;tand his Di&s;temper, and to find the Patient readily di&s;pos'd to take tho&s;e Remedies that are mo&s;t conducing to his Cure. You are &s;ick, you know your Di&s;ea&s;e; therefore apply your &s;elf to God, who is a mo&s;t Infallible Phy&s;ician, who will not fail to pre|&s;cribe tho&s;e <HI>Recipes</HI> for your Soul that will in a &s;hort time compleat your Cure. Remedies that will work &s;o much the more effectually when they meet with a good Nature, and a Di&s;po&s;ition prepar'd. A knowing Sinner is in a &s;ar more ready Path to amendment, then an ignorant Tran&s;gre&s;&s;our;
<PB N="567" REF="302"> for he more clearly di&s;cerning good from evil becomes a&s;ham'd of his own Vices, whereas a Fool acts only by In&s;tinct; and abandons him&s;elf to his Pa&s;&s;ions, not under&s;tanding the danger of unrepented Crimes. Cou-rage. then Mon&s;ieur <HI>Roques,</HI> you are a Man of Wit and Prudence&mdash; make u&s;e of your parts, and never de&s;pair the perfect cure of your langui&s;hing Soul&mdash; and to make a more ea&s;ie progre&s;s in the Road of Salvation, go along, and learn of me the My&s;tery of <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> accompany'd with tho&s;e Hard&s;hips and Misfortunes, which the Penance of undergoing, will bring you in a trice to Heaven.</P>
<P><HI>Roques</HI> &s;mil'd to hear <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Whim&s;ical Advice, and to change the Subject of the Di&s;cour&s;e, told him the whole Story of <HI>Claudia Geroni|mo</HI>'s Adventure, the relation of which put <HI>Sancho</HI> into a Melancholy Fit; for you mu&s;t know the Life, the Spirit, and good humour of the young Girle, had &s;trangely wrought upon his Affections.</P>
<P>By this time the <HI>Boothalers</HI> return'd with their Prize, Two Gentlemen well mounted, Two Pilgrims a foot, and a Coach wherein there were cer|tain Ladies, attended by Eight Lacqueys, &s;ome a foot, and &s;ome a Hor&s;e-back, and Two Footmen belonging to the Two Gentlemen, each upon his Mule. All the&s;e were now in Huck&s;ters Hands, and being carefully &s;ur|rounded and attended by their Guard, with an awful &s;ilence expected their Doom; while their Guardians were no le&s;s whi&s;t to li&s;ten to their Exa|minations.</P>
<P>The fir&s;t whom <HI>Roques</HI> took to task were the two Gentlemen, to whom he put the u&s;ual Que&s;tion, who they were, and whether they were travel|ing? Sir, reply'd the one, we are two Foot Captains; our Company's lye at <HI>Naples,</HI> whether we are bound, and going to take &s;hipping at <HI>Barcellona.</HI> We have about two or three hunder'd Crowns about us, with which we thought our &s;elves as Rich as <HI>Croe&s;us;</HI> for you know Men of our Profe&s;&s;ion are no U&s;urers. Well&mdash;and what are you, &s;aid <HI>Roques</HI> to the <HI>Pilgrims?</HI> We, &s;aid they, are going to <HI>Rome,</HI> and our Stock is about thirty Shillings&mdash; Very good, What are tho&s;e Ladies i' the Coach? To whom one of the Lacqueys a Hor&s;e-back reply'd, that it was the Lady <HI>Guiomer,</HI> the Regent of the Vicar of <HI>Naples</HI>'s Wife, with her Daughter and Waiting Woman. That &s;he had &s;ix Attendants, three afoot and three mounted; and that their Sum Total was about Six hunder'd Crowns. So then, cry'd <HI>Roques,</HI> we have got already Nine hunder'd Crowns and Thirty Shillings, and I have three&s;core Followers, now Gentlemen ca&s;t it up, what comes to eve|ry Man's &s;hare; for I am none of the be&s;t accountants. With that the whole Crew of Ruffians cry'd out, long live the great <HI>Roques Gunniard,</HI> in &s;pite of all the <HI>Dun</HI>'s and <HI>Catches</HI> that gape for his Ruin.</P>
<P>On the other &s;ide the two Captains, Madam <HI>Regent,</HI> and the <HI>Pilgrims</HI> were as much ca&s;t down, fore&s;eeing the Confi&s;cation of their Moveables, and all their Wealth pa&s;t Redemption; when <HI>Roques</HI> turning about to the Captains, Gentlemen, &s;aid he, lend me Three&s;core Crowns, and you Ma|dam <HI>Regent,</HI> I be&s;eech yee lend me Four&s;core; this is only to &s;atisfie my Men, for we mu&s;t all live by our Callings. This done, you are free to go whether you plea&s;e, and if you meet with any Straglers, as perhaps you may do, tell the fir&s;t at the top of the next Hill, that <HI>The Moon &s;hines Bright,</HI> and the next i' the bottom, that <HI>The Kings Ve&s;&s;els lye at</HI> Barcellona, and then you are out of all danger. For my de&s;ign is not to injure either Soldiers or Ladies, e&s;pecially tho&s;e that are of Quality. The two Captains thus deliver'd out of their Affliction, made him a thou&s;and Congies, re|turn'd him Ten thou&s;and Thanks, and extoll'd his Genero&s;ity and Liber|ality
<PB N="568" REF="303"> to the Skies. The Lady <HI>Guiomer</HI> would ha' thrown her &s;elf out of her Coach to ha' ki&s;s'd his Feet. But <HI>Roques</HI> prevented her, and withal begg'd her pardon for the wrong he had done her, con&s;train'd thereto by his Profe&s;&s;ion, and the nece&s;&s;ity he had to keep &s;uch a Crew about him at the Expence of other Peoples Pur&s;es. Thereupon the two Captains and Madam <HI>Regent</HI> paid him down his demands, and the Pilgrims, not hearing of any Mitigation for them, were about to give him their whole Stock; but <HI>Roques</HI> bid 'em &s;tay; and then turning to his Company, Of the&s;e hun|der'd and forty Crowns, &s;aid he, there comes two a piece to your &s;hare; and for the Twenty that remain, give Ten to the&s;e Pilgrims, and the other Ten to this hone&s;t Squire; that he may have cau&s;e to rejoyce at his meet|ing with this Adventure. And having &s;o done he di&s;mis'd the Travellers overjoy'd, and admiring the generous Behaviour of the Famous <HI>Roques;</HI> his Generro&s;ity, his noble Meen and deportment, and applauding him to the Stars. But one of the Rovers, not &s;o well pleas'd with <HI>Roques</HI>'s Liberality; By St. <HI>Nicholas,</HI> quo he, this Captain of ours would make a better Monk then a Land Pirate: But if he intends for the future to be &s;o Bountiful, let it be of his own, and not of our Plunder. <HI>Roques</HI> over-hearing him, drew his Sword, and after he had almo&s;t cleft his Scull, 'Tis thus, &s;aid he, that I cha&s;ti&s;e &s;uch In&s;olent Ra&s;cals that cannot rule their Tongues; nor dur&s;t the &s;toute&s;t of the whole number &s;o much as mutter at his puni&s;hment, &s;o well he knew to be obey'd and fear'd.</P>
<P>After that, <HI>Roques</HI> retir'd a little a&s;ide, and wrote to one of his Friends at <HI>Barcellona,</HI> that he had met with <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> the famous <HI>Kinght-Errant,</HI> &s;o much talk'd of over all <HI>Spain;</HI> that he was a plea&s;ant &s;ort of a Man, Witty and one that knew the World; and that within four days af|ter the Fea&s;t of St. <HI>John Bapti&s;t,</HI> he would bring him into the Publick <HI>Piazza</HI> of the City, in his Armour <HI>Cap-a-pe,</HI> mounted upon his lofty <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> and his Squire <HI>Sancho</HI> upon his <HI>Grizzle.</HI> De&s;iring him to give notice of his com|ing to &s;uch of his acquaintance that he intended &s;hould partake of the Pa|&s;time; for that the &s;trange Intermixture of Folly and Sobriety in the Ma|&s;ter, and the Buffonry of the Squire? could not but be acceptable to all the World. Which Letter was carry'd by one of his Men, di&s;guis'd like a Country Carter, and deliver'd according to the Direction.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="9" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. IX.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">What happen'd to <HI>Don Quixote</HI> upon his entry into <HI>Barcellona,</HI> with other Things, that carry more of Truth then Probability.</HEAD>
<P>THree days did <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;tay with <HI>Roques,</HI> and every day produc'd new Accidents. They never kept long in the &s;ame &s;tation, but din'd in one place, &s;upp'd in another; &s;ometimes they fled, not knowing why or wherefore; &s;ometimes they &s;topt with as little rea&s;on, always in a rea|dy Po&s;ture, always alarum'd; &s;ometimes fetching a &s;hort Nap a Hor&s;e-back, &s;ometimes upon the Ground; but &s;o broken and interrupted were their Slumbers, that they hardly de&s;erv'd the name of Repo&s;e. Their Spies were every where abroad, and their Sentinels kept continual Watch. And as for <HI>Roques</HI> him&s;elf, he &s;pent the Night at a di&s;tance from his Company, who &s;eldom knew where he lay, not daring hardly to confide in him&s;elf,
<PB N="569" REF="303"> and fearing to be betray'd by his own Men; &s;o &s;everely was he pur&s;u'd by the Viceroy of <HI>Barcellona,</HI> who had likewi&s;e &s;et a price upon his Head. But at length <HI>Don Quixote, Roques</HI> and <HI>Sancho,</HI> attended by Six of the Jol|ly Band, cro&s;&s;ing the Roads, and taking all the By-ways imaginable, po|&s;ted for <HI>Barcellona,</HI> and got thither by that time 'twas dark night, upon St. <HI>Johns</HI> Eve. And thus <HI>Roques</HI> having brought the Knight to an Inn not far from the Towns end, after many Complements between him and <HI>Don Quixote</HI> for his Civilities, and a thou&s;and Thanks on <HI>Sancho</HI>'s part for the Ten Crowns, return'd back to his Company the &s;ame way he came.</P>
<P>And now the fair <HI>Aurora</HI> began to appear upon the Balconies of the Ea&s;t, &s;hedding down her Liquid Pearls upon the fragrant Herbs and Flowers; but long &s;he &s;taid not ere the Brighter Sun took place, and fill'd the Nor|thern World with day. What time a plea&s;ing, yet confu&s;ed noi&s;e of Trum|pets, Hautboys, Drums and Fifes, and other Warlike In&s;truments, fill'd both <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s and <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Ears with Admiration. They lookt about and &s;aw the Sea, which they had never &s;een before. It &s;eem'd to them to be much more wide and &s;pacious then the River of <HI>Mancha.</HI> They view'd the Galleys in the Port, and it was a Spectacle extreamly delightful to be|hold the Jacks, the Pendants and the Ancients &s;porting in the Wind. The Trumpets fill'd the Air with their melodious Levets; and by and by the Galleys moving, began to counterfeit a Sea Engagement; while the Gen|try of the City prancing out of Town upon their pamper'd Cour&s;ers, &s;eem'd to manage their Hor&s;es to the Motion of the Ve&s;&s;els, that di&s;charg'd their great Guns at the &s;ame time, and were as loudly an&s;wer'd by the Ar|tillery from the City and Ca&s;tle. Gladne&s;s and Pomp di&s;play'd them&s;elves in all their Glory; the Land was jocond, the Air &s;erene, the Ocean calm and &s;miling; and nothing interven'd to deprive the Gazing Eye of &s;uch a lovely Pro&s;pect. <HI>Sancho</HI> admir'd what he beheld; but could not for the Life of him apprehend how the Galleys &s;hould have &s;o many Feet, nor what &s;ort of Feet tho&s;e &s;hould be that could &s;o &s;wiftly move tho&s;e Ponde|rous Bulks, and it was no le&s;s plea&s;ant to &s;ee how he &s;tarted and duck'd his Head every time the Guns went off.</P>
<P>While <HI>Sancho</HI> was thus in an Exta&s;ie, a Troop of Gentlemen richly ap|parell'd, galloping up to <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> &s;urrounded him with loud accla|mations, and one among the re&s;t (the Per&s;on to whom <HI>Roques</HI> had written) cry'd out, Welcom North-&s;tar and Mirrour of <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI>&mdash;Welcom the Great, the Valiant, the Invincible <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> the true Knight of <HI>Mancha,</HI> who&s;e Character the Famous <HI>Cid Hamet Benengeli,</HI> the Flower of Hi&s;torians has &s;o faithfully deliver'd to the World; not that Impo&s;tor, that Counterfeit piece of <HI>Apocrypha,</HI> that has u&s;urp'd his Glorious Name, to au|thorize his Fables and Impertinencies.</P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> an&s;wer'd not a word; neither indeed had he either time or opportunity, they did &s;o ride the <HI>Hay</HI> about him, &s;o circulate him, and prance &s;o many antick Figures round him in token of joy, that the amaz'd Champion was in a Labyrinth, only turning to <HI>Sancho,</HI> his only Intimate Acquaintance; <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo he, the&s;e People know me, and I'le venture a Wager, they have read my Hi&s;tory, and that of the <HI>Arragonian.</HI> But then the Gentleman that fir&s;t acco&s;ted him, &s;ingling him out; We be&s;eech yee, Sir <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> to let us have the Honour of your Company&mdash; here are none but your Servants, and the Familiar Friends of <HI>Roques Guiniard.</HI> If Curte&s;ie, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> begat Curte&s;ie, certainly your Civility &s;hould either be the Daughter or near Kin&s;woman of the famous <HI>Roques</HI>&mdash;Goe where you plea&s;e, I'le follow yee through all the World, more e&s;pecially
<PB N="570" REF="304"> if you will do me the High honour to employ me in your Service. The Gentleman made him a Complement no le&s;s obliging, and no le&s;s &s;tudied then his own; and then invironing him in the middle between 'em, they took the way to the City, the Trumpets &s;ounding and Drums beating before 'em. But whether or no the <HI>Necromancers</HI> waited for the Knights entrance, as it was reported they did, certain it is, a couple of unlucky young Ba&s;tards, no le&s;s unlucky then <HI>Necromancers,</HI> out of their accu&s;tom'd Roguery, made a &s;hift to get through the croud of Hor&s;emen, and thru&s;t a bundle of Netles, one under <HI>Ro&s;inantes,</HI> and the other under <HI>Grizzles</HI> Tail. Upon which, the poor Bea&s;ts tormented with tho&s;e unwonted Stings in their Po&s;teriors, fell a kicking and wincing at &s;uch an exa&s;perated rate, that they flung their Riders to the Ground. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> cur&s;edly a&s;ham'd, and damnable Mad, tho he forbore to &s;hew his di&s;plea&s;ure, got up agen, and deliver'd <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> from his Torment; nor was <HI>Sancho</HI> le&s;s kind to his <HI>Grizzle,</HI> while the Gentlemen rode after the Mi&s;creants that had occa&s;ion'd the di&s;order, tho to little purpo&s;e, for they were &s;oon lo&s;t among the re&s;t of the Rabble. So that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho</HI> mounting once more, <HI>Don Roques</HI>'s Friend, who was one of the mo&s;t con&s;iderable Per&s;ons in <HI>Barcellona,</HI> carry'd them home to his own Hou&s;e, free from any more di&s;|a&s;ters; where we mu&s;t leave 'em for a time, becau&s;e <HI>Benengeli</HI> here con|cludes the Chapter.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="10" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. X.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing the Adventure of the Enchanted Head, &amp;c.</HEAD>
<P>THE Name of the Per&s;on where <HI>Don Quixote</HI> lodg'd, was <HI>Antonio Mo|reno,</HI> a Wealthy and a Facetious Gentleman, and one that lov'd a plea&s;ant and jocular Humour with all his Heart. Who having now <HI>Don Quixote</HI> in his Hou&s;e, re&s;olv'd to make &s;port with his Follies, yet &s;o, as to give him no offence, as one who knew that Drollery, was not to exceed its Bounds, and that Affronts was no &s;port. The fir&s;t thing therefore that came into his Mind, was to have his Armour off, and to expo&s;e him in his Antick Habit in his Balcony, which look'd into one of the Principal Streets of the City; where all the People were got together, like the Boys about an Ape in a Haberda&s;hers Shop. The Gentlemen al&s;o rode too and fro before the Windows upon their finical Prancers, and &s;hew'd a hunder'd feats of Activity, as if it had been only for the Knight, and that they had been no ways concern'd for the Fe&s;tival. <HI>Sancho</HI> was extreamly pleas'd to &s;ee all this, as one that thought he had met with another <HI>Co|macho</HI>'s Wedding; another <HI>Diego di Mirandi</HI>'s Hou&s;e, or another Dukes Ca&s;tle.</P>
<P>That day, there din'd with <HI>Don Antonio</HI> five or &s;ix of his Priends, who paid a great Re&s;pect to <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> treating him like a <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> with &s;o much Reverence and Ceremony, that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was almo&s;t a&s;ham'd to &s;ee him&s;elf &s;o highly honour'd. And as for <HI>Sancho,</HI> he was &s;o full of his Jea&s;ts and Quibbles, that he &s;et not only all the Table a laugh|ing, but all that heard him. Mr. Squire, cry'd <HI>Don Antonio,</HI> 'tis reported here, that you are &s;uch a lover of Capons, and Saucidges, that when you can eat no more you put the re&s;t i' your Breeches again&s;t the next Morning. That's not true, reply'd <HI>Sancho;</HI> I am neither &s;uch a Glutton, nor &s;uch a
<PB N="571" REF="304"> Sloven; here's my Ma&s;ter <HI>Don Quixote</HI> can tell yee, that many times for eight or nine days together we are forc'd to rob the Hogs of their Acorns; and if we get half a dozen Onions, we look upon it as a Fea&s;t. But if any one gives me a Cow, I never refu&s;e to fetch a Cord&mdash;that is to &s;ay, I eat when 'tis given me, and I take Time by the Forelock; and if any one &s;ays that I am either a Sloven or a Glutton, he does me wrong; and I would give it him in other Language, but for the Wor&s;hipful Beards that I &s;ee at this Table.</P>
<P>Certainly, quo <HI>Don Quixote, Sancho</HI>'s cleanline&s;s in eating ought to be engrav'd in Plates of Bra&s;s for an example to Po&s;terity. True it is, that when he is a Hungry, he eats a little Greedily, and one bit never &s;tays for another; but for his cleanly eating he was always cry'd up; in&s;omuch that when he was a Governour, he always put his Rai&s;ins and Pomegra|nates to his Mouth with a Silver Fork. How! cry'd <HI>Don Antonio,</HI> has Mr. <HI>Sancho</HI> then been a Governour? Yes, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I have been a Gover|nour, and of an I&s;land, which is call'd <HI>Barattaria,</HI> with this Mouth that you &s;ee, and all the while I lo&s;t my Sleep, my Sen&s;es, and wa&s;ted my Fle&s;h, and all I got by't, was only that it taught me to contemn all the Governments i' the World for the future; &s;o that I made &s;o much ha&s;te to leave it, that I and my <HI>Grizzle</HI> fell into a deep hole, where we had been &s;tarv'd to death had not a Miracle reliev'd us. With that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> up and told 'em the whole Story of <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Government, to the great &s;atisfaction of all the Company, who had their Belly-fulls of laughter as well as good Chear.</P>
<P>Dinner ended, <HI>Don Antonio</HI> took <HI>Don Quixote</HI> by the Hand, and led him into a Chamber, where there was no other Furniture then only a Table that &s;eem'd to be of <HI>Ja&s;per,</HI> &s;upported by a Pede&s;tal of the &s;ame Stone; and un|derneath the Table &s;tood a Head of &s;eeming Bra&s;s, like one of the <HI>Roman</HI> Emperors Heads from the Brea&s;t upward. They walk'd &s;everal turns about the Room, and round the Table; after which, quo <HI>Don Antonio</HI> to <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> &s;ince we are here in a place where I am &s;ure that no body over-hears us, I will tell yee one of the &s;trange&s;t Adventures that ever were known, provided you will lay it up as a Secret, in the remote&s;t Apartment of your Brea&s;t. My Oath and Word are both engag'd, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote.</HI> The Per&s;on you &s;peak to has Eyes and Ears, but no Tongue, and tho you &s;hould di&s;cover to me the very Secrets of your Heart, 'twere all one as to bury them in the Aby&s;&s;es of &s;ilence.</P>
<P>Well then, quo <HI>Don Antonio,</HI> I will tell yee tho&s;e things that will ravi&s;h your Admiration, and deliver me from the trouble I have long been in for want of a Per&s;on with whom I could confide &s;o great a Secret.</P>
<P>This Head that here you &s;ee, Sir <HI>Quixote,</HI> was made by one of the Cun|ninge&s;t <HI>Necromancers</HI> i' the World, a <HI>Polonian</HI> as I think, and the famous <HI>Le&s;cot</HI>'s Schollar, who is &s;aid to have wrought &s;o many Miracles. I kept him for &s;ome time here in my Hou&s;e, and for a thou&s;and Crowns that I gave him, he made me this Head, which has that Faculty, that it will an&s;wer yee to any Que&s;tion you &s;hall ask it. He ob&s;erv'd the Motion of the Stars, their Retrogradations and A&s;cen&s;ions; and ju&s;t i' the nick of the Con&s;tella|tion brought it to that perfection you &s;hall &s;ee to Morrow; for upon <HI>Fry|days</HI> it is always dumb, &s;o that to day 'tis to no purpo&s;e to trouble it. <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> &s;trangely a&s;toni&s;h'd at what <HI>Don Antonio</HI> told him concerning the Head, could hardly be induc'd to believe it, but in regard the time was &s;o &s;hort before he was to make the Experiment, he &s;aid no more, but only return'd his humble Thanks to <HI>Don Antonio</HI> for entru&s;ting him with a &s;ecret of that Importance. After this they left the Chamber, which <HI>Don Antonio</HI>
<PB N="572" REF="305"> lockt after him, and return'd to the Company, to whom <HI>Sancho,</HI> 'i the mean time had related a great part of his Ma&s;ters Adventures.</P>
<P>Toward Evening they went and took a turn about the City, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> without his Armour, but wrapt up in a long grey Freeze Cloak, enough to ha' made a Man &s;weat i' the la&s;t hard Fro&s;t. <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;taid behind, the Ser|vants having order to hold him in a Chat, and prevent his following his Ma&s;ter. Nor did <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> ride his <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> but was mounted upon a large Mule, well equipp'd; and be&s;ides, they had pinn'd on his Cloak a large piece of Parchment, by him not tak'n notice of, whereon were written the&s;e Words, <HI>This is Don Quixote de la Mancha.</HI> So that the People reading the In&s;cription, as he pa&s;s'd along, and every one crying, <HI>This is Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> the Champion was amaz'd to hear that every body that &s;aw him &s;hould have his Name &s;o ready at their Tongues end, as if the whole City had been of his acquaintance; and turning at the &s;ame time to <HI>Don Antonio,</HI> that rode next him, Certainly, &s;aid he, there mu&s;t be a hidden and unconceivable Vertue in <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> which has that Prerogative to render its Profe&s;&s;ours Famous over all the World; for here you &s;ee the ve|ry Women and Children know me, that never &s;aw me before.</P>
<P>I find it &s;o, Sir <HI>Quixote,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Antonio:</HI> Like Fire that always di&s;|covers it &s;elf by its own light, &s;o Vertue has that Lu&s;tre, that never fails to di&s;play it &s;elf; e&s;pecially that Renown which is acquir'd by the Profe&s;&s;ion of Arms.</P>
<P>While they were thus upon the <HI>Grand Paw,</HI> a Ca&s;tillian, reading the In|&s;cription, cry'd out a loud, <HI>The Devil take Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> is that Cowardly Booby &s;till alive, after &s;o many Cudgellings and Lamba&s;tings as have rain'd upon his Bones? All the World knows thee to be a Fool in grain, and if that were all, 'twere no great matter; but thy Folly is contagious, and infects others; witne&s;s the&s;e deluded Gentlemen that admire thy Extra|vagancies and pamper thy Whim&s;ies&mdash;get thee home with a Murrain, and look after thy Hou&s;e, thy Wife and Childern, and leave playing the Fop and the Vagabond, as thou do&s;t&mdash; Friend, friend, quo <HI>Don Antonio,</HI> keep your way, and forbear your Advice to tho&s;e that have no need of your Coun&s;el. The Lord <HI>Don Quixote</HI> is a prudent Man, and we that accompa|ny him think our &s;elves no Bea&s;ts&mdash;Valour is a Vertue to be honour'd where ever we meet with it. By St. <HI>Chri&s;topher</HI> you &s;ay true, reply'd the Ca&s;tillian, A Man that &s;pends his Breath in advi&s;ing that &s;ame <HI>Tom a Bed|lam,</HI> does but ba&s;t Flints with Butter. But let me peri&s;h and all my Ge|neration, if e're yee catch me advi&s;ing agen, were I to live the Years of <HI>Methu&s;alem,</HI> and were begg'd upon the Knee to do it. And &s;o &s;aying the Ca&s;tillian went his ways, and the Gentlemen continu'd their Proce&s;&s;ion; but they were &s;o pe&s;ter'd by the Rabble that crouded to read the In&s;cription, that <HI>Don Antonio</HI> was forc'd to take it off.</P>
<P>And now the Night coming on, they return'd to <HI>Don Antonio</HI>'s Hou&s;e, where his Wife, a Lady no le&s;s plea&s;ant in her Humour then Beautiful, had invited &s;everal of her Friends, to honour her new Gue&s;t, and &s;hare in the Pa&s;time of his Extravagancies. Thus the Room was fill'd with Ladies, and a magnificent Supper entertain'd the Company, and about Ten a Clock at Night they prepar'd for a Great <HI>Ball.</HI> Among the re&s;t there were two La|dies of a frank and jolly Humour, and Witty withal; who to gratifie the Company, de&s;ir'd <HI>Don Quixote</HI> to lead a dance, and ply'd him &s;o hard, one &s;till taking him out when the t'other had left him, that they made him &s;weat like a Thra&s;her, and tyr'd him quite off his Legs. But the plea&s;ure was to &s;ee &s;o &s;trange a Figure tumble about; a long Gaunt, Meager, Sway-backt,
<PB N="573" REF="305"> Thin-flank'd manner of Man, Red herring Complexion'd, Hollow-ey'd, long Bri&s;tly Mu&s;tacho's, his Doublet out at Elbows, Seams unript, and as nimble as a Cow in a Cage. The Ladies under pretence of Court&s;hip, frumpt and twitter'd at him without Mercy; and he return'd 'em Wipe for Wipe, but yet &s;o cleverly, that no di&s;ta&s;te could be taken on either &s;ide. Till at length finding him&s;elf tormented by their Care&s;&s;es, Avoid Female Satans, cry'd he, cea&s;e to di&s;turb me with your Flipperous twittle twattle, Ladies made up of Vanity and Town Humour, for the Peerle&s;s <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o,</HI> &s;ole Queen Regent of my Heart permits me not to be en&s;lav'd to any other; and &s;o &s;aying, he &s;ate him&s;elf down upon the Floor in the mid|dle of the Hall, all in a Dew and quite tir'd with his jumping Exerci&s;e. <HI>Sancho</HI> was the fir&s;t that attempted to lift him up, and as he lent him his Hand, In good faith, Ma&s;ter of ours, you have &s;hook your Heels mo&s;t Couragiou&s;ly&mdash;but after all, do you believe the <HI>Hero</HI>'s were Hop-Mer|chants, or that the <HI>Knights-Errant</HI> of old were &s;nappers of Ca&s;tanets? If yee do, you are mon&s;trou&s;ly deceiv'd. A Man of your Courage &s;hould ra|ther be murdring Gyants then dancing of Jiggs&mdash;'tis for Women to jogg their Tails&mdash;you &s;hould ha' &s;ent for me when they took yee out to dance, and I would ha' taught 'em to play at <HI>Leap-frog</HI> I warrant 'em; and &s;till if the Ladies have a mind to &s;hould Cockle-bread, have at 'em. This put the Company into &s;uch a fit of laughter, that <HI>Sancho</HI> had lei&s;ure, with a little A&s;&s;i&s;tance, to get his Ma&s;ter to Bed, where he left him cover'd over Head and Ears to &s;weat out his Di&s;temper.</P>
<P>The next Morning <HI>Don Antonio</HI> ask'd <HI>Don Quixote</HI> whether he would be pleas'd to go and di&s;cour&s;e the <HI>Enchanted Head,</HI> and to that purpo&s;e he car|ry'd into the Chamber where it &s;tood the Knight and the Squire, two Gen|tlemen of the City, and the two Ladies that had &s;o jollily exercis'd <HI>Don Quixote</HI> the Night before. So &s;oon as they were enter'd, <HI>Don Antonio</HI> lockt the Door, enjoyn'd 'em Secre&s;ie, and told his Friends the Vertues of the <HI>Head,</HI> and how it was the fir&s;t time that ever he had the Opportunity to try the Experiment. Upon that <HI>Don Antonio,</HI> going up clo&s;e to the <HI>Head,</HI> with a low Voice, yet &s;o as he might be heard, Tell me, &s;aid he, by that My&s;terious Vertue wherewith thou art endu'd, what I think at this pre&s;ent? At the &s;ame time, the <HI>Head</HI> with a clear and di&s;tinct utterance, yet never moving the Lips, made an&s;wer, <HI>I am no Judge of Thoughts.</HI> At which the Gentlemen &s;eem'd to be a&s;toni&s;h'd; and the Ladies &s;cream'd out right; for there was no body to be &s;een in the Chamber, and they could plainly per|ceive that the Voice came directly from the <HI>Head.</HI> Then, quo <HI>Antonio,</HI> a &s;econd time, How many are there of us in the Room? <HI>Thou and thy Wife,</HI> reply'd the <HI>Head, thy two He-Friends and thy two She-Friends, with a certain Famous Knight call'd</HI> Don Quixote de la Mancha, <HI>and his Squire, one</HI> Sancho Pancha. With that their Admiration was greater then before; &s;o that you might have &s;een 'em &s;weat for fear. Then <HI>Don Antonio</HI> retiring, 'tis enough I am convinc'd, &s;aid he, 'twas no Impo&s;tor &s;old thee to me; wi&s;e under|&s;tanding <HI>Head,</HI> di&s;cour&s;ing <HI>Head,</HI> miraculous and matchle&s;s <HI>Head.</HI> Now as Women are more Curious and eager then other Per&s;ons, one of the dancing Ladies ventring up to it, Tell me <HI>Head,</HI> &s;aid &s;he, what mu&s;t I do to make my &s;elf Amiable: <HI>Be prudent and Mode&s;t,</HI> an&s;wer'd the <HI>Head.</HI> I ha' done que&s;tioning, quo the Lady, giving way to her Friend. Who with the &s;ame Curio&s;ity, I would know, quo &s;he, whether my Husband loves me or no? <HI>Ob&s;erve his Behaviour toward thee, and that will tell thee,</HI> reply'd the <HI>Head.</HI> 'Twas well an&s;wer'd, quo the Lady, for truly a Mans Actions di&s;cover the Di&s;po&s;ition of his Mind. One of <HI>Don Antonio</HI>'s Friends put the Que&s;tion
<PB N="574" REF="306"> to it, Who am I? To whom the <HI>Head, do&s;t not thou know that thy &s;elf?</HI> That's not the Que&s;tion, reply'd the Gentleman, I would be &s;atisfi'd whether thou know&s;t who I am? <HI>I know thee well,</HI> quo the <HI>Head, thou art</HI> Don Pedro Noriz. 'Tis &s;ufficient, reply'd the Gentleman, I find thou art no Block-head. Then the other Gentleman, taking his turn, Prithee good <HI>Head,</HI> tell me, What does my Elde&s;t Son think? <HI>Have I not &s;aid already,</HI> reply'd the <HI>Head, that I was no Judge of thoughts? however I will tell thee, thy Elde&s;t Son is thinking how long it will be before he &s;hall bury thee.</HI> I be|lieve it, reply'd the Gentleman, what I &s;ee with my Eyes I mark with my Finger&mdash;'tis enough. Then <HI>Don Antonio</HI>'s Wife approaching, I would know, quo &s;he, whether I &s;hall live long with my dear Husband or no? <HI>Long &s;halt thou live,</HI> quo the <HI>Head, for his healthy Con&s;titution and thy Tem|perance promi&s;e long Life, which other People &s;horten by their Debauchery.</HI> Then <HI>Don Quixote</HI> drawing neer with his accu&s;tom'd Gravity, and the Ad|dre&s;s of one that under&s;tood how to Con&s;ult an Oracle, tell me, &s;aid he, thou Head of a Philo&s;opher, Is it a Truth, or a Dream what I related con|cerning the Cave of <HI>Monte&s;inos?</HI> Will <HI>Sancho</HI> my Squire fulfill his Promi&s;e, in giving him&s;elf tho&s;e La&s;hes, according to his Vows and Prote&s;tations? And &s;hall we ever &s;ee the Peerle&s;s <HI>Dulcinea</HI> Di&s;inchanted? <HI>As for what con|cerns the Cave</HI> reply'd the <HI>Head, we have many things to &s;ay; 'tis partly True, and partly a Dream:</HI> Sancho <HI>will in time be as good as his Word, and</HI> Dulci|nea <HI>will be at Liberty,</HI> That's all I de&s;ire to know, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for could I once but &s;ee fair <HI>Dulcinea</HI> Di&s;inchanted, a&s;&s;ur'd Succe&s;s would then attend me in all my Adventures. Then <HI>Sancho,</HI> bringing up the Rear, tell me, &s;aid he Renowned <HI>Head,</HI> whether I &s;hall ever have another Government or no? Will it ever be my Fate to quit this mi&s;erable Trade of Squire-Erran|ting? Or mu&s;t I ever &s;ee my Wife and Childern agen? To whom the <HI>Head, Thou mai'&s;t Govern thy own Hou&s;e when thou return&s;t home; and thou &s;halt &s;ee thy Wife and Children if they be there; and when thou leav'&s;t off &s;er|ving thou &s;halt be no longer a Squire.</HI> The Devil take thee for a Dunder-head, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> what need I ha' come to a Sorcerer, to tell me what I knew before? Well Brute, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and what would&s;t thou have had him told thee? Is't not enough that the An&s;wers which the Head gives thee are pertinent to thy Que&s;tions? Nay, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;ince you will have it &s;o it &s;hall be &s;o&mdash;yet I would ha' been better &s;atisfy'd, would Mon&s;ieur <HI>Head</HI> ha' been pleas'd to ha' told me a little more of his Mind&mdash; but I find your Brazen Heads are very re&s;erv'd.</P>
<P>The&s;e were the Que&s;tions propos'd, and the &s;everal An&s;wers made by the Enchanted Head, to the great Admiration of all, but only two of <HI>Don Antonio</HI>'s Friends, who were privy to the My&s;tery. But <HI>Benengeli,</HI> touch'd in Con&s;cience, thought it his Duty to unfold it, fearing le&s;t the Reader &s;hould think him a Confederate with <HI>Fryer Bacon;</HI> and therefore he tells us, how that <HI>Don Antonio</HI> being a Per&s;on of great Curio&s;ity, caus'd this Head to be made in Imitation of one that he had &s;een at <HI>Madrid,</HI> to make him&s;elf &s;port with the Super&s;tition of other People. That the Table toge|ther with the Pede&s;tal upon which it &s;tood, re&s;embling at the bottom four Eagles Claws, was of Wood painted with &s;everal Colours like Ja&s;per. That the Pede&s;tal was likewi&s;e hollow, through which there de&s;cended two Pipes from the Mouth and Ears of the Head, which was hollow al&s;o, and colour'd over like Bra&s;s, into the Room underneath, where he that was the Oracle lai'd his Ear to one Pipe to li&s;ten, and deliver'd his An&s;wers through the other. And moreover that a Nephew of <HI>Don Antonio</HI>'s, a Witty young Gentleman, having his In&s;tructions before hand from his
<PB N="575" REF="306"> Uncle, who was the <HI>Pythian</HI> Prie&s;t. Moreover <HI>Cid Hamet</HI> reports, that this &s;peaking Head return'd An&s;wers to all manner of Que&s;tions for Fifteen days together, but that at length the noi&s;e of the Miracle made &s;uch a ter|rible Combu&s;tion in the City, that <HI>Don Antonio</HI> fearing to be had up in the <HI>Inqui&s;ition,</HI> was forc'd to go and di&s;cover the Truth him&s;elf to the Fathers; who order'd him to break it in pieces, before the Impo&s;ture had penetrated too deep into Vulgar belief.</P>
<P>But for all that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho</HI> were fully confirm'd that it was an Enchanted Head, tho true it is, that the Knight was much better &s;atis|fi'd with his An&s;wer then the Squire. Soon after, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> had a great de&s;ire to view the City, but afoot and <HI>Incognito,</HI> becau&s;e he would not be troubl'd any more with the Rabble; and to that purpo&s;e he walk'd forth attended only by <HI>Sancho</HI> and two of <HI>Don Antonio</HI>'s Servants. Now it happen'd, that as he was going up and down, he &s;py'd written over a Door in Great Letters the&s;e Words, HERE IS A PRINTING-HOUSE. This was an accident that overjoy'd him, and therefore to &s;atisfie his Curio&s;ity, in he went with his Train to &s;ee an Art which he had never &s;een before. There he &s;aw &s;ome picking of Letters out of the Ca&s;es; others correcting the Forms; and others working at the Pre&s;s: and after he had diligently enquir'd what this was for, and what that was for; at length approaching to a Compo&s;itor, he askt him what 'twas He was doing? Sir, &s;aid the Compo&s;itor (&s;hewing a good Comely Per&s;on, with a &s;erious Air in his Face) that Gentleman has Tran&s;lated a Book out of <HI>Italian</HI> into <HI>Spani&s;h,</HI> and I am preparing it for the Pre&s;s. Pray what may be the Title of the Book? quo <HI>Don Quixote.</HI> The Title of it, Sir, quo the Au|thor, is <HI>Toys</HI> and <HI>Trifles</HI>&mdash;but tho the Title &s;eem to promi&s;e little, the Matter which it contains is both &s;erious and u&s;eful. I pretend to under|&s;tand a little <HI>Italian,</HI> an&s;wer'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and have read <HI>Ario&s;to</HI> &s;everal times&mdash;But pray, Sir, without any offence, did you never meet with &s;uch a Word in <HI>Italian</HI> as <HI>Pignatta!</HI> Frequently, Sir, reply'd the Author, you meet with it often in <HI>Ruini's Receites.</HI> Very good, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> how would you Tran&s;late that Word into <HI>Spani&s;h?</HI> I would render it a <HI>Pipkin,</HI> quo the Author, for 'tis its proper Signification. 'Tis very Right, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I find y'are a Ma&s;ter of the Language; but I fear me the World does not do yee Ju&s;tice&mdash;How many Men quite lo&s;e their Talents! how many &s;parkling Wits are buried in Oblivion for want of their Merits being known! But I be&s;eech yee one word more, Sir; do yee print this Book at your own Charges, or does any Book&s;eller pay yee for your Copy. Why truly, Sir, I do print it at my own Co&s;t; for your Book&s;ellers are &s;o niggardly, that 'tis hardly worth the Toyl of labouring only to promote their Gains&mdash;and therefore as I &s;aid before I print this Book at my own Expences, paying for Paper and Print, and I hope to get a hunder'd Pound clear by the fir&s;t Impre&s;&s;ion. Oh, Friend, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I'me afraid you'l come &s;hort of your Reck'ning, you don't under&s;tand the Cunning of Book|&s;ellers&mdash;they'l &s;tifle your Book, cry it down, and give the Author an ill Name, as the Cobler did his Dog; and what will yee do then? Lord&mdash;Sir, quo the Author, what would yee ha' me ha' done?&mdash;&s;hould I ha' gone and offer'd it a Book&s;eller, he would ha' given me the tenth part of what 'twas worth, and thought he had done me a great Kindne&s;s too&mdash;I &s;eek my own Profit, which is better then Reputation. Then turning to another Place, he &s;aw a Man Correcting a Page of a Book call'd the <HI>Light of the Soul</HI>&mdash;Ay; quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> the&s;e are the Books that ought to be printed&mdash;for tho there be Legions of this &s;ort, yet the Number of Sinners
<PB N="576" REF="307"> is &s;o Infinite, that there can never be too much Light for People &s;o much in the Dark. So pa&s;&s;ing on a little farther, he found another correcting a Book, of which when he ask'd the Title, they told him 'twas <HI>The Second Part of the mo&s;t Ingeniouus</HI> Don Quixote de la Mancha, Compos'd by a Native of <HI>Torde&s;illas</HI>&mdash; How! quo <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> I know this Book certainly&mdash;and I had thought the Fellow that made it had been burnt by this time for an Impo&s;tor&mdash; but if he ben't already, his time will come&mdash; the World will certainly be convinc'd at length of &s;o many Impertinences, that have nei|ther probablility nor Coherence; and &s;o &s;aying he flung out of the Prin|ting-hou&s;e in a huff, banking the Officious Workmen of their expected Two Dozen at lea&s;t, and was cur&s;t with Bell Book and Candle by the whole Chappel.</P>
<P>The next day <HI>Don Antonio</HI> would needs &s;hew <HI>Don Quixote</HI> the Galleys in the Road; which was a great Con&s;olation to <HI>Sancho,</HI> who had never &s;een &s;uch a &s;ight in his Life. To which purpo&s;e <HI>Don Antonio</HI> gave notice of his Intention to the Admiral, who had already heard of the Knight, and was no le&s;s de&s;irous to &s;ee him. Of which you &s;hall hear more i' the next Chapter.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="11" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XI.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">What befel <HI>Sancho</HI> going aboard the Galleys, and of the Adventure of the Beautiful <HI>Moore&s;s.</HI></HEAD>
<P>IMmediately after Dinner, <HI>Don Antonio,</HI> his two Friends, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho</HI> went to &s;ee the Galleys, and no &s;ooner had they made their appearance upon the Key, but the Admiral &s;ent his Long-boat a&s;hore &s;pread with Turky-Carpets, and furni&s;h'd with Crim&s;on Velvet Cu&s;hions to fetch them aboard. By and by the Great Guns roar'd out their Salutations to <HI>Don Quixote</HI> from the Admiral Galley, which were an&s;wer'd by the Cannon from all the Re&s;t: and <HI>Don Quixote</HI> being enter'd the Ve&s;&s;el, was pre&s;ent|ly &s;aluted with three loud <HI>Hou, Hou, Hou</HI>'s, according to the Cu&s;tom of the whole Chiurm of Slaves and Seamen. The <HI>Admiral,</HI> who was a Knight of <HI>Valence,</HI> and a Per&s;on of great Quality, gave him his Hand, and em|bracing him, This day, &s;aid he, will I &s;ignalize particularly with a white Stone, as one of the happie&s;t of my Life, &s;ince I have the honour now to &s;ee My Lord <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who&s;e Valour comprehends within it &s;elf all the Glory of <HI>Knight-Errantry.</HI> Nor was <HI>Don Quixote</HI> behind hand with him, but made him a Return of his Civility, an&s;werable to his Dignity; over|joy'd to &s;ee him&s;elf &s;o treated like a Grandee of the Kingdom. Pre&s;ently they both went into the Great Cabbin, which was decently adorn'd; where both they and the re&s;t of the Company took their Places. At the &s;ame time the Ma&s;ter went upon the Deck, and gave a Whi&s;tle, upon which all the Slaves immediately un&s;tript. <HI>Sancho</HI> was &s;car'd to &s;ee &s;o ma|ny Fellows i' their naked Skins, but much more when he &s;aw 'em &s;et up the Pavillions with &s;o much &s;wiftne&s;s, as if they had been &s;o many Devils &s;et at work. But this was not all, for as <HI>Sancho</HI> was &s;itting under the Main-Ma&s;t neer the Head-Rower on the Right Hand, the Galley-Slave, in&s;tru|cted what he had to do, took him up in his Arms, and lifting him up above his Shoulders, all the Re&s;t of the Rakehells to&s;s'd and handed him
<PB N="577" REF="307"> one to another, as they do Fagots out of a Lighter, with &s;uch a &s;wift and &s;trenuous Motion, that poor <HI>Sancho</HI> lo&s;t the very &s;ight of his Eyes, and as giddy as a Goo&s;e, thought him&s;elf now in the Paws of all the Infernal <HI>Hobgoblins,</HI> going the long Journey of the Wicked: which done, they &s;et him again upon the Deck, &s;weating like a Bell-founder, panting and heaving and all out of Order both in Body and Mind. Thereupon <HI>Don Quixote</HI> troubl'd to &s;ee his Squire playing <HI>Chri&s;tmas Gambols</HI> i' the Air; he askt whether that were a Ceremony us'd to welcom tho&s;e that had never been upon a Galley before? for if it were, he had no intention to &s;hew Tricks, nor would he be &s;o initiated into Naval Society&mdash;&s;wearing by his Maker, that if they offer'd to touch him he would Kick their Souls out of their Bodies, and at the &s;ame time, &s;tarting up, he laid his Hand upon the Hilt of his Sword.</P>
<P>By and by, down came the Main-Yard and Main-Sail, making a mo&s;t hi|deous noi&s;e; &s;o that <HI>Sancho</HI> thought the Skie had been falling, and fright|ed out of his Wits, thru&s;t his Head between his Legs to &s;ave the principal part. To tell yee the Truth, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> him&s;elf was but in a &s;tinking Con|dition, his Heart fail'd him, and what was Miraculous, you might di&s;cern a Palene&s;s in his Bacon Face. At the &s;ame time the Slaves hois'd up the Main-Yard and Main-Sail agen, with the &s;ame prodigious rattling and &s;wift|ne&s;s as before it fell. Pre&s;ently the Ma&s;ter gave the Word to weigh An|chor, and be&s;tirr'd his Bulls Pizzle &s;o dextrou&s;ly, that the Galley began to move in a Trice. But when <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;aw &s;o many colour'd Feet, for he took the Oares for &s;uch; Pa&s;&s;ion o' my Heart, quo he, here are Inchantments in|deed, my Ma&s;ter's are Trifles to the&s;e. But what have the&s;e poor wretches done to be &s;o mi&s;erably flawd?&mdash;How dares that &s;ame Whi&s;tling Ra&s;cal abu&s;e &s;o many lu&s;ty Fellows, being but One to Forty&mdash;? By Guds Liggers, if this ben't Hell, I am &s;ure we are not far from it, and &s;o it mu&s;t be Purga|tory. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> perceiving how earne&s;tly <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Eyes were fix'd up|on the&s;e wonderful Objects, My dear Friend, quo he, now's thy time, here's a fair Opportunity pre&s;ents it &s;elf, if thou would&s;t but go and &s;trip thy &s;elf to the Wa&s;te, and take a Score or Two Stripes among tho&s;e hone&s;t Rowers, thou might&s;t come off at a cheap rate with thy Penance for <HI>Dulcinea's</HI> di&s;inchantment. For one Score of the Ma&s;ters La&s;hes would be worth Four of thy own; be&s;ides, the Con&s;olation of &s;uffering with others. Which the Admiral over-hearing, would needs know the meaning of <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Whipping, and <HI>Dulcinea's</HI> Enchantment; but he was prevented in the &s;a|tisfaction which he de&s;ir'd, by the Sentinel at the Top Ma&s;t-Head, who cry'd out at the &s;ame time <HI>a Sail, a Sail,</HI> to the <HI>We&s;t.</HI> With that the Admi|ral leaping upon the <HI>Cour&s;ey,</HI> Courage, Boys, all hands to work, let her not &s;cape Us, &s;he is a <HI>Cor&s;aire</HI> of <HI>Argier</HI> I warrant her. Pre&s;ently the other Galleys made up to receive Orders from the Admiral, who Commanded two of the Nimble&s;t to make out to Sea, and get the Windward of the Prize, while he crept along the Coa&s;t to prevent her running a-&s;hore.</P>
<P>Scarce had the two Galleys made above two Leagues, but they di&s;co|ver'd the <HI>Brigantine,</HI> being a Ve&s;&s;el of about Fourteen Oares; which no &s;ooner perceiv'd the Galleys, but &s;he made all the Sail and labour'd all &s;he could to get away; but in vain, for the Admiral Galley pre&s;ently fetch'd her up; and the Ma&s;ter of the <HI>Brigantine</HI> &s;eeing his danger, was willing to have yielded; but &s;o it happen'd, that two drunken <HI>Turki&s;h</HI> Seamen at the &s;ame time di&s;charg'd a couple of Muskets from the <HI>Wa&s;t-cloaths,</HI> and kill'd two of the Admirals Soldiers that &s;tood upon the <HI>Wale</HI> of the Galley; which &s;o provok'd the Admiral, that he &s;wore he would hang 'em up at
<PB N="578" REF="308"> the Yards Arm every Mothers Son; and with that he lai'd the <HI>Brigantine</HI> aboard, and took her, with all that were in her. Which done, the Galleys return'd into Harbour with their Prize. The Admiral came to an Anchor not far from the Land, where the People &s;tood waiting to know what Booty they had got; and under&s;tanding that the Vice-Roy was a-&s;hore, he launch'd out his Long boat to fetch him aboard. In the mean while the Admiral &s;ending for the Pri&s;oners, demanded who was the Ma&s;ter? To whom one of the Slaves, who was afterwards known to be a <HI>Spani&s;h Re|negado,</HI> This was our Ma&s;ter, quo he, pointing to a young Man of about Twenty years of Age, but Beautiful to Admiration. Yee Dog you, cry'd the Admiral, what was in your Mind to kill two of my Men, after yee had &s;trook? The Ma&s;ter was about to have reply'd, when the Admiral le&s;t him to receive the Vice-Roy, who was ju&s;t coming aboard with &s;everal other Per&s;ons of Quality. What Chear, Admiral, quo the Vice-Roy, ha' yee had a Lucky Chace?&mdash; So lucky, reply'd the Admiral, that your Excellency &s;hall &s;ee me hang up the be&s;t of the Purcha&s;e immediately at the Yards-Arm. How &s;o? quo the Vice-Roy. Becau&s;e they kill'd two of my be&s;t Soldiers, contrary to the Cu&s;tom of the Sea, after they had loar'd in token of &s;urrender; for which I &s;wore I would hang up all that were in the <HI>Brigantine,</HI> e&s;pecially this Hair-braind Fellow the Ma&s;ter. But the Viceroy ca&s;ting his Eye upon him began to pity his Condition: His Beauty, his Youth, and a certain Air of Mode&s;ty in his Countenance, &s;eem'd to beg Compa&s;&s;ion, &s;o that he re&s;olv'd to &s;ave his Life. Ma&s;ter, &s;aid the Vice Roy, art thou a <HI>Turk,</HI> a <HI>Moor,</HI> or a <HI>Renegado?</HI> Neither of the three, reply'd the Ma&s;ter. What art then? reply'd the Vice-Roy; I am a Virgin and a Chri&s;tian. A Virgin and a Chri&s;tian, quo the Vice-Roy, in that Habit and that Employment! 'tis a thing to be rather admir'd then believ'd. Su&s;|pend a moment the Sentence of my Execution, reply'd the Ma&s;ter, nd you &s;hall hear the Story of my Life; for the Delay of your Revenge &s;hall be but very &s;hort. Live then, cry'd the Admiral, very &s;urlily, till the end of your Tale.</P>
<P>Gentlemen, &s;aid the young Marriner, I am the Daughter of Parents that were both <HI>Moors,</HI> and born in <HI>Spain</HI> among tho&s;e unhappy and imprudent People, upon whom &s;o many Misfortunes have lately fallen. In the hight of our Calamity two of my Uncles carry'd me into <HI>Barbary,</HI> for my averring my &s;elf a Chri&s;tian would not procure my &s;tay. My Mother was a Chri|&s;tian and my Father profe&s;s'd him&s;elf &s;o to be: So that I &s;uckt in the true Catholick Religion with my Milk, neither did I ever in word or deed te&s;tifie any Inclination to the contrary. I mu&s;t needs &s;ay my Parents kept me retir'd from the World, but notwith&s;tanding all their prudent Severi|ty, the report of that little Beauty I had, gain'd me the Affection of a young Gentleman, by name <HI>Don Ga&s;par Gregorio,</HI> Elde&s;t Son of a Knight that liv'd in the &s;ame Village; who having notice of my Bani&s;hment re&s;olv'd to follow me, and intermixing him&s;elf among the <HI>Moors</HI> in our Company du|ring the Voyage, he at length in&s;inuated him&s;elf into the Acquaintance of both my Uncles (for my Father having buried the Trea&s;ure which he had, was gone to find us out a quieter Habitation in &s;ome other Country) and &s;o it happen'd, that the fir&s;t place where we landed in <HI>Barbary</HI> was <HI>Ar|gier:</HI> Where the King under&s;tanding that I was very Beautiful and no le&s;s Wealthy, &s;ent for me, and ask'd me what part of <HI>Spain</HI> I was born in, and what &s;tore of Money and Jewels I had brought along with me? I gave him an accompt of the Place of my Nativity, but for my Wealth, I told him I had left it behind me buried in the Earth; yet &s;o as I could ea&s;ily recover it, if I might be permitted to go my &s;elf.</P>
<PB N="579" REF="308">
<P>But in the mid&s;t of the&s;e and &s;everal other Que&s;tions of this Nature, another Sycophant came in, and gave him Information of a young Man that was one of our Company, the goodlie&s;t and mo&s;t graceful Per&s;on that ever was &s;een. I was pre&s;ently &s;en&s;ible 'twas <HI>Don Ga&s;par</HI> that was &s;poken of; and knowing him to be no le&s;s lovely then he was de&s;crib'd, I was ex|treamly concern'd for him, as one that had heard much talk of the be&s;tial Temper of tho&s;e People.</P>
<P>Pre&s;ently he gave command that the young Man &s;hould be &s;ent for, and in the mean time he ask'd me whether the Information were true, that had been giv'n him? To which, as if I had been &s;uddenly in&s;pir'd, I made an&s;wer that &s;he was a Virgin as I was, and therefore be&s;ought his Maje&s;ty that I might have leave to go and dre&s;s her, that her Beauty might appear in its natural Colours.</P>
<P>The King was pleas'd to grant me my Reque&s;t, and told me withal, that he would con&s;ider of a way how I might return into <HI>Spain,</HI> and retrieve my hidden Trea&s;ure. Thereupon I went to <HI>Don Ga&s;par,</HI> told him the dan|ger of his being di&s;cover'd; and after I had dre&s;t him up in Moori&s;h Habit, I carry'd him that Evening to the Prince, who was &s;o taken with the Charms of his Beauty, that he order'd him to be re&s;erv'd as a Pre&s;ent for the <HI>Grand Signior;</HI> and the better to &s;ecure him, order'd him to be &s;hut up in his Womens <HI>Serraglio.</HI> And fearing the Sollicitations of his own de|&s;ires, gave him in charge to one of the Principal Ladies of the City, with a &s;trict Injunction to be careful of him, and to be an&s;werable for his forth-coming. This was the la&s;t time I &s;aw him; tho how impatiently I brook'd the &s;orrow of &s;uch a &s;eparation, I leave you to judg.</P>
<P>The next day, by the Kings Order, I &s;et Sail for <HI>Spain</HI> in this <HI>Brigantine,</HI> accompany'd with the two Turki&s;h Soldiers that kill'd your Men; and this &s;ame <HI>Spani&s;h Renegado,</HI> who is a Chri&s;tian in his Heart, and has a greater de&s;ire to return to <HI>Spain</HI> then to live in <HI>Barbary.</HI> The re&s;t of the Chiurm are all <HI>Moors</HI> and <HI>Turks</HI> that tug at the Oar. And as for the&s;e two Cove|tous and In&s;olent <HI>Turks,</HI> they were the only Per&s;ons, who contrary to their Orders, which were to &s;et me a&s;hore upon the fir&s;t <HI>Spani&s;h</HI> Ground they &s;hould di&s;cover, would needs be cruizing after Booty. The la&s;t Night we di&s;cover'd this Coa&s;t, and knowing nothing of your Galleys that lay &s;o neer, we were our &s;elves di&s;cover'd and fell into your Hands.</P>
<P>All this while <HI>Don Ga&s;par</HI> remains in Womens Habit among Women, and every Hour in danger of his Life. So that for my part, I know not whe|ther I have any ju&s;t cau&s;e to complain of the Condition to which my Mis|fortune has reduc'd me; for I am &s;o weary of my Life, that I little regard the lo&s;ing of it: Only I beg this Favour, Gentlemen, that you will per|mit me to dye a Chri&s;tian, as I have always profe&s;s'd to be. And thus concluding, &s;he let fall a &s;howre of Tears, that melted the mo&s;t Stony Hearts of all that were pre&s;ent; in&s;omuch that the Vice-Roy more touch'd with Compa&s;&s;ion then any of the Re&s;t, went and unbound her Hands him&s;elf.</P>
<P>Now all the while that the fair Mariner was telling her Story, there was in the Galley an ancient Pilgrim, who came aboard with the Vice-Roys Attendants, and kept his Eye &s;till fix'd upon the Dam&s;el. But no &s;ooner had &s;he made an end, but he threw him&s;elf at her Feet, and ba|thing 'em with his Tears, with a langui&s;hing Voice, interrupted with &s;ighs and &s;obs, Ah, <HI>Anna Felix,</HI> cry'd he, my dear and entirely beloved Daugh|ter, know'&s;t thou not <HI>Ricot</HI> thy Father? At the name of <HI>Ricot, Sancho</HI> who was ruminating upon the Affront which he had receiv'd from the
<PB N="580" REF="309"> Slaves, look'd up, and &s;taring the Pilgrim in the Face, knew him again to be the &s;ame <HI>Ricot</HI> that he had met upon the Road the &s;ame day that he left his Government, and then &s;eriou&s;ly &s;urveying the Dam&s;el he knew her to be <HI>Ricots</HI> Daughter.</P>
<P>But then <HI>Ricot</HI> addre&s;&s;ing him&s;elf to the Vice-Roy and to the Admiral, My Lords, &s;aid he, this is my Daughter, more unfortunate in what has befallen her then in her name. Her name is <HI>Anna Felix Ricot,</HI> well known for her Beauty and her Fathers Wealth. For her &s;ake I departed out of <HI>Spain,</HI> to &s;eek, among &s;trangers, a quiet Habitation. Which after I had found in <HI>Ger|many,</HI> I return'd hither in this Habit with other Pilgrims, in &s;earch of my Daughter, and to recover a certain parcel of Gold, and &s;ome other odd Trea&s;ure which I had buried in the Earth. I found my hidden Wealth, but &s;ought my Daughter in vain, till now by this &s;ame &s;trange and unex|pected Accident I met her here, the only Trea&s;ure which I value above all the Riches in the World. If then our Innocency, her Tears and mine are capable to move your Compa&s;&s;ion, have pity upon two unfortunate Wretches, that never offended either your Honours in particular, or ever harbour'd evil thought again&s;t the Publick Government.</P>
<P>Then <HI>Sancho</HI> taking his Turn, I know <HI>Ricot,</HI> quo he, as well as the Beg|ger knows his Di&s;h; and as far as a Man may be certain of &s;uch a thing, I'le engage that <HI>Anna Felix</HI> is his Daughter too; but for his Goings-out, or Comings-in; his good or bad Intentions, I ha' nothing to &s;ay to them: I am not hear to be Bail for his good Behaviour.</P>
<P>Such a Concour&s;e of &s;urprizing Accidents a&s;toni&s;h'd all the Company, &s;o that the Admiral turning to the fair Captive with a Countenance more &s;erene then before, Your Tears, &s;aid he, have wrought Effectually; live lovely <HI>Anna Felix,</HI> live in peace a happy and a long Life, and let tho&s;e Hair-brain'd Slaves, who&s;e Folly thus endanger'd your de&s;truction, bear the Puni&s;hment of their Imprudence. And &s;o &s;aying he commanded the Two Turks to be forthwith hang'd up at the Yards-Arm. But the Vice-Roy begg'd their Lives with &s;o much importunity, that the Admiral gratify'd the Vice-Roys reque&s;t, con&s;idering be&s;ide the poorne&s;s of Revenge in cold Blood.</P>
<P>Then they began to con&s;ider which was the &s;afe&s;t way to retrieve <HI>Don Ga&s;par</HI> from the Danger he was in, to which purpo&s;e <HI>Ricot</HI> offer'd to pay for his ran&s;ome Two thou&s;and Ducats which he had about him in Jewels. Whereupon the <HI>Spani&s;h Renegado</HI> proffer'd to return to <HI>Argier,</HI> in a &s;mall Bark furni&s;h'd with Chri&s;tian Rowers; as one that well under&s;tood when and where to land, and more then that, was well acquainted with the Hou&s;e where <HI>Gregorio</HI> was in Cu&s;tody. The Admiral and the Vice-Roy were &s;omewhat &s;crupulous at fir&s;t to tru&s;t a Renegado, till <HI>Anna Felix</HI> undertook for him, and <HI>Ricot</HI> engag'd to pay the Ran&s;om of all the Chri|&s;tians if they were taken by the Turks. So that all things being thus concluded, the Vice-Roy took leave of the Admiral; and <HI>Don Antonio Moreno</HI> carry'd <HI>Anna Felix</HI> and <HI>Ricot</HI> home to his own Hou&s;e.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="12" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="581" REF="309">
<HEAD>CHAP. XII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing that unlucky Adventure which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> lay'd mo&s;t to his Heart of any that ever befel him.</HEAD>
<P><HI>DON Antonio</HI>'s Wife was &s;o overjoy'd to have <HI>Anna Felix</HI> for her Gue&s;t, that &s;he receiv'd and entertain'd her with all the Care&s;&s;es imaginable; and &s;o attractive were the Charms of her Beauty and Wit, that &s;he was vi|&s;ited by all the mo&s;t con&s;iderable Per&s;ons in the City.</P>
<P>The &s;ame Evening <HI>Don Quixote</HI> told <HI>Don Antonio,</HI> that their Contri|vance for the Relea&s;ement of <HI>Don Ga&s;par,</HI> no way pleas'd him; as being full of danger, and little or no probability of Succe&s;s: And that therefore the &s;afer and &s;urer way would be for him to cro&s;s over into <HI>Barbary</HI> him&s;elf with his Hor&s;e and Arms; where he would undertake to re&s;cue <HI>Don Ga|&s;par</HI> out of Captivity in de&s;pite of all the <HI>Moors</HI> that &s;hould oppo&s;e him; as <HI>Don Gayferos</HI> had formerly re&s;cu'd his Wife, the fair <HI>Meli&s;andra.</HI></P>
<P>Very right, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> but you forget that when <HI>Don Gayferos</HI> re|&s;cu'd his Wife, 'twas upon the firm Land, and he carry'd her over the firm dry Land into <HI>France;</HI> but now in this Ca&s;e, &s;uppo&s;e we &s;hould deliver <HI>Don Ga&s;par,</HI> how the Devil &s;hall we bring him into <HI>Spain,</HI> &s;ince the Sea's in the middle between us. There's a cure for all things but Death, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote:</HI> Let a Bark be but moor'd to the Shore, and then let us alone to take Shipping, mauger all the <HI>Saracens</HI> in <HI>Barbary.</HI> This is ea&s;ily &s;aid, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> but &s;aying and doing are two things; and therefore I am for tru&s;ting the <HI>Renegado,</HI> who under&s;tands his Bu&s;ine&s;s better then a thou&s;and <HI>Knight-Errants,</HI> and I dare &s;ay the Rogue will be hone&s;t. <HI>Don Antonio</HI> re|ply'd, that if the <HI>Renegado</HI> fail'd, that then they would have recour&s;e to the Valour of the famous <HI>Don Quixote.</HI> Thereupon the <HI>Renegado</HI> was di&s;|patch'd away within two days after, and the Admiral &s;et Sail with all his Galleys for the <HI>Levant.</HI></P>
<P>Now it happen'd one Morning that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> being rid to take a walk upon the Sea-Shore, arm'd at all points, his Arms as he &s;aid, being all his Bo|dily Ornament, as Combat was his only Re&s;t, he beheld at a Di&s;tance &s;talk|ing toward him another Knight, arm'd like him&s;elf from head to foot, with a Shield on which a Glittering Moon was blazon'd in her proper Colours. This Knight approaching neer, and addre&s;&s;ing him&s;el to <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> Il|lu&s;trious Knight, cry'd he, with a loud Voice, mo&s;t Valiant <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> I am the Knight of the <HI>White Moon,</HI> who&s;e incredible At|chievments, no doubt ere this, have reach'd thy Ears. My bu&s;ine&s;s here is, in fair and equal Combat to prove which is the &s;tronger thou or I, and to make thee acknowledg that my Lady, let her be who &s;he will, is incom|parably more Amiable, more Di&s;creet, and better De&s;cended then thy <HI>Dulci|nea del Tobo&s;o.</HI> Now if thou wilt freely and without any more ado confe&s;s this Truth, thou &s;hun'&s;t a&s;&s;ured Death, and free&s;t me from the trouble of reducing thee to Rea&s;on. Otherwi&s;e, I demand no more, after thou art fairly van|qui&s;h'd, but that thou lay a&s;ide thy Arms, and forbear rambling in &s;earch of any more Adventures for one whole Year. Moreover, that thou &s;halt return home and live a &s;ober and quiet Life, to the improvement of thy E&s;tate and the Salvation of thy Soul. On the other &s;ide, if it be my for|tune to be overcome, my Head is at thy Di&s;cretion; I bequeath thee my Hor&s;e and my Arms, and the Reputation of having vanqui&s;h'd the mo&s;t Re|nowned
<PB N="582" REF="310"> Knight alive. Con&s;ider what thou ha&s;t to do, and let thy An&s;wer be quick; for I have but this day to determine this Affair.</P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> amaz'd at the In&s;olence of the Knight of the <HI>White Moon,</HI> and the &s;ubject of his Challenge, with a proud and &s;urly Air, Sir Knight of the <HI>White Moon,</HI> quo he, of who&s;e Exploits I never herad a Title yet, I dare &s;wear, thou never &s;aw&s;t th' Illu&s;trious <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> for had&s;t thou &s;een her once, thou nere wou'd&s;t thus expo&s;e thy &s;elf to the hazard of doubt|ful Combat, to ju&s;tifie &s;o great a Fal&s;hood. And therefore without giving thee the Lye, I only tell thee, Knight, thou art deceiv'd, and I accept thy Challenge upon the Conditions propos'd. However, take notice that I ac|cept the&s;e Conditions barely upon your Word, without examination what your Atchievements are, which otherwi&s;e I ought to make enquiry after. For I know my own reputation, and am contented with it. Go then, and choo&s;e your Ground, as I intend to do; and let the Succe&s;s declare which of us two be&s;t knows to handle a Lance.</P>
<P>While, the two Knights were thus jowring together, the Knight of the <HI>White Moon</HI> was di&s;cover'd from the City, and the Vice-Roy was inform'd that the Knight of the <HI>White Moon</HI> had been parlying with <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> &s;o that he took Hor&s;e, and accompany'd by <HI>Don Antonio,</HI> and &s;ome other Gentlemen of the City, arriv'd at the place, ju&s;t as <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was pre|paring to make choice of the &s;tarting Place. But when they were both ready, he rode in between 'em, and demanded the Rea&s;on of their Quarrel, that had &s;et 'em &s;o &s;uddenly together by the Ears. To whom the Knight of the <HI>Moon</HI> made an&s;wer, that it was about precedency of Beauty, repea|ting in &s;hort &s;ome part of the words that had pa&s;t between him and <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and the Conditions of the Challenge. Thereupon the Vice-Roy riding up to <HI>Don Antonio,</HI> ask'd him in his Ear, whether he knew the Knight of the <HI>White Moon,</HI> or whether it were not &s;ome Trick de&s;ignedly put upon <HI>Don Quixote. Don Antonio</HI> made an&s;wer, that he knew nothing of the Bu&s;ine&s;s; which put the Vice-Roy into a kind of <HI>Dilemma</HI> whether he &s;hould &s;uffer the Combatants to proceed,&mdash;but at length believing it could be nothing but &s;ome jocular Contrivance of the Gentry there pre&s;ent; Sir Knights, quo he, if it be &s;o that there be no Remedy, no Medium but Death or Confe&s;&s;ion, while my Lord <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;ays 'tis <HI>Thirteen,</HI> and the Knight of the <HI>White Moon</HI> will have it <HI>Fifteen,</HI> the Field is free, and &s;o God ble&s;s yee.</P>
<P>The Knight of the <HI>Moon</HI> return'd the Vice-Roy thanks in mo&s;t obliging Terms for his Civility; nor was <HI>Don Quixote</HI> behind hand with his Com|plements, and then recommending him&s;elf to God and his Lady <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> according to his u&s;ual Cu&s;tom, he took a little more Ground then he had done before, ob&s;erving his Adver&s;ary to do the like; and &s;o without either Trumpet or any other Warlike In&s;trument to give the Signal, away they flew as &s;wift as Rockets to meet each other at the Gates of Death. But the Knight of the <HI>White Moon</HI> was mounted upon a Cour&s;er that had much the better Heels, and was far &s;tronger then <HI>Ro&s;inante;</HI> &s;o that having rode three parts of the Career him&s;elf, without making u&s;e of his Lance, which 'tis thought he carry'd upright on purpo&s;e, he bru&s;ht by <HI>Don Quixote</HI> with that Violence, that he overthrew both Hor&s;e and Man to the Ground, and both in a very bad Condition. With that the Knight of the <HI>White Moon</HI> whip'd of his Hor&s;e, and putting the Point of his Lance to <HI>Don Quixotes</HI> Vizor, You are vanqui&s;h'd, Sir Knight, quo he, and your Life is at an end, unle&s;s you perform the Conditions of the Combat. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;tunn'd and bruis'd with his fall, and unable to lift up the Vizor of his
<PB N="583" REF="310"> Helmet, with a feeble and langui&s;hing Voice, as if he had &s;poken out of a Sepulcher, <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o,</HI> &s;aid he, is the faire&s;t Per&s;on in the World, and I the mo&s;t unfortunate Knight that breaths upon the Earth; nor is it ju&s;t that my Misfortune &s;hould belye a Truth &s;o generally known. Thru&s;t home thy Lance, Sir Knight, and take away my Life, &s;ince thou ha&s;t thus depriv'd me of my Honour.</P>
<P>No, no&mdash;reply'd the Knight of the <HI>White Moon,</HI> let Madam <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o</HI>'s Beauty remain in its perfection; for my part I am &s;atisfy'd, provided <HI>Don Quixote</HI> return in Peace to his own Habitation according to our Covenants before the Combat. The Vice Roy, <HI>Don Antonio,</HI> and &s;e|veral others were Witne&s;&s;es to all the&s;e Pa&s;&s;ages; and heard moreover <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s an&s;wer to the Victor, which was, that provided he demand|ed nothing prejudicial to the Honour and Intere&s;t of <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> he would upon the Faith of a true Knight accompli&s;h punctually what ever el&s;e he requir'd. With which the Knight of the <HI>White Moon</HI> being fully &s;atisfy'd, he turn'd about his Hor&s;e, and &s;aluting the Vice-Roy, gallopp'd back to the City.</P>
<P>After this, they lifted up <HI>Don Quixote</HI> upon his Bum, and unlacing his Helmet, they found him pale, dejected, in a cold &s;weat, and almo&s;t ready to breath out his Soul. As for <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> he was in &s;o &s;ad a plight, that they were forc'd to let him lye at his ea&s;e. And <HI>Sancho</HI> coming in at the latter end of the Fray, equally pen&s;ive and a&s;toni&s;h'd, knew neither what to think nor what to do; he look'd upon his Ma&s;ter as vanqui&s;h'd in the face of the World, and for a whole Twelvemonth engag'd to lay a&s;ide his Arms, in which time the Glory of all his Famous Exploits would be bu|ri'd in utter Oblivion. On the other &s;ide he con&s;ider'd all his own expecta|tions vani&s;h'd into Smoak; he bemoan'd poor <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> now believing him certainly crippled and condemn'd to a Du&s;t-Cart all the Remainder of his days: and wi&s;h'd his Ma&s;ter in &s;ome good Ho&s;pital for the Cure of his broken Bones.</P>
<P>At length the Vice-Roy &s;ent for an Elbow Chair and two or three Pil|lows, and having accommodated the unfortunate <HI>Don Quixote</HI> to his ea&s;e, he order'd him to be carry'd, like a Labourer fallen from the top of a Hou&s;e, back to the City, whether he made ha&s;te before, to know who this &s;ame Knight of the <HI>White Moon</HI> &s;hould be.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="13" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XIII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Who the Knight of the <HI>White Moon</HI> was; and of the News of <HI>Don Gregorio's</HI> Liberty, and &s;everal other Adventures.</HEAD>
<P><HI>DON Antonio Moreno</HI> made ha&s;te after the Knight of the <HI>White Moon,</HI> who was likewi&s;e attended by a Train of <HI>Harlotrie</HI> Boys, that never for&s;ook him till they &s;aw him lodg'd in a Hou&s;e. Into which <HI>Don Antonio</HI> entring &s;oon after, found him in a lower Room, where his Squire was helping him off with his Arms; where after he had &s;aluted him, he &s;tai'd till he might have an Opportunity to di&s;cour&s;e him farther. But the Knight perceiving that <HI>Don Antonio</HI> was re&s;olv'd to &s;tay by him, I know, Sir, very well, &s;aid he, what 'tis that brings you hither; you would fain under&s;tand who I am, and therefore not to &s;tand upon Niceties and
<PB N="584" REF="311"> Punctilio's I'le tell yee the whole Truth, &s;o &s;oon as I have got off my Armour.</P>
<P>Know then, Sir, that my Name is <HI>Samp&s;on Carra&s;co,</HI> the Schollar, an Inhabitant in the &s;ame Village where <HI>Don Quixote</HI> lives. And the Folly and Extravagancy of this Gentleman, pity'd by all that are acquainted with his Humour, bred in me the &s;ame Compa&s;&s;ion for him which others had; &s;o that being convinc'd that the Cure of his Di&s;temper depended upon his Living peaceably and quietly at home, I thought upon this Project to recover him back. To this purpo&s;e, about three Months &s;ince I trac'd him in all the Equipage of a <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> under the Title of the Knight of the <HI>Looking-Gla&s;&s;es,</HI> with a purpo&s;e to fight, but not hurt him, and nere doubting but to vanqui&s;h him, I made the Conditions of our Combat the &s;ame as now. But Fortune order'd it otherwi&s;e; for that time he prov'd the Victor, and I was forc'd to quit my de&s;ign. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> rode away Triumphant, and I return'd home well &s;quelch'd and in danger of my Life. However, I had &s;till that Kindne&s;s for him, that I was re&s;olv'd to have t'other bout with him, which has now &s;ucceeded. For his exactne&s;s in ob&s;erving inviolably the Laws of <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> is &s;uch, that I am &s;ure he will as &s;oon break his own Neck as the Conditions of this Combat, e&s;pecially after his Oath given me for his performance. This is, Sir, the &s;um of what you de&s;ire to know, and I be&s;eech yee that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> may not have the lea&s;t inckling of my de&s;ign, for fear I &s;hould lo&s;e the Fruit of my Care and Trouble, which I have thus far undergone to recover this poor Gentleman's under&s;tanding, exqui&s;ite in all other things, but only craz'd and intoxicated with the Extravagancies of <HI>Knight-Errantry.</HI> Oh, Sir, reply'd <HI>Don Antonio,</HI> I can never pardon you the Injury you ha' done to all the World, in Robbing us of the mo&s;t plea&s;ant Fool that ever was known. You never con&s;ider'd, that all the Benefit we can expect from <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s &s;erious parts, can never equal the Delight which we take in his Follies: Not but that I am a&s;&s;ur'd that all your Pains and Indu&s;try are already mi&s;pent; for 'tis impo&s;&s;ible to work an ab&s;olute Cure upon that Per|&s;on who has lo&s;t his Sences. But becau&s;e, if it were not a Sin again&s;t Charity, I could wi&s;h that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> might nere be cur'd, in regard the Lo&s;s of his conceited Frenzies, deprives us at the &s;ame time of <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Drolleries al&s;o; two &s;uch Cordials again&s;t <HI>Melancholy</HI> as are not to be had in any <HI>Potecaries</HI> Shop.</P>
<P>However, I promi&s;e yee not to &s;peak a word, tho it be only to trye which of us two are &s;ounde&s;t in our Conjectures. Thus after &s;ome Com|plements pa&s;t between 'em, <HI>Don Antonio</HI> left the Knight of the <HI>White Moon,</HI> who having packt up his Armour, and ty'd it upon his War-Hor&s;e, took the Road for his own Village, where he &s;afely arriv'd in a &s;hort time. Pre&s;ently after his departure, <HI>Don Antonio</HI> went and gave an Accompt of the Di&s;cour&s;e which he had had with the unknown Knight to the Vice-Roy, who &s;eem'd not a little troubl'd, that the World was to be &s;o &s;uddenly de|priv'd of &s;uch a plea&s;ant Humouri&s;t.</P>
<P>Six days did <HI>Don Quixote</HI> keep his Bed, very much bruis'd and di&s;order'd by his fall, but much more di&s;compos'd in Mind to &s;ee him&s;elf vanqui&s;h'd and his Honour lai'd i' the Du&s;t. <HI>Sancho</HI> however attended him all the while, endeavouring to a&s;&s;wage his grief the be&s;t he could; and to that purpo&s;e, among other things, Pluck up a good Heart, Sir, &s;aid he, and thank God that none of your Brains dropt out with the fall, and that you broke neither Neck nor Ribs&mdash; <HI>They that will be giving and taking, mu&s;t take as well as give&mdash; Harm watch, and harm catch</HI>&mdash;However;
<PB N="585" REF="311"> <HI>Better my Hog durty home then no Hog at all&mdash;We mu&s;t not think to find Ba|con always where we &s;ee the Hooks&mdash;They that &s;ow Thi&s;tles reap Thorns: 'Tis well 'tis no wor&s;e&mdash; And a Fig for the Surgeon,</HI> cry I, <HI>when we have no need of his Plai&s;ter Boxes</HI>&mdash;And now, faith, Ma&s;ter take a Fools Coun&s;el for once; &s;ince y' have had this fair &s;cape, let's ee'n return Genteelly home agen, and leave the&s;e idle rambles among Hectors and Swa&s;h-bucklers, that give us Roa&s;t-meat and beat us with the Spit&mdash;Tho all this while I &s;peak again&s;t my own Intere&s;t: for when y' have &s;aid all, 'tis I am the lo&s;er, tho you get the Knocks and the Bangs. When I quitted my Government, 'tis true I lai'd a&s;ide all thoughts of ever being a Governour more, but not of be|ing a Count; which &s;ince I nere can be, becau&s;e I find you nere can be a King, if you leave off <HI>Knight-Erranting;</HI> why let it go, and farewel Fro&s;t, quo I.</P>
<P><HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> nere de&s;pair&mdash;a Years retirement &s;igni|fies little&mdash;which once expir'd, no Man can hinder us from returning to the honourable Exerci&s;e of Arms, and then I make no Que&s;tion but to find Kingdoms to conquer, and Earldoms to be&s;tow upon thee. Oh&mdash; cry'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> A blind Man would be glad to &s;ee't&mdash;<HI>But hope well and have well,</HI> quo Hickwel.</P>
<P>As they two were thus di&s;cour&s;ing <HI>Don Antonio</HI> enter'd the Chamber, and with a &s;miling Countenance, cry'd out to <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> good Ty|dings, Sir <HI>Quixote,</HI> good Tydings, <HI>Don Gregorie</HI> and the <HI>Renegado</HI> are &s;afe arriv'd, and now at the Vice Roys Palace; and both de&s;ign a &s;peedy Vi&s;it to the Noble Knight of <HI>Mancha.</HI> I am glad to hear it, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> with a carele&s;s Delivery; but I could have wi&s;h'd the de&s;ign had mi&s;carry'd, that I might have pa&s;s'd my &s;elf into <HI>Barbary;</HI> where by the &s;trength of my Arm, I might have had the &s;atisfaction not only to have purchas'd the Freedom of <HI>Don Gregorie,</HI> but of all the Chri&s;tian Captives in that Pagan Country. But what is that I &s;ay? unfortunate Wretch as I am, continu'd he; am not I that Coward that &s;uffer'd him&s;elf to be Wine|pre&s;s'd? that luckle&s;s Son of Infamy that was lai'd &s;prawling upon the cold Earth! and for a whole year confin'd to lay a&s;ide his Arms? What do I Ro|domontado thus for, that am more fit to handle a Di&s;taff then a Sword and Buckler.</P>
<P>Pa&s;&s;ion o' my Heart, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> interrupting him, pray leave your pu|ling, Sir&mdash;you kill me wi' your whining&mdash;as if the Pullet could not live becau&s;e &s;h' has got the Pip&mdash;To day 'tis thy Turn, to morrow 'tis mine&mdash;There's no heed to be taken to &s;uch Encounters and Lamba&s;tings as the&s;e&mdash;to day a Mou&s;e, to morrow a Man&mdash;there's a poor Soul in|deed! de&s;pair and dye for a Cudgelling!&mdash;Fie&mdash;fie&mdash;get up&mdash;Ma&s;ter get up&mdash;and be ready to meet <HI>Don Gregorie,</HI> I believe he's i' the Hou&s;e alrea|dy, by the noi&s;e I hear below Stairs.</P>
<P>'Twas true as <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;aid. For <HI>Don Gregorie,</HI> &s;o &s;oon as he had ki&s;s'd the Vice-Roys Hands, nere &s;tai'd to &s;hift his Habit of a Slave, but impatient to &s;ee Madam <HI>Anna,</HI> made ha&s;te to <HI>Don Antonio</HI>'s Hou&s;e; where he became the wonder of all that view'd him, &s;o &s;urprizing was his Beauty at the Age of Eighteen or Nineteen years. And here I &s;hould tell yee how <HI>Ricot</HI> and <HI>Anna Felix</HI> receiv'd him; mo&s;t certainly 'twas with a great deal of Joy, a great deal of Mode&s;ty, and &s;howres of Tears; but let it alone till another time. You may be &s;ure too that the <HI>Renegado</HI> was well pai'd for his Pains, and for his good Service was once more receiv'd into the Bo&s;om of the Church; or el&s;e there had been a Botch i' the Story.</P>
<P>Two days after, <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> pretty well &s;ettl'd in his Bones, took his la&s;t leave of unfortunate <HI>Barcellona,</HI> and in his travelling Habit, having lai'd
<PB N="586" REF="312"> a&s;ide his Arms, &s;et forward in his Journey homeward, attended by <HI>Sancho,</HI> who was forc'd to beat it upon the Hoof, in regard that <HI>Grizzle</HI> was forc'd to bear the Load of the Knights Furniture.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="14" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XIV.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Which treats of that which he &s;hall &s;ee who reads, and he &s;hall hear that li&s;tens with Attention.</HEAD>
<P>AT his departure from <HI>Barcellona, Don Quixote</HI> beholding the Place where all his &s;oaring thoughts had &s;uffer'd Shipwrack: There it was, &s;aid he, where once <HI>Troy</HI> &s;tood; there it was that my Misfortune, and no fault of mine, depriv'd me of all the high Renown which I had purchas'd: there Fortune made me &s;en&s;ible of her Incon&s;tancy and Fanta&s;tick Hu|mours; There lay all my Glory, like a Litter of Whelps drown'd in a durcy Ditch; and there it was my Honour fell in a Cow-turd.</P>
<P>Sir, &s;aid <HI>Sancho,</HI> a noble and true Courage ought to have as much pa|tience in Adver&s;ity, as joy in pro&s;perous Succe&s;s. Take example by me: For when I was a Governour, I was jocund and merry, and now I am but a poor Squire, a-foot, I take my chance without Grumbling. And indeed I have heard &s;ay, that this &s;ame Female yee call Fortune, is a capricious Bag|gage, always drunk, and beyond the A&s;&s;i&s;tance of Spectacles, as blind as a Brewers Hor&s;e; &s;o that &s;he neither &s;ees what &s;he does, nor knows whom &s;he rai&s;es or whom &s;he ca&s;ts down.</P>
<P>Thou might&s;t be a Con&s;table for thy Wit, <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> thou talk'&s;t like a Philo&s;opher: I wonder where thou had&s;t thy Learning&mdash; But I mu&s;t tell thee there is no &s;uch thing as Fortune in the World; for all that happen's here below of good or ill, comes not by Chance, but by a particular Providence of Heaven, and thence ari&s;es the Proverb, <HI>That every Man is the Architect of his own Fortune.</HI> For my part I was my own Artificer; but becau&s;e I did not work, nor handle my Tools with that Prudence as I ought to ha' done, I am cha&s;tiz'd for my Pre&s;umption. I might well have con&s;ider'd that <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI>'s feeble Limbs were nere able to bear the Brunt of the Knight of the <HI>White Moons</HI> Lu&s;ty Stallion, able to bru&s;h down Twenty &s;uch as my poor Cripple; however I would needs adventure, and do what I could for my Life, the Devil paid me the &s;hame he ow'd me. But tho it has co&s;t me my Honour, yet have I not lo&s;t my Integrity to per|form my word. When I was a <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> Valiant and Bold, the &s;trength of my Arm and my Actions were Te&s;timonies of my Courage; but now I am no more then a Di&s;mounted Squire, my Obedience and the performance of my Promi&s;e, &s;hall make known my Sincerity. Trudge on then, <HI>Sancho,</HI> let's go and &s;tay out our Exilement at home: By that time we &s;hall recover new &s;trength, and return with more vigour to our ne|ver to be forgotten Profe&s;&s;ion of <HI>Knight-Errantry.</HI></P>
<P>Sir, an&s;wer'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> 'tis not &s;o plea&s;ant a thing, as you think for, to trot-a-foot, e&s;pecially long Journeys&mdash; And therefore let us hang up this old Iron upon the next Trees&mdash; and when I am got upon <HI>Grizzle</HI>'s Back, then ride as fa&s;t as you plea&s;e&mdash; but as long as I trot a foot, you mu&s;t ob&s;erve my Pace. Thou &s;ai&s;t very well, <HI>Sancho,</HI> cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> let my Arms be hung up upon the next &s;ub&s;tantial Tree, upon the
<PB N="587" REF="312"> Bark of which we will engrave the &s;ame In&s;cription, which was written at the foot of <HI>Orlando</HI>'s Arms, after <HI>Zerbin</HI> had won 'em from that famous Knight.</P>
<Q><L>Let no Man dare to be &s;o ra&s;h</L>
<L>The&s;e Arms from hence to pull;</L>
<L>&V;nle&s;s he means to trye a Cra&s;h</L>
<L>With him that crackt <HI>Orlando</HI>'s Scull.</L></Q>
<P>No better way i' the World, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> and were it not but that we &s;hall want him upon the Road, I think we might do well to hang up <HI>Ro|&s;inante</HI> too, with the Armour, to compleat the Trophy. Now I think on't, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I'le neither hang up one nor t'other&mdash;le&s;t the People twit me i' the Teeth, and cry&mdash;<HI>A rare Ma&s;ter&mdash;good Service, bad reward.</HI> Why, truly, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> 'tis a &s;aying among the Wi&s;e, that the faults of the A&s;s &s;hould never light upon the Pack-&s;addle. And therefore &s;ince you your &s;elf have only done the Injury, puni&s;h your &s;elf and not your Innocent Armour, bruis'd and batter'd with defending your Ribs; but as for <HI>Ro&s;i|nante</HI> methinks a little Re&s;t might do him no harm, e&s;pecially &s;ince my Toes mu&s;t &s;uffer for his want of &s;trength.</P>
<P>All that day and for four days after, their whole diverti&s;ement was only &s;uch &s;ort of di&s;cour&s;e as this, but the fifth days Journey brought 'em to a Village where the People were a&s;&s;embl'd together for Pa&s;time, as being a Holiday.</P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> was no &s;ooner within hearing of the Company, but he heard one of the Countrymen cry, Look yee now, here's our bu&s;ine&s;s done to our Hands&mdash;Here are two Gentlemen, Strangers, that know nothing of the Matter&mdash;let one or both of them decide the Difference&mdash;Ay, Ay, Friends, with all my Heart, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> provided I may under|&s;tand your Ca&s;e&mdash;Why, Sir, quo the Country Fellow, the Bu&s;ine&s;s is this, one of our Neighbours here i' this Town, &s;o fat and &s;o heavy that he weighs neer Two hunder'd and four&s;core Pound, has challeng'd an|other Inhabitant, that weighs not half &s;o much, to run with him a hun|der'd Paces, provided the other &s;hall carry &s;o much weight as to equal him. Now the Challenger being de&s;ir'd to tell what weight he requires, he demands that the other &s;hall carry a Hunder'd and fifty Pound of Iron, and then they &s;hall weigh both alike.</P>
<P>Hold, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> not giving his Ma&s;ter time to &s;peak; this bu&s;ine&s;s be|longs to me, that come &s;o lately from being both a Governour and a Judge, as all the World knows. With all my heart, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for I am not fit to give Crumbs to a Cat, my Brains are &s;o out of order. Why then, Sir, judg on, quo the Countryman: Then I mu&s;t tell yee, hone&s;t Friends, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> that the Challenger's demand is unrea&s;onable; for the Per&s;on Challeng'd mu&s;t always choo&s;e his Weapons, as I have heard &s;ay, but here the Challenger makes the choice him&s;elf, and &s;o loads him, that in|&s;tead of being in a Condition to run, he &s;hall not be able to &s;tir. Therefore 'tis my judment, that he who is &s;o big and &s;o fat, &s;hall cut, pare, &s;lice or &s;have off a Hunder'd and fifty Pound off his Fle&s;h here and there, as he thinks fit; and then both Parties being equal in Poi&s;e, neither will have cau&s;e to complain.</P>
<P>By my Life, quo the Country Fellow, this Gentleman has judg'd like an Advocate&mdash;but by Guds Liggers the Challenger will nere be &s;uch a Fool to cut off an Ounce of his Fle&s;h, much le&s;s a Hunder'd and fifty
<PB N="588" REF="313"> Pound&mdash;Why then, quo another Fellow, the be&s;t way will be not to let 'em run at all; for then the one Spares his Fle&s;h, and the other &s;aves mel|ting his Grea&s;e: and &s;o let half the Wager be &s;pent at the Tavern, and let's take our Judg and this Gentleman along with us&mdash;if it come to more, let me wear the Cloak when it rains.</P>
<P>I am much oblig'd to yee Gentlemen, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and it trou|bles me to be uncivil, but my Bu&s;ine&s;s requires ha&s;te; and &s;o &s;aying, he gave <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> a gentle remembrance, and put on, leaving the People to de&s;cant upon the &s;trange Figure and Di&s;cretion of <HI>Sancho,</HI> his Lacquey; for &s;uch they judg'd him to be.</P>
<P>When they were gone, &s;aid one of the Country Fellows to the re&s;t, If the Ma&s;ter be but as Witty as his Lacquey, I'le hold a Wager that if they would but go and &s;tudy a while at <HI>Salamanca,</HI> we &s;hould &s;ee 'em in the twinckling of an Eye either Bi&s;hops or Doctors at lea&s;t; for 'tis nothing but chance and favour, whether a Man &s;tudy more or le&s;s, if he but under|&s;tands the World.</P>
<P>That night the Ma&s;ter and the Man &s;lept under the Canopy of Heaven; and next Morning continuing their Journey, they &s;aw coming toward 'em a Man a-foot with a Wallet at his Back, and a Pike&s;taff in his Hand. This Man doubl'd his pace, when he perceiv'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and now being met, after three Scrapes and a low Congey, My Lord <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> &s;aid he, Oh, how glad would my Lord Duke be, did he but know that your Wor&s;hip were returning to his Ca&s;tle, for there he is now with his Dutche&s;s. I don't know yee, friend, quo <HI>Don Quixote.</HI> My Lord <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> reply'd the other, I am <HI>To&s;ilos,</HI> my Lord Dukes Lacquey, who was to have fought your Wor&s;hip upon the Quarrel about Madam <HI>Doroties</HI> Daughter. How! quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> is it you that tho&s;e Enemies of mine the <HI>Necromancers</HI> trans|form'd into a Lacquey, to rob me of the Honour of that Combat? In good truth, I beg your pardon, Sir, reply'd the Lacquey, 'twas neither Transfor|mation nor Enchantment. I was a Footman when I enter'd the Barriers, and when I went out; and it was only becau&s;e I had a mind to marry the young Dam&s;el, that I refus'd the Combat. But there was the Devil of Inchantment when you were gone. The Duke my Ma&s;ter caus'd me to be &s;oundly &s;trappado'd for not obeying his Orders, the young Dam&s;el is turn'd into a Nunnery, and Madam <HI>Doroty</HI> packt away to &s;eek her Fortune: And I am going to <HI>Barcellona</HI> with a Packet of Letters from my Ma&s;ter to the Vice-Roy. However, Sir, I have here a full Bottle, at your Service, if your Wor&s;hip plea&s;es to take a Draught, 'tis a little hot I confe&s;s, but I have a good Chee&s;e to boot, that will make it go down I'le warrant yee, Sir. I take yee at your Word, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> for I never &s;tand to Comple|ment with my Friends. Let <HI>To&s;ilos</HI> but lay a Napkin, and in &s;pight of all the <HI>Necromancers</HI> in the <HI>Indies,</HI> we'll try whether we can lift our Elbows to our Heads.</P>
<P>In truth, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> thou art a very Glutton, if there be e're a Glutton i' the World, and the mo&s;t ignorant Sot alive, that know&s;t not that &s;ame Me&s;&s;enger to be enchanted and a meer Counterfeit Lacquey&mdash;Go then, and &s;tuff thy ungodly Gut&mdash; For my part I'le ride &s;oftly on before&mdash;<HI>To&s;ilos</HI> &s;mil'd to &s;ee <HI>Don Quixote</HI> leave a good Breakfa&s;t&mdash;and then fetching his Bottle and his Chee&s;e, <HI>Sancho</HI> and he &s;ate down upon the Gra&s;s, from whence they never &s;tirr'd till they had fully decided the Controver&s;ie.</P>
<P>While they were munching, quo <HI>To&s;ilos</HI> to <HI>Sancho,</HI> the Devil take me, <HI>San|cho,</HI> if I know what to make of thy Ma&s;ter&mdash; he has as many Windmills in his
<PB N="589" REF="313"> Pate as would grind Corn for a whole City&mdash; That's no more, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> then I ha' told him a hunder'd times&mdash; but I had as good ha' kept my Breath to cool my Porridge; I might tell him what a Fool he was to leave a good Bottle of Wine and good Chee&s;e&mdash; but what will it &s;ignifie? e&s;pecially at this time that he's all in his Dumps, for having been thra&s;h'd by the Knight of the <HI>White Moon&mdash;To&s;ilos</HI> begg'd of <HI>Sancho</HI> to tell him that Sto|ry&mdash; But <HI>Sancho</HI> reply'd the Story was too long, and therefore de&s;ir'd his ex|cu&s;e till the next time they met; and &s;o &s;aying away he trudg'd after his Ma&s;ter, driving <HI>Grizzle</HI> before him.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="15" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XV.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s re&s;olution to turn Shepherd, all the time of his being confin'd from bearing Arms.</HEAD>
<P><HI>DON Quixote</HI> was laid down at the Root of a Tree in expectation of his Servant <HI>Sancho,</HI> much more di&s;turb'd and di&s;quieted in his Mind &s;ince his la&s;t di&s;a&s;ter, then ever he was before. And in that mu&s;ing Po&s;ture a thou&s;and Fancies and Figaries crowded into his Noddle &s;o thick, as if his Brains had kept open Hou&s;e for all the Maggots in nature.</P>
<P>In this Pen&s;ive Condition <HI>Sancho</HI> finding him, began to commend <HI>To&s;ilos</HI> for his generous Humour, &s;aying that he was one of the hone&s;te&s;t Foot|men that ever he had met with. Ah, <HI>Sancho, Sancho,</HI> cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> wilt thou ever be &s;o Thick-&s;cull'd to believe that Apparition to be a real Footman? Can&s;t thou have forgotten that thou &s;aw'&s;t the lovely <HI>Dulci|nea</HI> transform'd into a Country Fu&s;&s;ock; and the Knight of the <HI>Looking-Gla&s;&s;es</HI> chang'd into the Schollar <HI>Sam&s;on Carra&s;co;</HI> and all this by the Magick of tho&s;e Enchanters that continually plague me? But pri|thee tell me, did&s;t thou not ask <HI>To&s;ilos</HI> who that Maiden Gentlewoman was? Whether &s;he bewails my ab&s;ence, or whether &s;he have bani&s;h'd from her Brea&s;t tho&s;e Amorous Sentiments, that &s;o tormented her when I was there. By my Life, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I had other bu&s;ine&s;s then to enquire after &s;uch Trifles. But what the Devil makes you &s;o inqui&s;itive af|ter other Peoples thoughts, e&s;pecially their Amorous thoughts? Oh, <HI>San|cho,</HI> there is a great difference between tho&s;e Actions that proceed from Love, and tho&s;e that proceed from Acknowledgment; for a <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> may cea&s;e to Love, but he can never forget to be grateful. Cer|tainly the Virgin lov'd me; &s;he Pre&s;ented me, as well thou know&s;t, with two Night-caps; &s;he wept and took on at my departure; curs'd me, re|vil'd me, and was not a&s;ham'd to complain of my Cruelty before all the World: a&s;&s;ured &s;igns, all, that &s;he was de&s;perately in Love; for the di&s;ap|pointments of Lovers generally end in Maledictions. For my part, it was not in my power to give her any hopes; nor had I any Rings or Gold Watches to Pre&s;ent her; for the Trea&s;ures of <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> are like the Portions of Town Cracks that lye i' the Clouds; be&s;ides, that I am entire|ly re&s;erv'd for another: So that I have nothing wherewith to gratifie her Love, but to give her &s;ome few Marks of my acknowledgment, without prejudice however to <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> who I mu&s;t needs &s;ay, is extreamly beholding to thee for &s;paring thy Fle&s;h, and letting her lye in torment, as thou do&s;t. For I mu&s;t tell thee, my dear Friend, thou art &s;o tender of thy Skin, that
<PB N="590" REF="314"> I wi&s;h the Wolves were well at Supper on that filthy Carka&s;s of thine, &s;ince thou pre&s;erv'&s;t it &s;o charily for Worms Meat, rather then to do a deed of Charity to relieve thy poor Mi&s;tre&s;s.</P>
<P>Sir, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> if I mu&s;t needs tell yee the Truth, I don't believe the &s;courging of my Po&s;teriours will &s;ignifie a &s;traw to the di&s;inchanting of any Body. 'Tis no more then if a Man &s;hould bid you noint your Shins becau&s;e your Head akes; and I dare be bold to &s;ay, that in all the Books of <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI> that ever you read, you never heard of any Enchant|ment that was di&s;&s;olv'd by Bum clawing&mdash;However, let it &s;ucceed ill or well, I will for your &s;atisfaction try a &s;troke or two, more or le&s;s, as &s;oon as I can find my &s;elf in the humour. I wi&s;h thou wou'd&s;t, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> and Heaven give thee Grace at length to under&s;tand the duty which thou ow'&s;t to her as my Mi&s;tre&s;s, and to me as thy Ma&s;ter.</P>
<P>By this time they were come to the Place where the Mad Bulls had mortify'd their Carka&s;&s;es; which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;adly remembring, &s;ee yon|der, quo he to <HI>Sancho,</HI> the Meadow where we met the Ladies and their Sparks in Shepherds Weeds, with a de&s;ign to &s;et up a new <HI>Arcadia;</HI> if thou think&s;t well on't, <HI>Sancho,</HI> we'l een go and turn Shepherds too, at lea&s;t for the time that I have promis'd to lay a&s;ide my Arms&mdash;I'le buy thee a Flock, and all thy Accouterments; and &s;o calling my &s;elf the Shepherd <HI>Quihottiz,</HI> and thee the Shepherd <HI>Pancino,</HI> we'l betake our &s;elves to the Woods and Downs, &s;inging, Piping and making complaints of <HI>Phillis</HI> and <HI>Amarillis;</HI> &s;ometimes we'l drink the Liquid Chry&s;tal of the Fountains; &s;ometimes from the main River, as Fortune &s;ends it us. The Green Che&s;t|nut Trees and Oaks will afford us both Lodging and Dyet; the Ro&s;es will pre&s;ent us their Perfumes, the Meadows variety of No&s;egaies; the Sun the Moon and Stars will chear us with their Light; light Hearts will make us merry, Mirth will make us &s;ing; <HI>Apollo</HI> will find us Ver&s;es, and Love Con|ceits: And thus we &s;hall become famous, not only while we live, but even to Po&s;terity.</P>
<P>By my Life, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I'me Enchanted with this manner of Liv|ing, provided the Schollar <HI>Carra&s;co</HI> would leave his Books, and Mr. <HI>Nicho|las</HI> the Barber his Wa&s;hing-balls, and go along with us; nay, I could wi&s;h that Mr. <HI>Curate</HI> too would approve the Frolick, and lay him&s;elf a white|ning i' the Fields for good Company; for he's full of his Jokes, and would make us &s;port.</P>
<P>Very well thought on, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and then &s;hall the Schollar be call'd the Shepherd <HI>Sam&s;onino,</HI> and Mr. <HI>Nicholas Nicholo&s;o,</HI> in imitation of the Ancient <HI>Nemoro&s;o.</HI> For the Curate, I know not what name to give him, unle&s;s we &s;hould call him the Shepherd <HI>Curiambro.</HI> As for the Shep|herde&s;&s;es that are to be our Mi&s;tre&s;&s;es, I am fitted already with a Name for mine, in regard that <HI>Dulcinea</HI> is a Name as proper for a Shepherde&s;s as a Prince&s;s. And as for thine <HI>Sancho,</HI> thou mai&s;t call her as thou plea&s;e&s;t thy &s;elf. I think to make very little alteration, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I &s;hall only call her <HI>Tere&s;ona,</HI> a Name that very well agrees with the plumpne&s;s of her &s;hape, and her own proper Name; be&s;ides that when I come to name her in my Ver&s;es, all the World will know her to be my Wife, and &s;o to be one that grinded at no Mill but my own. As for the Curate, he mu&s;t be contented without a Shepherde&s;s, for good examples &s;ake&mdash;and for the Schollar, let him conjure for one with his Heathen Greek, if he means to have one.&mdash;</P>
<P>Ble&s;s me, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> what a Life &s;hall we lead! what a Rattle &s;hall we make i' the Air with our oaten Reeds, our Bagpipes, our Tabours and
<PB N="591" REF="314"> Drums; our Morice Bells and Snappers! and if we could but get your Lan|ca&s;hire Whi&s;tles, or your <HI>Doodle-doodle-Hum's</HI>&mdash;we &s;hould be made for ever&mdash;Your <HI>Doodle-doodle-Hum's</HI>&mdash;! quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> what are tho&s;e? I never heard of &s;uch an In&s;trument i' my Life&mdash;Oh! quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> 'tis the rare&s;t Mu&s;ick i' the World&mdash;'twill make a Mans Guts dance in his Belly&mdash;make a Dog &s;ing like a Wild <HI>Iri&s;h</HI> Man, and a Cat &s;peak <HI>Arabick</HI>&mdash; There is one thing more requir'd to add to the perfection of our Profe&s;&s;ion, and that's Poetry. As for my own part I &s;hall &s;hift well enough for my &s;elf: but then there's the Schollar <HI>Carra&s;co</HI> one of the quicke&s;t Rhimers about Town, he &s;hall make Sonnets for him&s;elf and thee too&mdash; I &s;ay nothing of the Curate, but I dare &s;wear he knows more then he &s;ays&mdash;and &s;o does Mr. <HI>Nicholas</HI> too; for your Barbers are always tickling the Guittar, or if he wants let him get him a Mu&s;ick Book, and he &s;hall find Ver&s;es enow to <HI>Phillis</HI> and <HI>Amarillis</HI> or <HI>Lucinda,</HI> or one or another, that will &s;erve his turn. For my part I'le complain of Ab&s;ence; thou &s;halt boa&s;t of thy Loyalty and Per&s;everance; <HI>Carra&s;co</HI> &s;hall complain of his Shepherde&s;&s;es di&s;dain, and let the Shepherd <HI>Curiambro</HI> complain of the Sextons Wife, and thus we'l be as merry as Mice in a Corn heap.</P>
<P>Ala&s;s, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I am &s;uch an unfortunate Man, that I &s;hall never live to &s;ee the&s;e jolly Days&mdash;How I &s;hall lick up the Curds and Cream!&mdash; How I &s;hall &s;lice the thin Chee&s;e!&mdash;I'le nere be without a Wooden Spoon i' my Pocket I'le warrant yee&mdash;I can make Woodden Spoons like any Turner&mdash;Garlands for my &s;elf and my Shepherde&s;s like any Milk Maid&mdash;and whittle Sticks like any blind Beggar upon the Road&mdash; For tho I can't pretend to Wi&s;dom, I can do anything that belongs to a Shep|herd&mdash; <HI>Sancha,</HI> little <HI>Sancha</HI> too &s;hall bring us our Dinners a-Field&mdash; But hold&mdash;now I think on't &s;he's no contemptible Girl, and knowing as I do, that Shepherds are as wanton as other People, I would not have her come for Wooll and return home &s;horn&mdash; For Love and Love-Tricks will be &s;hewing their Gambols as well i' the Fields as in Cities; as well in Cot|tages, as your Princely Palaces&mdash;<HI>Take away the Cau&s;e and remove the Ef|fect&mdash;What the Eye &s;ees not, the Heart never rues&mdash;Young Wen|ches make old Wrenches&mdash;And it is time to yoke when the Cart comes to the Caples</HI>&mdash;Enough, enough, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I under&s;tand thy meaning&mdash; I ha' told thee a hunder'd times of this Proverb Prodigality, but I preach in a De&s;ert; <HI>My Mother whips me, and I whip the Top</HI>&mdash;By my Faith, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> you put me in mind of another Proverb, as pat as a Pudding to a Fryers Mouth&mdash;<HI>The Porridge-Pot calls the Kettle Black-ar&s;e</HI>&mdash; you reprove me for talking Proverbs, and bring 'em out your &s;elf by do|zens at a time&mdash;But you don't con&s;ider, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that tho&s;e I &s;peak are to the Purpo&s;e&mdash;but thou fetche&s;t 'em in by Head and Shoulders without Rhime or Rea&s;on.</P>
<P>By this it grew late; &s;o that they were forc'd to &s;eek for &s;helter in the next Wood, where after they had made a Lent-Supper, <HI>Sancho</HI> betook him|&s;elf to his u&s;ual Re&s;t, while his Ma&s;ter renewing his Complaints again&s;t Fortune, found bu&s;ine&s;s enough, after a &s;mall Nap, to employ his Roaving Imaginations till Morning.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="16" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="592" REF="315">
<HEAD>CHAP. XVI.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing the Adventure of the Bri&s;tles.</HEAD>
<P>THE Night was &s;omewhat dark, tho the Moon &s;hon; for many times the Lady <HI>Diana</HI> takes a walk to the <HI>Antipodes,</HI> leaving the Moun|tains and Valleys a this &s;ide the World without Light. And let her walk where &s;he pleas'd for <HI>Sancho,</HI> for he had no need of her Company; he lay like a Stone from his down lying till his up ri&s;ing; a &s;ign of a &s;ound Con|&s;titution, and that he had no Plots in his Head. But <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s cares &s;oon wak'd him; and then for want of other Company, after he had thump'd and tugg'd <HI>Sancho</HI> till he had wak'd him too; Sure, <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;aid he, thou art made either of Bra&s;s or Marble; thou ly'&s;t without either Motion or Feeling&mdash; Thou &s;leep'&s;t while I wake&mdash;thou &s;ing'&s;t while I Mourn&mdash; I am feeble and ca&s;t down for want of nece&s;&s;ary Nouri&s;hment&mdash; thou feed'&s;t and guttl'&s;t till thy Vittles are ready to choak thee without a Halter; whereas 'tis the Duty of an affectionate Servant to &s;hare in his Ma&s;ters Af|flictions, to lay his Sorrows to Heart, and to endeavour the Con&s;olation of his Grief. Behold the brightne&s;s of the Moon; con&s;ider the &s;tillne&s;s of the Night, and the Serenity of the Sea&s;on, all Invitations to enjoy the Beauty and Plea&s;ure of the&s;e charming Solitudes. Up then Lazy-bones, get up, and in pity to <HI>Dulcinea</HI> and my &s;elf, go and give thy &s;elf Four or Five hun|der'd Sla&s;hes in di&s;charge of thy &s;olemn Obligations; and do it willingly and chearfully I entreat thee&mdash;for I am unwilling to lay violent hands upon thee, which otherwi&s;e I mu&s;t be forc'd to do. And when thou ha&s;t done, we'l &s;pend the re&s;t o' the night in &s;inging, the one of the Torments which he &s;uffers, and the other of his Fidelity, and &s;o we'l begin our Pa&s;toral manner of Living this very Night.</P>
<P>Oh, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I am no <HI>Franci&s;can,</HI> to ri&s;e i' the middle of the Night and di&s;cipline my &s;elf; nor do I believe I &s;hall have any mind to be Mu&s;ical after &s;uch a &s;courging bout. Therefore pray let me alone and don't pre&s;s me &s;o to the Whipping-Po&s;t, lea&s;t I make an Oath never to touch &s;o much as the out &s;ide of my Doublet as long as I live. Oh! Heart of Mar|ble, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> Ingrateful Squire! Oh Friend&s;hip and favour ill be&s;tow'd: Is this my Reward for having made thee a Governour, and my good Intentions to make thee a Count or &s;omething el&s;e Equivalent; which I dare engage to do &s;o &s;oon as <HI>Dulcinea</HI> and my &s;elf are once again at Liber|ty. For in &s;hort, <HI>Po&s;t Tenebras &s;pero Lucem.</HI></P>
<P>I don't know what yee mean by that, reply'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> all that I know is only this, that when I &s;leep, I neither hope nor fear; I neither think of reward or puni&s;hment&mdash; Ble&s;&s;ed was the Man that fir&s;t invented &s;leep; the Mantle that covers all the Cares of Men; the Food that &s;atisfies their Hunger; the Drink that quenches their Thir&s;t; the Fire that warms 'em when a cold; the cool Air that refre&s;hes their heat; the currant coin that purcha&s;es all the Plea&s;ures of the World, and equals the Swain with the Prince, and the Unlearned with the Learned. There is only one thing that I mi&s;like in &s;leep, that it is &s;o like death; and yet I'me &s;ure there is a diffe|rence between 'em for all that, for the one &s;noars, and the other has not that Priviledge.</P>
<P>Never i' my Life, <HI>Sancho,</HI> cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> did I ever hear thee talk with &s;o much Wit and &s;o much Eloquence as now. But what &s;ays the
<PB N="593" REF="315"> Proverb? <HI>Tell me thy Ma&s;ter, and I'le tell thee where thou had&s;t thy Learning</HI>&mdash; Have I caught yee napping y' faith, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> who &s;quitters Proverbs now?&mdash; but yours are in Sea&s;on, for&s;ooth&mdash; Marry 'tis a good thing to be a Ma&s;ter&mdash;would I were a Ma&s;ter too for me&mdash;and then I'de domineer as well as the be&s;t <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> of yee all.</P>
<P><HI>Sancho</HI> had no &s;ooner made an end of his Sentence, but they heard a kind of a Grumbling noi&s;e, that &s;pread it &s;elf over the whole Valley. Pre&s;ently <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;tarted up briskly upon his Feet, and laid his Hand upon his Sword, while <HI>Sancho</HI> entrench'd him&s;elf with his Ma&s;ters Arms on the one &s;ide, and his Pack&s;addle on the other, under <HI>Grizzles</HI> Belly; where he lay tumbling and panting like a Mou&s;e in a Cats Claws. And every Mo|ment the noi&s;e encreas'd, to the dreadful terrour of the one at lea&s;t; for, as for the t'other, you know already what his Valour was.</P>
<P>Now you mu&s;t under&s;tand, for 'tis worth your under&s;tanding, that this terrible Noi&s;e was occa&s;ion'd by a va&s;t Herd of Swine, to the Number of about Six hunder'd, which &s;everal Hog Merchants were driving to Market. The&s;e Sheep of the Devil, what with their Grunting, and what with their Squeaking, made &s;uch prodigious Outcries, that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;tood amaz'd, not being able to divine what Region of Hell was broke loo&s;e upon 'em. But at length the Knight and the Squire &s;tanding full i' their way, tho&s;e rude, ru&s;tical, boari&s;h, &s;wini&s;h Animals, never &s;o much as crying bear leave (as they would, had they been but Civil Sedan-men) without the lea&s;t re&s;pect or veneration to <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> &s;ome running between <HI>Sancho</HI>'s, &s;ome between <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Legs, levell'd both Ma&s;ter and Man with the Earth, while the Re&s;t following their unruly leaders, like an Inundation of Hogs, made &s;till forward, overturning <HI>Grizzle,</HI> Pack-&s;addle, Armour and all; crowding, treading, trampling over <HI>Proverbs</HI> and <HI>Moral-Knighthood</HI> at &s;uch a Hoggi&s;h Rate, that &s;ometimes they fell down and bru&s;h'd the Cham|pions Chaps with their unea&s;ie Bri&s;tles, and &s;ometimes others would be &s;o kind as to give 'em a Bu&s;s at parting, thinking they had met with &s;ome old Bunch of Turneps, and with their <HI>Aegyptian</HI> No&s;e-rings lend 'em &s;uch a Rake o' the Cheeks, that the Philo&s;ophers had almo&s;t lo&s;t all their Pati|ence, e&s;pecially <HI>Sancho,</HI> that was not &s;o well grounded in human Literature. Who at length getting upon his Legs, when the unmannerly <HI>Hogs-Norton</HI> Herd was pa&s;s'd, and de&s;iring his Ma&s;ter to lend him his Sword, Nowns, quo he, I'le teach the&s;e Mon&s;ieur Hogs better manners then to u&s;e <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI> &s;o uncivilly.</P>
<P>Let 'em een go, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> 'tis no more then what I de&s;erve; 'tis but meer Ju&s;tice, that a vanqui&s;h'd <HI>Knight Errant</HI> &s;hould be Food for Flies, and trampled upon by Swine. I ha' nothing to &s;ay to that, quo <HI>San|cho,</HI> but I'me &s;ure 'tis not ju&s;t that the Squires to Cudgell'd <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> &s;hould be &s;tarv'd to death, and eaten up by Wa&s;ps and Hornets. Were we Squires the Sons or neer Relations of tho&s;e Ra&s;cally beaten <HI>Knight-Er|rants,</HI> we might indeed expect to be puni&s;h'd to the Fourth Generation; but what a Kin are the <HI>Pancha</HI>'s to the <HI>Quixot</HI>'s? However let's not fling the Helve after the Hatchet; &s;ince we can't eat, let's go &s;leep out the re&s;t of the Night, 'twill be day to morrow, and then we &s;hall &s;ee what we have to do.</P>
<P>Sleep, <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;leep, for thou wer't born to &s;leep, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> But I was born to lye with my Eyes open; I'le een go ruminate upon my Misfortunes; and endeavour to appea&s;e my Griefs by &s;inging certain Ver|&s;es which I made la&s;t Night. In my Opinion, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;uch Misfortunes as will give a Man leave to make Ver&s;es cannot be very great. But you
<PB N="594" REF="316"> may go &s;ing and dance too, if you plea&s;e, for my part I'le go &s;leep as long as I can, and for your part, never fear my di&s;turbing your Mu&s;ick: And &s;o &s;aying, he clapt his Breech to the Calves of his Legs, as Maids do at Church, and fell into a profound Trance, without either fears or hopes or cares to di&s;quiet his Re&s;t. On the other &s;ide <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> leaning his Shoulders again&s;t &s;ome Tree or other (for <HI>Cid Hamet</HI> does not mention what Tree it was) and intermixing his Voice with his Sighs, bequeath'd in Melody the following Fancy to the Neighbouring Woods; being a Compo&s;ition, as we told yee before of his own, and therefore you may be &s;ure none of the Be&s;t.</P>
<Q><LG>
<L>OH Love, &s;o unkind, when I think upon Thee,</L>
<L>I find that thou never do&s;t think upon Mee;</L>
<L>For the Sorrow and Smart</L>
<L>That torture my Heart,</L>
<L>Each Moment Afflict me mo&s;t terriblee.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Yet neither can I complain of the Colick,</L>
<L>The Cramp, the Gout, or the Stone, which is wor&s;e;</L>
<L>As &s;ound as a Roach in Body, and Frolick;</L>
<L>But as &s;ick, but as &s;ick&mdash; i' my Mind as a Hor&s;e.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>This &s;ickne&s;s of mine my Body di&s;orders,</L>
<L>With Angui&s;h and Torment, and &s;uch Fiddle Faddles;</L>
<L>Then call I to mind a Thou&s;and Self-murders</L>
<L>Of People by Love di&s;turb'd i' their Noddles.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>To drown my &s;elf then to the Water I go,</L>
<L>But when I come there, the Water di&s;mays me;</L>
<L>Then a Dagger I take, but my Fancy crys, no;</L>
<L>Then a Halter I take, but the Beam does not plea&s;e me.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>At length I conceit that my Mi&s;tre&s;s grows kind,</L>
<L>And charm'd with the Kindne&s;s of her I adore,</L>
<L>I pre&s;ently alter my wavering Mind,</L>
<L>And covet the Life which I hated before.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>But oh! but oh! the Fit's return'd again,</L>
<L>She's ab&s;ent&mdash;or what mo&s;t I fear, untrue;</L>
<L>Then tortur'd with de&s;pair, I live in Pain,</L>
<L>And then again,</L>
<L>'Tis welcom Death to rid me of my Woe.</L>
</LG></Q>
<P>The Poor Knight at the end of every Stanza wept and &s;igh'd at &s;uch a rate, that you might well perceive he neither wept nor &s;ang for joy, but as one that deeply laid to heart his being thra&s;h'd, and the ab&s;ence of <HI>Dulcinea.</HI></P>
<P>By this time 'twas broad day, &s;o that the Sun &s;hining full in <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Face, he began to &s;tretch him&s;elf; and at length opening his Eyes for good and all, and beholding how the Swine had made a meer Hog-&s;tie of his Bed-Chamber, he open'd his Lips, and in lieu of his Morning Prayers, &s;ent a whole Legion of Cur&s;es after the Hogs, wi&s;hing both them and their Dri|vers boyling together i' the Devils Kitchen.</P>
<PB N="595" REF="316">
<P>At la&s;t they mounted their Dromedaries, and after continu'd their Journey till toward Evening; at what time they &s;aw coming toward 'em about Eight or Ten Men a Hor&s;e-back, and Five afoot. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was not a little troubl'd to &s;ee &s;o many People, and <HI>Sancho</HI> was terribly frighted, perceiving they were all arm'd, and lookt like Men that us'd to borrow up|on the Road and never pay agen. Ah, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> what pi|ty 'tis that I am now debarr'd the u&s;e of my Arms; this &s;ame Squadron el&s;e &s;hould never pa&s;s me unexamin'd: I would know who they were, and whether they were going, tho they were &s;ent from the Devil him&s;elf; and make no more of 'em, thou &s;hould'&s;t &s;ee, then of &s;o many painted Figures i' the Hangings.</P>
<P>But the words were no &s;ooner out of <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Mouth, when the Hor&s;e-men coming up, and &s;urrounding the Knight, &s;ome clapt their Pi|&s;tols to his Brea&s;t, others to his Guts, and &s;ome to his Kidneys, threatning no le&s;s then di&s;mal Man&s;laughter. At what time one of the Footmen, laying his Finger upon his Mouth, as much as to &s;ay <HI>Mum,</HI> took <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> by the Bridle, and led him out of the Road, while the re&s;t encircling <HI>Sancho,</HI> drave him after his Ma&s;ter. The poor Knight was once or twice thinking to have ask'd 'em what they intended to do with him, and whether they meant to carry him? But &s;till as he was going to open his Lips, his cruel Guardians threatn'd to murder him if he &s;poke a word. Neither could <HI>San|cho</HI> &s;cape &s;o; for if he did but make the lea&s;t Motion with his Eyes they prickt him with their Swords, and poor <HI>Grizzle</HI> too, as if the A&s;s had had the u&s;e of his Tongue. When it grew dark, they doubl'd their pace, and new fears di&s;mai'd the Adventurers, when they heard 'em cry, <HI>On Troglo|dytes, Silence Barbarians, Peace Cannibals, Shut your Eyes Scythians, Mur|drous Polyphemes,</HI> devouring <HI>Lyons, Wolves</HI> and <HI>Tygers,</HI> with a great many other hard Names, with which they deaffen'd their Captives Ears. Ah&mdash; quo <HI>Sancho</HI> to him&s;elf, as he afterwards confe&s;s'd. Fore-George 'tis an ill Wind that blows; all this Heathen Greek progno&s;ticates no good; all our Mi&s;chiefs come together, like blows upon a Dogs back; however I wi&s;h this Adventure might end in a few dry Rubs, but I dread a wor&s;e Conclu&s;i|on. As for <HI>Don Quixote</HI> he re&s;ign'd him&s;elf over to utter de&s;truction, not being able to imagin the Rea&s;on either of their &s;evere U&s;age, or bad Language. But at length after they had rode about an Hour all in the dark, and expecting every Minute &s;ome Bloody Sentenee or other, they could perceive them&s;elves at the Gates of a Ca&s;tle, which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> knew again to be the Dukes, where he had been &s;o kindly entertain'd not long before. But then not able to forbear, Heaven's ble&s;s me, &s;aid he, What place is this? Is not this the Dukes Ca&s;tle, the Man&s;ion of Curte&s;ie and Civility? But when Men are once unfortunate and vanqui&s;h'd, the World delights in adding to their Mi&s;eries. Not a word of An&s;wer was return'd; only the two Pri&s;oners were carry'd into the Chief Court of the Ca&s;tle, where every thing they &s;aw augmented their fears, as we &s;hall find in the following Chapter.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="17" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="596" REF="317">
<HEAD>CHAP. XVII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Containing the &s;trange&s;t Adventure that ever <HI>Don Quixote</HI> met with, and the mo&s;t &s;urprizing in all this Large Hi&s;tory.</HEAD>
<P>IN that &s;ame Court the Hor&s;emen alighted, and together with the Foot|men, pulling <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho</HI> rudely from their Hor&s;es, &s;et 'em down in the Court, which was all hung about with lighted Torches, as were all the Galleries, which gave as great a light as if it had been Noon day. In the middle of the Court was a Tomb, between &s;even or eight Foot high, cover'd with a large Pall of Black Velvet; round about which there blaz'd a hunder'd Tapers of Virgins Wax, in Silver Candle-Sticks. And upon the Tomb it &s;elf lay the Body of a young Dam&s;el de|ceas'd, in who&s;e Countenance, however, &s;uch remainders of Beauty ap|pear'd, as bani&s;h'd thence all Terrour of Mortality. A Cloth of Gold Pil|low &s;upported her Head, which was crown'd with a Garland of &s;everal Flowers, and in each of her Hands, that were laid a cro&s;s upon her Brea&s;t, &s;he held a Palmtree-Branch. At one of the corners of the Court there was a Theatre erected, where &s;ate two Per&s;ons with Crowns upon their Heads, and Scepters in their Hands, repre&s;enting <HI>Minos</HI> and <HI>Rhadamanthus;</HI> and thither it was that the Per&s;ons who had &s;o rudely &s;eiz'd 'em, led <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho,</HI> cau&s;ing them to &s;it down upon Seats a' one &s;ide of the Theatre, and &s;till enjoyning 'em &s;ilence with angry looks, and Countenances full of Terrour. But there was no need of Threats; th' Adventurers were &s;o amaz'd, that even Fear it &s;elf had ty'd their Tongues.</P>
<P>At the &s;ame time two Per&s;ons of Quality a&s;cended the Stage, to whom <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho</HI> paid mo&s;t profound Reverences, believing them to be the Duke and Dutche&s;s, to whom they had been &s;o highly beholding for their former Civility. Both the one and the other return'd 'em a gentle Nod, and took their Places in mo&s;t magnificent Boxes, next the Crowned Heads.</P>
<P>The Champion beheld 'em with A&s;toni&s;hment, and knew not what to think, perceiving the Dead Corps at the &s;ame time to be the Body of the Fair Madam <HI>Tomboy.</HI></P>
<P>Pre&s;ently they threw about <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Shoulders a Robe of black Buckram embroider'd with Flames of Fire, and a Fools Cap upon his Head; at what time the Per&s;on that dre&s;s'd him, whi&s;per'd him i' the Ear, that if he did but offer to open his Lips, they would either gag him or &s;lit his Weazand. <HI>Sancho</HI> view'd him&s;elf from Top to Toe, and &s;aw him&s;elf all over nothing but Fire and Flames, but in regard he did not feel him&s;elf burn he was well enough content. Then taking off his Bonnet, and finding that it was all over in Flames like his Mantle, he put it on again, &s;aying to him&s;elf, that cer|tainly there mu&s;t be &s;ome Conjuration i' the Ca&s;e, that neither the Flames burnt him, nor the Devils offer'd to carry him quite away. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> al&s;o &s;teadfa&s;tly &s;urvey'd his Squire, and in the mid&s;t of all his Fears could not forbear &s;miling to &s;ee his Man &s;o &s;trangely bedizond'd. Thus while all the Court was in a deep &s;ilence, and every body expected the Event, a Con|&s;ort of Flutes playd &s;everal &s;oft and amourous Airs under the Tomb for &s;ome time, which plea&s;ing Harmony cea&s;ing, there appear'd at the Head of the Mo|nument, a young Man extreamly Beautiful, and clad in Antique <HI>Roman</HI> Habit, who &s;ang to the Harp, on which he playd him&s;elf, the following Ver&s;es.</P>
<Q><PB N="597" REF="317">
<L>VVIthin this Coffin lyes enclos'd</L>
<L>A Lady of her Life deflour'd</L>
<L>Ere Sixteen Years her Beauties had expos'd:</L>
<L>Yet ripe at Sixteen, and &s;o fair,</L>
<L>So mettle&s;ome and Debonair,</L>
<L>That &s;he incurr'd &s;ome little Cen&s;ures</L>
<L>From tho&s;e that thought her prone to Love Adventures.</L>
<L>A fault indeed to be &s;o fond of Man,</L>
<L>Which prov'd her &s;o untimely Bane.</L>
<L>Thus early Ripe and early Rotten;</L>
<L>Howere &s;he mu&s;t not be forgottten:</L>
<L>Her Aims, we know, were High, and &s;he be&s;tow'd</L>
<L>Her early Favours on a Toad</L>
<L>Of a Knight-Errant, high in Fame,</L>
<L>But his Profe&s;&s;ions and his Orders Shame;</L>
<L>Who had he had a Grain of Honour;</L>
<L>For want of &s;tepping to a Church,</L>
<L>Would nere ha' left a Lady i' the Lurch.</L>
<L>But I will &s;ing her prai&s;es &s;till,</L>
<L>To every Grove and every Hill,</L>
<L>And Monuments of Ver&s;e will rear</L>
<L>To her True Love in Regions far and near.</L>
<L>Nay, when by Death &s;natcht hence, my doleful Ditty</L>
<L>To Shades Infernal, void of day,</L>
<L>Her Wrongs and Sufferings &s;hall conveigh,</L>
<L>And move th' Inexorable God to Pity.</L></Q>
<P>'Tis enough, cry'd one of the two Kings, no more, Cele&s;tial Song&s;ter; thy Task would be an endle&s;s Labour to repeat the Perfections of the Peerle&s;s Madam <HI>Tomboy,</HI> who is not dead as the Ignorant Vulgar thinks, but &s;till Survives in the Mouth of Fame, and once more &s;hall revive to live with us, &s;o &s;oon as <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;hall have re&s;tor'd her to the World, by the Puni&s;hment which he is to &s;uffer for her &s;ake. And therefore <HI>Rhadamanthus,</HI> thou that &s;it'&s;t equal in Commi&s;&s;ion with me, Infernal Judge of Hell, declare what Fate by th' Inalterable Decrees of De&s;tiny has ordain'd in order to the re&s;tor|ing this &s;ame Amiable Per&s;on to Life agen, that we may di&s;patch the Exe|cution of it, and no longer delay the promis'd Felicity of her Return, to Comfort the abandon'd World.</P>
<P>Then <HI>Minos</HI> &s;tarting up; Servants of this Hou&s;e, cry'd he, Great and &s;mall, Strong and Feeble, Men and Women, Boys and Girls, come hither one after another, and &s;addle <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Countenance with Twenty four &s;lap's o' the Face, give him Twelve pinches upon the Shoulders, and run Twelve Pins a piece into the Small of his Back; for by this means &s;hall the Fair and Beautiful Madam <HI>Tomboy</HI> be again re&s;tor'd to Life.</P>
<P>By the Life of <HI>Pharoh,</HI> cry'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> not able to hold any longer; I'le as &s;oon turn Infidel as endure all this&mdash; Death of my Life, what has my Skin to do with Madam <HI>Tomboys</HI> Re&s;urrection! <HI>Dulcinea</HI> is Enchanted, and I for|&s;ooth mu&s;t tickle my <HI>Toby</HI> to Di&s;inchant her&mdash;and here's a young Dam|&s;el dead, of a Surfeit of green Genitings for ought I know, and I mu&s;t fill my Skin full of Oylet-holes to rai&s;e her again! No by my Faith, there's no &s;uch need&mdash;een find out &s;ome other Cully&mdash;The&s;e Jokes won't pa&s;s upon me&mdash; An old Dog will learn no Tricks. <HI>Tiger,</HI> then cry'd <HI>Rhada|manthus,</HI> with a loud Voice, allay thy Cruelty, humble thy &s;elf proud,
<PB N="598" REF="318"> <HI>Nimrod,</HI> be &s;ilent and &s;uffer, or el&s;e prepare thy &s;elf to dye: Impo&s;&s;ibilities are not requir'd from thee; only Four and twenty Whirrets, Twelve Pin|ches, and as many Pricks with a &s;mall Pin&mdash; a great piece of bu&s;ine&s;s in|deed. Fall on then Servants of the Hou&s;e, and obey my Commands, or by the Death of <HI>Cerberus</HI> I'le make yee know your Driver. At the &s;ame time there appear'd Six <HI>Governantes</HI> in the Court, marching in Proce&s;&s;ion one after another, Four of which wore Spectacles, but every one holding out their Arms to make their Hands &s;hew the longer. <HI>Sancho</HI> no &s;ooner per|ceiv'd 'em, but he began to roar out like a Bull. Do with me what yee plea&s;e&mdash; let all the Town lay violent hands upon me&mdash; only I be&s;eech yee take off your <HI>Governantes.</HI> Let 'em tear my Cheeks, as the Cats did my Ma&s;ters&mdash; let 'em pinch me by the No&s;e with red hot Tongs, as St. <HI>Dun&s;tan</HI> did the Devil, I'le &s;uffer all patiently&mdash;but before I le endure the&s;e <HI>Governantes</HI> to touch me, I'le re&s;ign my &s;elf up to the Devils Mer|cy&mdash; Patience a little, good <HI>Sancho,</HI> cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> &s;atisfie the&s;e Gen|tlemen for once: and give thanks to Heaven, that has be&s;tow'd upon thee &s;o great a Gift, as to rai&s;e the Dead, and di&s;inchant the Inchanted. There|upon &s;ubmitting to his Ma&s;ters Admonitions, or rather to Nece&s;&s;ity upon the approach of the <HI>Governantes,</HI> he &s;ettl'd him&s;elf in his Seat, and offer'd his Cheek to the fir&s;t, who after &s;he had given a good &s;mart Whirret, made him a Curtchie and went off. Oh, good Madam, cry'd <HI>Sancho,</HI> no more o' your Civility, and le&s;s o' your Ointment, for by Cuds Niggers I believe your Hands ha' been &s;oak'd in Vinegar. In &s;hort, all the <HI>Governantes</HI> one after another paid him in the &s;ame Coin; and then the re&s;t of the Servants of the Hou&s;e came and pinch'd him decently in their Order. But that which put him be&s;ides all his Patience was their Pricking him with the Pins; &s;o that upon the fir&s;t that he felt, &s;tarting from his Seat, he &s;natcht up one of the Flambeaux, and lai'd at the <HI>Governantes</HI> and the Re&s;t of his Executioners like a Man truly in Wrath; crying out at the &s;ame time, Hence Imps of Satan, d' yee think I have a Body of Bra&s;s, or intend to be the Devils Martyr. At which words, Madam <HI>Tomboy,</HI> who was weary of lying all that while in the &s;ame Po&s;ture, turn'd a t'other &s;ide. Which the Company perceiving, cry'd out, <HI>Madam Tomboy Lives, Madam Tomboy Lives.</HI> And then <HI>Rhadamanthus</HI> addre&s;&s;ing him&s;elf to <HI>Sancho,</HI> de&s;ir'd him to be pacifi'd, &s;ince he had wrought the Miracle. On the other &s;ide <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;eeing Madam <HI>Tomboy</HI> &s;tir, went and threw him&s;elf at <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Knees, and embracing him with a mo&s;t tender Affection; Ah, my dear Child, &s;aid he, what a happy Moment is this!&mdash;if thou would'&s;t but now give thy &s;elf &s;ome few Scores of tho&s;e La&s;hes thou ow'&s;t thy Mi&s;tre&s;s; now's the time that thy Vertue is in the hight of its operation, and there|fore don't lo&s;e this kind Opportunity, I be&s;eech thee, for the ea&s;e of thy poor Lady and my &s;atisfaction.</P>
<P>Don't you know, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> that Mettal upon Mettal's fal&s;e Heraldry? Is't not enough for me to have been whirreted, pinch'd and &s;cratch'd, but I mu&s;t whip my &s;elf too? No, no, I have &s;omething el&s;e to do then to tye a Mill-&s;tone about my Neck and throw my &s;elf into a Well&mdash;and the Devil take me if I think any more of your Mi&s;tre&s;s, if I mu&s;t be the common Hack|ney to carry other Peoples Burthens. You might be a&s;ham'd indeed to make &s;uch a Motion as this to me, in the Condition&punc; I am in; enough to make me for&s;wear either di&s;inchanting, or rai&s;ing any body agen from the dead as long as I live, tho it would not co&s;t me a Hair o' my Beard. Up|on my Soul, what a Gift have I brought from my Mothers Womb, to cure others, and be Sick my &s;elf! I would fain &s;ee all the Doctors i' the Kingdom do as much as I ha' done.&mdash;</P>
<PB N="599" REF="318">
<P>By this time Madam <HI>Tomboy</HI> was come to her &s;elf; and at the &s;ame time that &s;he &s;ate upright upon the Hear&s;e, the Hautboys and Cornets fill'd all the Court with their loud Mu&s;ick, while the People cry'd out, Madam <HI>Tomboy</HI> Lives, Madam <HI>Tomboy</HI> Lives. Thereupon the Duke, the Dutche&s;s, <HI>Minos</HI> and <HI>Rhadamanthus</HI> handed her down from the Hear&s;e, to whom &s;he made a profound Reverence; and at the &s;ame time looking a skew upon <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> Heaven pardon thee, quo &s;he, Ingrateful Knight, I have been a thou&s;and Years i' the other World for thy Cruelty; then turning to <HI>San|cho,</HI> To thee, to thee, the mo&s;t Compa&s;&s;ionate Squire in the Univer&s;e, it is, that I am beholding for the Life which I enjoy; receive as a Reward the&s;e half a dozen Smocks of mine to make thee &s;ix Shirts; for tho they are not all &s;pick and &s;pan new, or rather &s;omewhat of the thinne&s;t before, yet they are all clean and &s;weet. <HI>Sancho</HI> ki&s;s'd her Hands, with his Cap in his Hand, and his Knees down to the Ground. He al&s;o begg'd of the Duke at the &s;ame time that he might have his Flaming Robe and his Bonnet, to carry home for a Memorial of the Miracle he had wrought. Keep it <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;aid the Dutche&s;s, you know I am one of your be&s;t Friends and can deny yee nothing. Which done, the Company was di&s;mi&s;s'd, and <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho</HI> conducted to their Chambers.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="18" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XVIII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Which follows the Seventeenth; and treats of &s;everal things nece&s;&s;ary for the Illu&s;tration of this Hi&s;tory.</HEAD>
<P><HI>SAncho</HI> lay that Night in a Bed which was &s;et up in the &s;ame Chamber where <HI>Don Quixote</HI> lay; which no way pleas'd him, for that he was quite weary'd with his pa&s;t Adventure, and was no le&s;s afraid le&s;t he &s;hould be much more tyr'd, and kept from his Re&s;t by the Impertinent Que|&s;tions and An&s;wers between his Ma&s;ter and him&s;elf, &s;o that he would ha' gi|ven his &s;ix Smocks to ha' lain in the Stable, rather then in his Ma&s;ters &s;tate|ly Room. Nor indeed were his Fears without ground; for <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was no &s;ooner laid in his Bed, but his fir&s;t word was, what do&s;t think <HI>Sancho</HI> of la&s;t Nights Adventure? Thou &s;aw'&s;t with thy own Eyes Madam <HI>Tomboy</HI> in her Tomb; nor was it any Dart, or Sword, or Poy&s;on that kill'd her, but on|ly my di&s;dain of her Affection. Pox take her, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;he might ha' dy'd how &s;he wou'd and when &s;he wou'd, &s;o &s;he had but let me alone; for I ne|ver gave her any occa&s;ion to love me, neither did I ever di&s;dain her love i' my Life. For my part, as I &s;aid before, I wonder how <HI>Sancho Pancha</HI> &s;hould come to be oblig'd to &s;uffer Martyrdom for &s;uch a hoidenly Ramp&s;cuttle as Madam <HI>Tomboy,</HI> a meer Rig that I never lik'd i' my Life? But I be&s;eech yee, Sir, let me go to &s;leep, or otherwi&s;e I mu&s;t be forc'd to throw my &s;elf out at the Win|dow. Take thy Liberty, <HI>Sancho,</HI> then cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and kind Hea|ven grant thee a better Nights, then thou ha&s;t had an Evenings Re&s;t. Thereupon they both betook them&s;elves to their Repo&s;e; and here it is that <HI>Cid Hamet</HI> takes the Opportunity to tell yee what oblig'd the Duke to con|trive the Adventure la&s;t related.</P>
<P>He &s;ays that <HI>Carra&s;co</HI> meditating Revenge, for being unhors'd by <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> when he went by the Title of Knight of the <HI>Looking-gla&s;&s;es,</HI> re&s;olv'd to make a &s;econd Attempt. To which purpo&s;e, under&s;tanding by
<PB N="600" REF="319"> the Page that brought the Dutche&s;&s;es Letter to <HI>Tere&s;a,</HI> where <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was, he got him Hor&s;e and Arms, with a Re&s;olution to pur&s;ue him. That coming to the Dukes Ca&s;tle, he there under&s;tood that the Knight was de|parted for <HI>Sarago&s;a,</HI> after all the &s;port which the Duke had made with him and <HI>Sancho.</HI> That he follow'd him from thence to <HI>Sarago&s;a,</HI> and mi&s;&s;ing him there, he overtook him at <HI>Barcellona,</HI> where having had his Revenge, as we told yee before, he return'd to the Duke, and inform'd him what he had done, who from thence took an occa&s;ion to contrive this Frolick, to diverti&s;e him&s;elf once more with our plea&s;ant Adventurers. <HI>Cid Hamet</HI> adds, that he lookt upon the Joakers to be as much Fools as they that are joakd upon; and that he could think no other of the Duke and the Dut|che&s;s, who had nothing el&s;e to do but to make &s;port with the unfortunate Frenzies of two craz'd People.</P>
<P>At length Day-light &s;urpriz'd <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho,</HI> the one &s;noaring like a Boar in his Frank, the other &s;wallow'd up in his u&s;ual Dreams and Deliriums. But as he had recover'd him&s;elf, and was about to ri&s;e (for vanqui&s;h'd or Victor, he was always an Enemy to Sloth) Madam <HI>Tomboy</HI> being ri&s;en again, with the &s;ame Garland that &s;he wore upon the Hear&s;e, in a white flowr'd Sattin Manteau, and her di&s;hevell'd Locks curling about her Shoulders, enter'd his Chamber, &s;upporting her &s;elf with an Ebonie Stick; which Vi&s;ion &s;o &s;urpriz'd him, that never regarding Complements or Civility to Ladies, he withdrew him&s;elf under the Bedcloaths, and co|ver'd him&s;elf over Head and Ears. However Madam <HI>Tomboy</HI> &s;ate her down in a Chair by the Bed&s;ide, and after a profound Sigh, with a langui&s;hing and yet amorous Voice, When young Ladies, quo &s;he, trample their Mo|de&s;ty underfoot, and permit their Tongues to di&s;cover the Secrets of their Hearts, Men way well conceive 'em to be &s;trangely di&s;order'd in their Minds. Truly, my Lord <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I am one of tho&s;e unfortunate Per|&s;ons overrul'd by my Pa&s;&s;ion, and de&s;perately in Love, yet with &s;o much Vertue and Re&s;ervedne&s;s, that the only care to conceal my Torments co&s;t me my Life. 'Tis but two days ago &s;ince my reflexions upon thy Cruelty, and the re&s;entment of thy Rigour laid me in my Grave; and had it not been that Love, in pitty of my Mi&s;eries, found out a means by the &s;ufferings of thy Compa&s;&s;ionate Squire to relieve me, I had &s;till remain'd in the other World.</P>
<P>Truly, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I &s;hould ha' been beholding to Love, had he be|&s;tow'd his Honours upon my A&s;s. But pray, Madam, tell me, and &s;o may Heaven provide yee a better Husband then my Ma&s;ter, what did you &s;ee i' the other World? and what &s;ort of Hell is that, which they that de&s;pair and dye for Love are oblig'd to touch at by the way.</P>
<P>To tell yee truth, reply'd Madam <HI>Tomboy,</HI> I was never ab&s;olutely dead, and &s;o I never enter'd into Hell; for if I had, I'me &s;ure I &s;hould nere ha' got out agen. I only went as far as the Gate, where I &s;aw about a dozen Devils in their Breeches and half Shirts, edg'd at the Collers with <HI>Flan|ders</HI> Lace, playing at Tennis with flaming Rackets. But that which I mo&s;t admir'd at, was, that in&s;tead of Balls they made u&s;e of Books blowd up, and &s;tuft with Flocks; which was to me both new and wonderful: And I was more a&s;toni&s;h'd to &s;ee that contrary to the Cu&s;tom of Gam&s;ters, a|mong whom you &s;hall have always &s;ome that are merry and pleas'd; the&s;e all the while they plaid did nothing but fret and fume, &s;tamp, &s;tare, cur&s;e and &s;wear as if they had been all lo&s;ers. That's no wonder, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> for your Devils are of that Humour, that whether they play or no, win or lo&s;e, they can never be contented. I grant it, reply'd Madam <HI>Tomboy;</HI> but
<PB N="601" REF="319"> there was one thing that a&s;toni&s;h'd me more then all this, that the fir&s;t &s;troak they gave the Ball, &s;poil'd it in &s;uch a manner, that it was no longer &s;er|viceable; &s;o that they tore as well the old as the new Books in pieces; and there was one Book among the re&s;t Fire new, which they &s;trook with &s;uch a force that all the Leaves flew about i' the Air. Then cry'd one of the De|vils to the t'other; Look, look, what Book is that? To whom the other made an&s;wer, 'tis the <HI>Second Part of Don Quixote;</HI> not that which was com|pos'd by <HI>Cid Hamet,</HI> but by a certain <HI>Arragonian,</HI> that goes by the name of <HI>To<GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="UOM" EXTENT="1 letter">de&s;illa's.</HI> Take it away, cry'd the fir&s;t Devil, and throw it to the bot|tom of the Aby&s;s, where I may never &s;ee it more. Why, quo the t'other, is it &s;o bad? So dete&s;table, cry'd the other, that if I had made it my &s;elf on purpo&s;e it could not ha' been wor&s;e. The Devils continu'd their Game, and &s;hatter'd a power of other Books; but for my part hearing <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Name, that is &s;o dear to me, I minded only to remember this Vi&s;ion, which I &s;hall nere forget.</P>
<P>This was a Vi&s;ion without doubt, cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for there are no more <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s but my &s;elf i' the World. I know the Story is printed, and I know that 'tis already &s;entenc'd to the bottoms of Pyes, or to the Gro|cer for wa&s;te Paper; nor am I at all offended at it; nor do I care what be|comes of it, for had it been a true and faithful Hi&s;tory, 'twould ha' la&s;ted to Eternity; but as it is, the &s;ooner 'tis buried alive, the le&s;s 'twill deceive the World.</P>
<P>Madam <HI>Tomboy</HI> was then going on with her complaints again&s;t <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Rigour; which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> ob&s;erving, by way of prevention, My pretty little new Peice of Re&s;urrection, quo he, I am heartily &s;orry, that you have mi&s;pent your Affections upon me; as having no other way to repay your Civility but with my Thanks&mdash; for as for any Coolers of your Amorous Heat, upon my Honour I have none. I was born for <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o;</HI> for her the De&s;tinies have re&s;erv'd me; and for you to imagin that any other Beauty can jo&s;tle her out of my Bo&s;om, is meer Madne&s;s; and therefore &s;et your Heart at Re&s;t; call home your Mode&s;ty, and don't let the Itch of your pa&s;&s;ion hurry yee thus about, lowing after me, as <HI>Io</HI> low'd after <HI>Jupi|ter,</HI> when <HI>Juno</HI> thru&s;t a Gad-Bee in her Tail.</P>
<P>By the plea&s;ure of Generation, cry'd Madam <HI>Tomboy,</HI> counterfeiting a mo&s;t di&s;mal Pa&s;&s;ion, Thou Steelly, Date &s;tone-hearted Fellow, more inex|orable then a School ma&s;ter brandi&s;hing his Burchen Indignation over a Boys Buttocks, a little thing would make me tear out tho&s;e Eyes of thine, as deep as they are i' thy Head&mdash; You think perhaps Mr. <HI>Captain-cut-pudding, Don</HI> All to be-thwick-thwack'd, <HI>Don</HI> All to be rib-roa&s;ted, that I dy'd for Love of thy tran&s;parent &s;hrivell'd Carca&s;s&mdash; No&mdash;no&mdash;I am not a Woman that would ha' prickt my Finger for &s;uch a Camel as thou art&mdash; All you &s;aw la&s;t Night was only a Trick, a meer Contrivance to make &s;port with &s;uch a Cully brain'd Fellow as thou art.</P>
<P>By my Troth, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I believe what you &s;ay, that all your Stories of Lovers dying for Love, are as true as I am the Popes Uncle. They tell yee them&s;elves they are dead, but the Devil a word of Truth do they &s;peak.</P>
<P>At the &s;ame time enter'd the Mu&s;ician and Poet that &s;ung the Ver&s;es over Madam <HI>Tomboys</HI> Hear&s;e, and making a reverend Congie to <HI>D. Quixote,</HI> I be|&s;eech your Wor&s;hip, &s;aid he, to rank me in the Number of your mo&s;t faithful Servants; for I have always had a great E&s;teem for your Per&s;on, as well in regard of your continu'd Reputation, as the fame of your Atchievments. Pray, Sir, let me know who you are, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> that I may proportion
<PB N="602" REF="320"> my Thanks according to your Quality. To whom the Mu&s;ician reply'd, that he was Madam <HI>Tomboys</HI> Poet, that made and &s;ung her Elegy the la&s;t Night. You have an Excellent Voice, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> but for the Matter you &s;ung I do not think it was much to the purpo&s;e. Oh, Sir, never wonder at that, re|ply'd the Mu&s;ician, that's no fault among the Poets of this Age: They write according to their own Fancy, and Pillage where they think fit, whether it be to the purpo&s;e or no; for let 'em write what they will, all Extravagan|cies are &s;ure to be guarded by Poetical Licence, which is a Protection for all Non&s;ence in Poetry. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was about to have reply'd, but he was prevented by the Duke and the Dutche&s;s, who at the &s;ame time enter'd his Chamber; where there was a long Di&s;cour&s;e between the Duke, the Dut|che&s;s, the Knight, and the Squire; and where <HI>Sancho</HI> was &s;o full of his Jokes and his Quibbles, that the Duke and Dutche&s;s were at a &s;tand which to ad|mire mo&s;t, his Wit or his Non&s;ence. After that, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> de&s;ir'd leave that he might be gone betimes the next Morning, for that Caves and Dens better became a vanqui&s;h'd Knight then the Palaces of Princes. Then the Dutche&s;s ask'd him whether Mrs. <HI>Tomboy</HI> and he were reconcil'd or no? To which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> reply'd, that her Di&s;ea&s;e proceeded only from Sloth and Lazine&s;s, and that the be&s;t cure for her was to keep her to work and out of idlene&s;s. And this is my Opinion, and this is my Coun&s;el, that &s;he be well employ'd, and kept clo&s;e to her Spinning Wheel, till her Amorous humour be over, lea&s;t &s;he be ruin'd by the Temptations of Satan, who will pimp for any Man Living to get a Soul. By my Faith and 'tis my Opinion too, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> for I never knew any of your Bobbin-Wenches that ever dy'd for Love. I know it by my &s;elf; for when I am hard at work, I think no more of my &s;weet Swatterkin, I mean my Dear Wife, then I do of the Grand Sig|nior, tho I love her as the Apple of my Eye. After which Di&s;cour&s;es, and a great deal more Chat of the &s;ame Nature, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> din'd with the Duke; and after Dinner continu'd his Journey.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="19" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XIX.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">What befel <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and his Squire in their way home.</HEAD>
<P>BEing thus upon the Road, the Knight rode on, equally divided between Grief and Joy; for on the one &s;ide he was extreamly dejected for the di&s;grace that had befallen him in the pre&s;ence of a Vice-Roy; on the other &s;ide he was no le&s;s overjoy'd to have di&s;cover'd &s;uch a Mine of Vertue in <HI>Sancho</HI> that render'd him worth his weight in Gold; for unle&s;s it be &s;ome Women that bury their Husbands, and young Heirs that out live their Fa|thers, who would not give half his E&s;tate to rai&s;e his Friend from the dead. But as for <HI>Sancho</HI> he was neither griev'd nor joy'd, but vex'd and di&s;conten|ted in his Mind becau&s;e Madam <HI>Tomboy</HI> had not given him the Six Smocks &s;he promis'd; &s;o that not being able to concoct &s;uch a piece of Ingratitude. By my Faith, quo he to his Ma&s;ter, I think I ha' the wor&s;t luck of any Phy&s;i|cian Living. Other Phy&s;icians kill their Patients, and are paid for their Pains, and yet all they do is but the &s;crawling of two or three hard Words to an Apothecary, while I that rai&s;e People from the Dead at the expence of my own Skin; whirreted, pinch'd, box'd about the Ears, clapper-claw'd and whipt, mu&s;t wear the Woodden Dagger, and lo&s;e all my winnings,
<PB N="603" REF="320"> for the Devil take me if I can get a Cro&s;s. But if ever they bring me any more Mrs. <HI>Tomboys</HI> to cure, I'le be &s;ure of my Money before hand&mdash; Come&mdash;come&mdash;the Monk lives by his &s;inging; nor do I believe that Hea|ven has be&s;tow'd this wonderful Gift upon me, that I &s;hould be &s;uch a Cha|ritable Fool as to &s;tarve with it. Thou &s;ai&s;t very true, <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and Madam <HI>Tomboy</HI> &s;hews her breeding to be wor&s;e then her word; for tho 'tis true thy wonderful Gift co&s;t thee nothing, yet a Man of thy Excellencies and endowments would not ha' been &s;o Satan like buffeted, for forty &s;uch Shirts, tho they had been all Flanders-lac'd. For my part had&s;t thou demanded any thing for La&s;hing thy &s;elf in order to <HI>Dulcinea</HI>'s di&s;inchantment, I would ha' given thee a Mountain of Gold ere this: I mu&s;t confe&s;s I am a little in doubt whether my proffering or thy taking Money might not hinder the Operation of thy Penance; but I am of &s;uch a grate|ful Di&s;po&s;ition, that I'le venture it&mdash; And therefore prithee tell me <HI>San|cho,</HI> what mu&s;t I give thee&mdash; or rather go and do thy work pre&s;ently, and then be thy own Payma&s;ter to thy own content, out of the Money which thou ha&s;t of mine i' thy Hands.</P>
<P>The&s;e Temptations open'd <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Eyes; &s;o that finding there was Mo|ney to be got; Sir, quo he, now yee &s;ay &s;omething&mdash; pay well and I'le la&s;h well, I'le warrant yee; for &s;uch is my Love to my Wife and Childern, that to provide well for them, I care not what I &s;uffer my &s;elf. Go too, then, Sir, how much will you give me by the La&s;h?&mdash;Were I able to recom|pence thee, <HI>Sancho,</HI> according to what the Quality and Con&s;equence of the Cure Merits, I would give thee all the <HI>Finances</HI> of <HI>France,</HI> and all the Mines of <HI>Peru</HI> to boot. But do thou &s;et thy own Price, and ca&s;t it up what it comes to.</P>
<P>Why, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> the La&s;hes which I am to give my &s;elf amount to Three thou&s;and three hunder'd and odd; of which I have given my &s;elf Five already. In the fir&s;t place then, let tho&s;e five &s;erve for all the odd La&s;hes be|hind, that we may come to an even Number: For I would not willingly be troubl'd with more Fractions then needs. Now I demand four Pence a La&s;h, of which I wou'd not bate the Pope him&s;elf the tenth part of a Pins Head, which in all amounts to Three thou&s;and three hunder'd Groats. Reckon then, Nine hunder'd Groats is Three hunder'd Shillings, that's Fifteen Pounds, and a Hunder'd Groats is one Pound thirteen Shillings four Pence. Three fifteen Pounds is forty five Pound, and three times one Pound thirteen and four Pence is Five Pound. So that Three thou&s;and La&s;hes comes ju&s;t to Fifty Pound: Then the Three hunder'd La&s;hes comes to Five Pound more; in all, Fifty five Pound. This Fifty five Pound will I deduct out of the Money which I have of yours, and then I'le go home an Aldermans Fellow, Rich in ready Coin, and Rich in ready La&s;hes&mdash; but that's nothing, &s;omething has &s;ome &s;avour, and you know, Sir, Trouts mu&s;t be baited before they be caught.</P>
<P>Oh, Ble&s;&s;ed <HI>Sancho,</HI> cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> more dear to me then <HI>Endymion</HI> to the Moon; how &s;hall <HI>Dulcinea</HI> and I be bound to pray for thee as long as we live. For if we can but ma&s;ter the Devil but this one time, then once more &s;he &s;hall be the Queen of Beauty; and if ever I meet with that &s;ame cur&s;ed Knight of the <HI>White Moon</HI> agen, I'le <HI>White Moon</HI> him, and <HI>Black Moon</HI> him too, or I'le mi&s;s of my Aim. For I mu&s;t tell thee, <HI>Sancho,</HI> when the Queen of Beauty's once at Liberty, I defie Satan him&s;elf to wrench an Ad|venture out of my Hands. And therefore, dear <HI>Sancho,</HI> do but tell me when thou'lt begin, take fifty Shillings more be&s;ides thy Bargain, for an additional Encouragement&mdash;When will I begin, Sir!&mdash; Why this ve|ry Night, &s;o &s;oon as we come to a Place convenient; and you your &s;elf &s;hall
<PB N="604" REF="321"> look on and &s;ee how I'le lay about me, Back-&s;troak and Fore-&s;troak. Alas, Sir, I may well venture my Skin for Money, when &s;o many Men venture their Souls for it.</P>
<P>Well, in &s;hort, the Night came which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> long'd for with &s;o much impatience, that he could not imagin what the Sun &s;taid &s;o long for, unle&s;s a &s;econd <HI>Phaeton</HI> had overturn'd his Chariot, and made him &s;tay the mending of the Wheels; &s;o that he began to &s;peak Bugs words again&s;t the &s;overeign Planet of the Skie. But at length approaching Night befriended him, and brought him to a Place convenient as well for his own repo&s;e, as for <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Pious de&s;ign. It was a &s;hady Wood remote from the Highway; where when <HI>Sancho</HI> had un&s;addl'd <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> and unpannell'd <HI>Grizzle,</HI> he let loo&s;e the two Loving Couple to. &s;hift for them&s;elves. Then opening his &s;eldom empty Wallet, the Ma&s;ter and the Man went to Supper, and fed like <HI>Pylades</HI> and <HI>Ore&s;tes</HI> together.</P>
<P>And now <HI>Sancho</HI> being pretty well lin'd within, bethought him&s;elf of earning his Money. To which purpo&s;e he made him&s;elf an unmerciful Lick-back of <HI>Grizzles</HI> Halter, and the two Girts of <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI>'s Saddle; and &s;o Cordial he was in his Intentions, that he would not take off the Iron Buckles, as one that re&s;olv'd to give his Ma&s;ter good Mea&s;ure for his Money. Which done, he &s;tript him&s;elf to his Wa&s;te, and &s;o taking leave of his Ma&s;ter he retir'd to the Wood &s;ome Twenty Paces from his Ma&s;ter.</P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;eeing him march naked as he was, with &s;uch a &s;erious grim and &s;ullen Air, that &s;eem'd to threaten no le&s;s then the de&s;truction of Na|tures delicate Frame of Arteries, Mu&s;cles, Nerves and Fibres, and I know not what my &s;elf, with a Compa&s;&s;ionate Tone, cry'd after him, <HI>Sancho,</HI> dear <HI>Sancho,</HI> be not &s;o Cruel to thy &s;elf, neither, as to cut thy &s;elf to the Bone. Moderate thy Pa&s;&s;ion, and let one blow follow another lei&s;urely&mdash; As thou art &s;tout be merciful&mdash; for &s;hould'&s;t thou kill thy &s;elf before thy Penance be over, thy lo&s;s will be irrecoverable and my Afflictions then will never have an end&mdash;Take pity therefore of thy &s;elf, of Me, thy poor Mi|&s;tre&s;s, and thy Wife and Childern, and render not ineffectual by unrea&s;o|nable Severity, the only means ordain'd to make us both for ever happy. Give thy &s;elf not a La&s;h more then thou needs mu&s;t, and therefore le&s;t thou &s;hou'd&s;t be out i' thy Tale, I'le &s;tand a little way off, and reckon the &s;troaks by the help of my Ro&s;ary, and then I'me &s;ure thou can&s;t never Err&mdash; So Heaven protect thee, and give a good i&s;&s;ue to thy En|deavours.</P>
<P>A good Payma&s;ter, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> never grudges his Money&mdash; and there|fore tho I intend to Curry my own Hide as befits me, don't you believe but I'le take care of the main Chance. However I'le &s;o tear my &s;elf, that I'le make my Back find that my Hands are none of its be&s;t Friends; and there|in I think it is that the &s;tre&s;s and vertue of the Remedy lies&mdash;And &s;o &s;ay|ing, he began to claw him&s;elf where it did not itch, in &s;uch a rude man|ner, that after he had given him&s;elf Seven or Eight &s;troaks, the &s;mart was &s;uch, that he began to con&s;ider, and after a &s;hort paw&s;e, 'Slife, quo he to his Ma&s;ter, this wont do&mdash; I ha' &s;old <HI>Robinhoods</HI> Pennyworths&mdash;Certainly I was bewitch'd to ask but Sixpence a La&s;h&mdash; for &s;uch La&s;hes as the&s;e are worth Twelve Pence a piece of any man's Money i' the Kingdom&mdash; Fore-George I'le ha' Twelve Pence a piece or I'le la&s;h no farther.</P>
<P>Go on, go on, good <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> Money never broke &s;quares between us two, I'le double the Sum if that be all&mdash;nay and I'le treble it too if thou de&s;ir'&s;t it&mdash;</P>
<PB N="605" REF="321">
<P>Now by my Life, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> and I'le lay it on then; do but li&s;ten, and you &s;hall hear the Bones rattle i' my Skin&mdash;And with that the Conycatch|ing Hangdog fell a la&s;hing the Trees like a <HI>Winche&s;ter</HI> Schoolma&s;ter, groan|ing at every La&s;h, as if his Soul had been taking her la&s;t leave of his Tor|mented Carka&s;s.</P>
<P>Thereupon <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who was naturally Compa&s;&s;ionate, and fearing le&s;t poor <HI>Sancho</HI> &s;hould kill him&s;elf, or rather le&s;t his Imprudence &s;hould di&s;appoint and fru&s;trate the Cure&mdash; Hold, <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo he, hold I conjure thee&mdash; I never lov'd &s;purring a free Hor&s;e to death&mdash; This is a &s;ort of Phy&s;ick too boy&s;trous to be taken all at once&mdash; and therefore make two Do&s;es of it&mdash; Come, come, fair and &s;oftly goes far&mdash; Neither was <HI>Rome</HI> built in a day&mdash; If I ha' told right, thou ha&s;t giv'n thy &s;elf above a Thou&s;and remarkable Twingers already&mdash;and therefore I &s;ay be bold with thy Fle&s;h, but not too bold. Should it come to a <HI>Fi&s;tula in Ano,</HI> a Surgeon would quickly lick up all thy Gettings.</P>
<P>No, no, my dear Lord and Ma&s;ter, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> it &s;hall nere be &s;aid of me that I got my Money by roaring, or as the Countryman &s;aid by his Law|yer, that he nere &s;poke a word for his Fee&mdash; Be&s;ides, I have ow'd this wicked Skin of mine a payment a good while, and I'm glad o' th' occa&s;ion&mdash; And therefore I be&s;eech yee, Sir, don't di&s;turb me with your Pity; but if y' are &s;o merciful, get out o' the noi&s;e on't&mdash; for I'm re&s;olv'd to give my &s;elf the t'other Thou&s;and Stripes&mdash; and then there will be the le&s;s be|hind&mdash;With that he had the t'other bout at the poor Trees, with that outragious fury, that he fetch'd off their Skins which was Ten times harder then his own; that had they been any of <HI>Ovids</HI> Metamorphos'd Nymphs the whole Wood had cry'd out Murder. And at length, as it were re&s;olv'd to give him&s;elf a &s;parring blow, laying on at the &s;ame time up|on a &s;turdy Oak, Here it is, cry'd he, with a loud Voice, that <HI>Samp&s;on,</HI> were he Ten thou&s;and <HI>Samp&s;ons</HI> &s;hall dye.</P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote,</HI> who li&s;ten'd all the while like a Hare in her Form, hear|ing that un&s;anctify'd menace of utter de&s;truction, and the uncon&s;cionable &s;ound of the &s;troaks that follow'd it, with the &s;wiftne&s;s of a Panther, flew to his Squire, and catching hold of the dreadful In&s;trument of Execution, Stay <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;tay, cry'd he, the fury of thy Arm; 'tis not thy precious Life that I de&s;ire; Live to the Comfort of thy Wife and Children, that will be bound to cur&s;e thy Ma&s;ter, &s;hould'&s;t thou mi&s;carry for his &s;ake. Let <HI>Dul|cinea</HI> therefore &s;tay a while, and I my &s;elf will live in hopes a little lon|ger, till thou ha&s;t got another Skin, and recover'd new &s;trength to end the Bu&s;ine&s;s to the Satisfaction of all Parties.</P>
<P>Well, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> &s;ince you will have it &s;o, &s;o let it be; however i' the mean time be pleas'd to throw your Cloak over my Shoulders, for I am in a dropping Sweat, and unwilling my Sores &s;hould take Wind.</P>
<P>With that the Compa&s;&s;ionate Knight leaving him&s;elf in <HI>Querpo,</HI> be|queath'd his <HI>Iri&s;h</HI> Mantle to the protection of <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Shoulders, who took care to cover his di&s;&s;embl'd Mortification as charily as if he had been a dan|cing a dozen <HI>We&s;tmin&s;ter</HI> Weddings; and then laying him&s;elf down to re&s;t him&s;elf, the poor Creature fell a&s;leep, and never wak'd, for all his Pain, till Sun-ri&s;e.</P>
<P>After that, <HI>Sancho</HI> got up, and going a&s;ide under pretence to wa&s;h him&s;elf with his own Water, &s;lipp'd on his Cloaths, and after three Hours riding, they came to an Inn, which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> allow'd to be an Inn, and not a Ca&s;tle with Moats and Draw-bridges, as he was wont to do, before his la&s;t Ba&s;ting had &s;omewhat reform'd his Sen&s;es and his Judgment.</P>
<PB N="606" REF="322">
<P>He was lodg'd in a Ground Chamber, in&s;tead of Tapi&s;try, hung with pain|ted Cloath; upon which were &s;crawl'd by a leud Hand, the Stories of <HI>He|len</HI> of <HI>Troy,</HI> when <HI>Paris</HI> run away with her; and <HI>Dido</HI> Queen of <HI>Carthage,</HI> when <HI>Eneas</HI> had robb'd her of her la&s;t Favours. In the&s;e two Pictures, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> ob&s;erv'd, that <HI>Helen</HI> &s;eem'd nothing at all concern'd for the force that was put upon her, but rather lookt blithe and bonny, and &s;mi|ling under her Hood, as if &s;he had been pleas'd with her e&s;cape. Whereas <HI>Dido</HI> on the other &s;ide, &s;tood like a Wench that had had her Pocket pick'd i' the Fair, letting fall Tears in Clu&s;ters, which becau&s;e they &s;hould be &s;een, the Painter had made as big as Filberds. Upon which <HI>Don Quixote</HI> making his &s;udden Reflexions, How unfortunately it fell out, quo he, that either I did not live in the&s;e Ladies time, or they in mine; for I had never &s;uffer'd two &s;uch pieces of Inju&s;tice i' this World; and &s;o by the death of <HI>Paris</HI> and <HI>Eneas,</HI> which mu&s;t have &s;urely happen'd by my Hand, I had &s;av'd <HI>Troy</HI> from being burnt, and <HI>Carthage</HI> from Ruin.</P>
<P>I'le venture my Life to a Sheeps-turd, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> that before next <HI>Pan|cake day,</HI> there will be nere an Inn nor a Barbers Shop i' the Country, where we &s;hall not have the Story of our own Exploits adorning the Walls of the Rooms, for the Country Bumpkins to gape at, tho I could wi&s;h 'em drawn by a better Arti&s;t, then &s;uch a dauber of Sign-po&s;ts as this.</P>
<P>'Tis very true, <HI>Sancho,</HI> reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> but this is our Comfort, that <HI>Cae&s;ar</HI> and <HI>Pompey</HI> and mo&s;t of the <HI>Roman</HI> Con&s;uls have lit already into as bad hands as we can do. 'Tis the Fate of Great Per&s;ons to be famous in Ballads as well as Heroick Ver&s;e, tho one continues our Memory among People of Quality, the other among the Vulgar. But let the Rogues have a care that they paint true, for if I catch 'em painting Cocks for Bulls, and Bulls for Cocks, by the Order of Knight-hood, which I profe&s;s, I'le &s;end a Legion of 'em to the Devil if they paint while I live. But to leave this Di&s;cour&s;e, what do&s;t think of giving thy &s;elf t'other Touch to Night? In my Opinion a warm Hou&s;e &s;hould be much better then the open Air.&mdash;</P>
<P>Why, truly, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> I could like a clo&s;e Room very well &s;o it were among Trees; for I have a natural Affection to Trees; be&s;ides that they &s;eem to be a kind of Companions to me in my Affliction.</P>
<P>Why then, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> now I think on't, we'll een &s;tay till we get home, and then I can &s;et thee up a little &s;hed i' my Grove. You may do as you plea&s;e for that, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> but for my part I am for &s;triking while the Iron is hot&mdash; <HI>'Tis good grinding at the Mill before the Water's pa&s;t&mdash;An Opportunity lo&s;t is not &s;o &s;oon regain'd&mdash; When the Shoulder of Mutton's a going take a &s;lice&mdash; 'Tis good to take half in hand and the re&s;t by and by&mdash; Every Dog has his Day, and every Man his Hour&mdash; Delay breeds danger&mdash; One take it, is worth Two thou &s;halt have it's.</HI></P>
<P>Enough, enough, good <HI>Sancho,</HI> cry'd <HI>Don Quixote</HI>&mdash;thou cure&s;t me with thy Kindne&s;s, and murder'&s;t me with Proverbs&mdash;prithee, dear <HI>Sancho,</HI> keep thy Moth-eaten Adagies for &s;ome body el&s;e&mdash; Speak to me as other Men do, and then thou &s;halt &s;ee a Word to the Wi&s;e is &s;ufficient.&mdash;</P>
<P>Ble&s;s me, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> you &s;ee I never &s;tudy for 'em&mdash;they're as natu|ral to me as Milk to a Calf&mdash; but &s;ince they di&s;plea&s;e yee, I beg your par|don&mdash;better mend late then never&mdash; And &s;o they broke off their Di&s;|cour&s;e for that time.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="20" TYPE="chapter">
<PB N="607" REF="322">
<HEAD>CHAP. XX.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">How <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho</HI> arriv'd at their Village.</HEAD>
<P>ALL that day <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;taid in the Inn, re&s;olving not to &s;tir till night, that he might give <HI>Sancho</HI> an Opportunity to fini&s;h his Pen|nance. Now while he was thus concluding with him&s;elf, there came a Gen|tleman a Hor&s;e-back to the Inn Gate, attended by three or four Servants. At what time, &s;aid one of the Attendants to the Gentleman, What think yee, Siginor <HI>Don Alvaro Tarfe,</HI> of &s;topping here, till the Heat of the day be over?&mdash; in my Opinion the Hou&s;e looks well and cleanly.</P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> no &s;ooner heard the Name of <HI>Tarfe,</HI> but pre&s;ently turning to <HI>Sancho,</HI> certainly, quo he, I mu&s;t be gro&s;ly mi&s;taken if I did not meet with this &s;ame Name of <HI>Don Alvaro Tarfe</HI> in turning over that &s;ame Second Part of the Hi&s;tory of my Life. That may be for ought I know, quo <HI>San|cho,</HI> but let 'em fir&s;t alight, and then we'l examin the Premi&s;es more &s;trictly. Pre&s;ently they alighted, and were carry'd into a Chamber next to <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> where the Gentleman having put off his Boots, came forth &s;oon after to take the fre&s;h Air at the Inn Gate, where <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was cooling him&s;elf at the &s;ame time. To whom, Sir, &s;aid the Gentleman, which way travel yee? To a Village not far off, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> where my Habitation is. And you, Sir, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> which way are you bound? For <HI>Grenada,</HI> the Place of my Nativity, reply'd the Gentleman&mdash;A fair City, and no le&s;s nobly Inhabited, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote;</HI> but pray, Sir, may I be &s;o bold to crave your Name? For I have &s;omething of a Rea&s;on more then ordinary, that makes me &s;o uncivilly inqui&s;itive. My Name is <HI>Alva|ro Tarfe,</HI> reply'd the Gentleman. <HI>Alvaro Tarfe!</HI> cry'd <HI>Don Quixote.</HI> Then certainly you mu&s;t be the Per&s;on mention'd in the Second Part of <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> &s;o lately Publi&s;h'd by a Modern Author. The very &s;ame, reply'd the Gentleman; and farther, that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was one of my Intimate Cronies, whom I per&s;waded to take a Ramble from his Hou&s;e, at lea&s;t told him of the Ju&s;ts and Turnaments at <HI>Sarago&s;a,</HI> and put him upon the Tilting Vain; and truly as it happen'd, I prov'd the be&s;t Friend he had, for I kept him from being claw'd by the Hangman, for an In&s;olent Cox|comb as he was.</P>
<P>But pray, Sir, one thing more, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> you look like one that could di&s;tingui&s;h Faces&mdash;does the Air of my Face in any thing re&s;emble that of your <HI>Don Quixote?</HI> Not in the lea&s;t, reply'd <HI>Alvaro.</HI> Once more then, I be&s;eech yee, Sir, had that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> of yours any &s;uch Squire to attend him, who&s;e Name was <HI>Sancho Pancha.</HI> Yes, Sir, reply'd the Gen|tleman, he had a Squire of that name; and he was &s;aid to be a plea&s;ant Fel|low. But for my part I never heard him &s;peak &s;o much as one word that was like Sence&mdash; The Rogue de&s;erv'd to be hang'd for a Fool, but was not worth a Halter.</P>
<P>I believe it, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> for all Men were not born to have &s;o much Wit as I have&mdash; nor is it &s;o ea&s;ie a thing to play the Fool as People think&mdash; and therefore that <HI>Sancho</HI> this Mr. Gentleman &s;peaks of mu&s;t needs be &s;ome pitiful Hangdog, &s;ome Lou&s;ie Rarie-&s;how-man, or Mountebanks Budget-Car|rier. For 'tis I that am the true <HI>Sancho Pancha;</HI> 'tis I am that merry conceited Squire that tickles the Spleens of Dukes and Dutche&s;&s;es, and make no more to make a Gentleman laugh, then I do to pull off my Stockins. If you
<PB N="608" REF="323"> don't believe me, trye me, Sir, your &s;elf&mdash; do but follow me for a year or two, and you &s;hall hear Miracles. And then for my Ma&s;ter, the true <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> the Brave, the Valiant, the Di&s;creet, the Amorous and War-like; the Redre&s;&s;er of Wrongs, Revenger of Injuries, the Father, Mother, Uncle and Aunt of all Orphans, the Widows Protector, the De|fender of Ladies, the &s;ole and only Sweet-heart and Servant to the Peerle&s;s, Matchle&s;s Phoenix, <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o,</HI> Knight of the <HI>Lyons,</HI> and Lord of Ten Invi&s;ible I&s;lands, Here's your Man, Sir, This is He. The t'other of your Acquaintance, and all other <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s and <HI>Sancho Pancha</HI>'s are meer Dreams and Fables, counterfeit Mi&s;creants and Vagabonds.</P>
<P>Now by the Gho&s;t of <HI>Garagantua,</HI> I believe as much, quo <HI>Alvaro,</HI> for you have-utter'd in a few words much more then ever I heard the t'other talk for a Month together. T'other was a meer Paunch belly'd Cur, that car|ry'd all his Brains in his Guts: So that I am apt to believe that tho&s;e En|chanters which perplex the True <HI>Don Quixote</HI> are become my Enemies, to herd me with a Couple of Sots and Dunderheads that were kitten'd in a Cage, and will dye in a Sawpit. And yet I can hardly believe my own Eyes; for I me as &s;ure as I &s;tand here that I left <HI>Don Quixote</HI> in <HI>Bedlam,</HI> whe|ther he was &s;ent to be cur'd of his Frenzie; and now I meet here another <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> as like Mine, as an Apple's like an Oy&s;ter.</P>
<P>For my part, reply'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> I will not undertake to ju&s;tifie my &s;elf for the True <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> but I am certain I am none of the Counter|feit. For to be plain with yee, Sir, I never was at <HI>Sarago&s;a</HI> i' my Life: For when I heard that this &s;ame U&s;urper of my Name had appear'd at the Tur|naments i' that City, I re&s;olv'd not to come near the Place, on purpo&s;e to convince the World of the Fal&s;hood of that pretended Author, who had the impudence to Publi&s;h a &s;ham Second Part of my Life. Thereupon I went directly for <HI>Barcellona,</HI> the Mother of Civility, the Sanctuary of Strangers, the only Place of all Europe, where a Man may meet Sincere and Con&s;tant Friends, and the City of the World, the faire&s;t and be&s;t &s;ituated. And tho I did not meet with all the Good Fortune there, that I expected, but rather all the Jades Tricks of that cur&s;ed <HI>Jezebel</HI> mortal Men &s;o much ad|mire; yet am I glad I &s;aw that City; which makes me bury the re&s;t in Ob|livion. In &s;hort, Mr. <HI>Alvaro Tarfe,</HI> I am that Individual <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> of whom Report and Fame have publi&s;h'd &s;o many Glorious Actions, and not that pitiful Captain <HI>Cut-pudding</HI> that has u&s;urp'd my Name. And there|fore I have one Boon to beg of yee, in Favour of a Truth, of which you cannot but be now convinc'd. I beg it of yee by all the Re&s;pect which you owe to the Profe&s;&s;ion of a <HI>Knight-Errant,</HI> which is to give me a Cer|tificate in due Form acknowledg'd, before the next Ju&s;tice of the Peace of the Place that you never &s;aw me in all your Life till this day, and that I am not that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> mention'd in the Second Part of my Pretended Life; al&s;o that <HI>Sancho Pancha</HI> my Squire is not the &s;ame Per&s;on that you &s;aw go un|der his Name.</P>
<P>With all my Heart, reply'd <HI>Alvaro,</HI> and yet 'tis to me the greate&s;t won|der in the World to behold two <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s and two <HI>Sancho</HI>'s at the &s;ame time, who both derive them&s;elves from the &s;ame Country, yet both &s;o dif|ferent in their Phy&s;iognomies, their Actions, and their Di&s;po&s;itions, which makes me think that I ha' been all this while in a Dream.</P>
<P>I'me afraid, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> yee are inchanted like Madam <HI>Dulcinea</HI>&mdash; and I wi&s;h it may not be my Lot to give my &s;elf the t'other Three thou&s;and Six hunder'd La&s;hes to di&s;inchant your Wor&s;hip, as I have been forc'd already to be&s;tow upon this Back of mine, to di&s;inchant her&mdash; However if it be, Sir, the
<PB N="609" REF="323"> Bu&s;ine&s;s is &s;oon done at a &s;mall Charge&mdash; For who would be a Pri&s;oner to the Devil a whole Year without Bayl or Mainprize for fifty or Three&s;core Pounds.</P>
<P>Truly Mr. <HI>Sancho,</HI> quo <HI>Don Alvaro</HI> you &s;peak riddles to me&mdash; I never heard the t'other <HI>Sancho</HI> talk a Tittle of Three thou&s;and &s;ix hunder'd La|&s;hes&mdash; unfold your meaning good Sir&mdash; O, Sir, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> the Sto|ry's too long at a Minutes warning&mdash; but if you travel our way, you may chance to hear more then I'le tell every body, according as I'me in the humour.</P>
<P>By this time Dinner was upon the Table, and <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Don Al|varo</HI> din'd together. More then that, the Story brings to the Inn a Ju&s;tice of Peace and his Clerk ju&s;t at the &s;ame In&s;tant. Who being known and ad|mitted, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> de&s;ir'd Mr. <HI>Alvaro</HI> to dictate his Certificate to the Clerk, that he had never &s;een <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha</HI> there pre&s;ent, before that day, and that he was not the &s;ame Per&s;on, that he had &s;een mention'd in a certain printed Story, call'd the Second Part, &amp;c. written by one <HI>Abellaneda de Torde&s;illas.</HI> Which the Clerk afterwards engro&s;s'd in due Form, and then it was &s;ign'd by <HI>Don Alvaro,</HI> and Jurated by the Ju&s;tice <HI>Coram Me, &amp;c.</HI> And now <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho</HI> thought them&s;elves the happie&s;t Men i' the World; not believing their Actions, Words, and Countenances enough to di&s;tingui&s;h 'em from their Competitours, without a Certificate in Law; &s;o jealous are Fools of being robb'd of their Honour, tho it be but of being the better Fools of the Two.</P>
<P>Many were the Complements and Offers of Service and Civility that pa&s;s'd between <HI>Don Alvaro</HI> and <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> wherein the <HI>Manchegan</HI> di&s;play'd &s;o much of Wit and Courtly Language, that <HI>Alvaro</HI> began to be convinc'd that there was no Enchantment i' the Ca&s;e, and was &s;atisfy'd in Con&s;cience that he had given a true Certificate.</P>
<P>Toward Evening they &s;et forward both together, and as they rode along <HI>Don Quixote</HI> inform'd <HI>Alvaro</HI> of the unfortunate Foyl which he had re|ceiv'd from the Knight of the <HI>White Moon,</HI> and of <HI>Dulcinea</HI>'s Enchantment, with the way pre&s;crib'd by <HI>Merlin</HI> for her Relea&s;e. And thus <HI>Alvaro</HI> being furni&s;h'd with a new &s;tock to mu&s;e upon, the Knight and the Gentleman parted at the meeting of two Roads.</P>
<P>That Night <HI>Don Quixote</HI> and <HI>Sancho</HI> lodg'd among the Trees, that <HI>Sancho</HI> might have an Opportunity to accompli&s;h his Penance, which the ju&s;t and faithful Squire couragiou&s;ly perform'd, at the &s;evere expence of the Bark and Bu&s;hes, in the mean time &s;o well pre&s;erving his Skin, that a fly would hardly have &s;tirr'd from his Back for any Mortification he gave his own Shoulders. However <HI>Don Quixote</HI> kept an exact accompt, and found that the Stroaks were right to a Unite, tho they were not be&s;tow'd upon the Right Place.</P>
<P>It &s;eems the Sun ro&s;e earlier then u&s;ual the next Morning, as if he had envy'd Starlight the unwonted Spectacle of &s;uch a Human Sacrifice. But <HI>Sancho,</HI> unwilling to tru&s;t his Secret to the Blabtongu'd <HI>Phoebus,</HI> had taken care that the Fair <HI>Aurora,</HI> &s;hould not behold his Nakedne&s;s, and &s;o having cas'd him&s;elf again, the Knight and he &s;et forward by peep of day.</P>
<P>All that day, nor the next night did they meet with any thing con&s;ide|rable; only whenever they met with any Woman kind, they rode up to her, and &s;tar'd her i' the face, in hopes to meet the Di&s;inchanted <HI>Dulcinea.</HI> For <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Confidence was &s;till &s;o great in <HI>Merlin,</HI> that he could not believe his Promi&s;es could ever fail.</P>
<PB N="610" REF="324">
<P>Thus they rode gaping and &s;taring &s;ome tedious Miles, till at length mounting up a little Hill, they di&s;cover'd their own Village. At what time <HI>Sancho</HI> threw him&s;elf from his <HI>Grizzle,</HI> and all in a &s;udden rapture falling upon his Knees, Open thy Eyes, dear Native Country, &s;aid he, and here be|hold thy long Ab&s;ented <HI>Sancho</HI> return'd once more to thy Embraces, tho not rich in Coin, yet paid to the full in Whipcord Ga&s;hes: Open thine Arms, and here receive thy Son <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> vanqui&s;h'd by the good For|tune of another, but Victor over him&s;elf, which as he has often told me is the greate&s;t Conque&s;t in the World. We have met with many Misfortunes both of us, becau&s;e we did not always find what we &s;ought for. However I come not home altogether empty, I have &s;till a little Money Heaven be prais'd; for tho I have been well whipp'd, thanks to an hone&s;t Knight, I have been well gratify'd for my Sufferings.</P>
<P>Leave off the&s;e Fooleries, <HI>Sancho,</HI> cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> and let us appear with Reputation in the place of our Nativity, where we are now to enter in|to a new Cour&s;e of Life, and lay a&s;ide our Martial Thoughts. Let's not ap|pear among our Neighbours as if we were half muddl'd, but with a &s;erious Air, without Exce&s;&s;es and Trans&s;portments receive their Welcoms. And for the de&s;ign we have in hand &s;peak not a word of it. 'Tis a Giggling World <HI>Sancho,</HI> and always carping at good Intentions; therefore keep thy Lips clo&s;e till opportunity &s;erves.</P>
<P>After this they de&s;cended the Hill, and began to draw neer their Beloved Village.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="21" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XXI.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">Of the &s;trange ill Omens that happen'd to <HI>Don Quixote</HI> before he enter'd the Village.</HEAD>
<P>UPon his Approach to the Village, <HI>Cid Hamet</HI> Reports, how that <HI>Don Quixote</HI> &s;aw two little Boys conte&s;ting together, at what time, cry'd the one to the other, <HI>Oh pray be quiet, you are never like to &s;ee her as long as you live.</HI> Do&s;t hear, <HI>Sancho,</HI> cry'd <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> what the Boy &s;ays? <HI>You &s;hall never &s;ee her as long as you live</HI>&mdash;What's that to the purpo&s;e, what the Boy &s;ays? quo <HI>Sancho</HI>&mdash;'Slife, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> ha&s;t lo&s;t thy Sences?&mdash; do's it not &s;ignifie that I &s;hall never &s;et Eyes upon <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> as long as I have breach i' my Body? <HI>Sancho</HI> was about to reply when he &s;aw a Hare, which being pur&s;u'd by &s;everal Greyhounds and Cour&s;ers, came and &s;quatted for protection between <HI>Grizzle</HI>'s Legs. Pre&s;ently <HI>Sancho</HI> took her up, and pre|&s;ented her to his Ma&s;ter. But he with a dejected Countenance refu&s;ing the Pre&s;ent, cry'd out aloud, <HI>Malum &s;ignum, Malum &s;ignum.</HI></P>
<P>Nouns Ma&s;ter, quo <HI>Sancho,</HI> you are a &s;trange &s;ort of a Man&mdash; do but imagin this Hare to be <HI>Dulcinea,</HI> and the Greyhounds to be the wicked <HI>Ne|cromancers</HI> that transform'd her into a Country Pu&s;s. She flyes, I take her up; I give her you; you take her; make much of her and ki&s;s her; where is the ill &s;ign in all this?</P>
<P>At the &s;ame time the two Boys coming to look upon the Hare, <HI>Sancho</HI> ask'd 'em what 'twas they were quarelling about? To whom the Boy that had &s;aid the words, <HI>Thou &s;halt never &s;ee her agen,</HI> reply'd, That he had got a Cage full of Crickets from the other Boy, which he nere intended to give
<PB N="611" REF="324"> him again. Upon that <HI>Sancho</HI> gave the Boy a Groat for his Cage, and delivering it into <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s hands, There, &s;aid he, there's the ill Omen &s;ent to the Devil&mdash; Cur&s;e on 'em&mdash; a thou&s;and of 'em ha' no more to do with our bu&s;ine&s;s, then we with the la&s;t years Snow&mdash; For tho' I'me but a &s;imple Fellow, I have a little under&s;tanding&mdash; be&s;ides that you ha' been told a hunder'd times, that 'tis beneath the Profe&s;&s;ion of a Chri&s;tian to mind Death-Watches, and Rats eating holes i' the foul Clothes. Nay, 'tis not long &s;ince you told me &s;o your &s;elf&mdash; and therefore don't you be one of tho&s;e Chri&s;tian Fools that you your &s;elf have &s;o often preach'd again&s;t&mdash; Go on, go on, Sir&mdash;if any body had ill Luck 'twas the Hare to be caught.</P>
<P>Riding a little farther, they were perceiv'd by the Curate and <HI>Carra&s;co</HI> walking together in a Field adjoyning, who pre&s;ently ran with open Arms to embrace their old Friends.</P>
<P>Now it happen'd that <HI>Sancho</HI> had flung over <HI>Grizzle</HI>'s Back the gay Coat, all painted over with flames, which the Duke had given him, to cover his Ma&s;ters bundle of Armour, like a Sumpter Cloth; and his Miter, which was no le&s;s gaudy, he had fix'd upon the A&s;&s;es head; &s;o that it might be truly &s;aid that never Four-footed A&s;s was &s;o &s;trangely bedizon'd in this World. Which the Childern, who are generally as &s;harp-&s;ighted as Lynxes, perceiv|ing, came running Bare-foot and Bare-legg'd, and flocking about the Shew, Hoy-day, look, Sirs&mdash; Here's Madam A&s;s and Gaffer Hor&s;e&mdash; did yee ever &s;ee an A&s;s as fine as a Lady, and a Hor&s;e &s;o like a Red Herring before?&mdash; And with that, they ran hooping and hollowing before, like the Boys upon a <HI>Holy-Thur&s;day,</HI> while the Curate, <HI>Don Quixote, Carra&s;co</HI> and <HI>Sancho</HI> follow'd lei&s;urely after, like the Par&s;on and the Ma&s;ters of the Pari&s;h, till <HI>Don Quixote</HI> arriv'd at his own Hou&s;e, where his Maid and his Neece attended him coming.</P>
<P>At the &s;ame time <HI>Tere&s;a</HI> being inform'd of their arrival, came running with her Hair about her Ears, and pulling her Daughter after her, who ran like a Doe in her Hand. But when &s;he &s;aw that her Husband was not &s;o Don-like attir'd as &s;he imagin'd, Ble&s;&s;ed Lady, quo &s;he, what's the meaning of this? you look as if y' had come all the way afoot; upon my Life too as tir'd as a Dog after hunting&mdash;Why, this is more like a Beggar then a Governour.&mdash;</P>
<P>Peace, dear <HI>Tere&s;a,</HI> peace a while, fir&s;t let's go home, and then I'le tell thee wonders&mdash;Many times when a Man has got Boots, he wants Spurs&mdash; But I ha' Money, my Honey, tho I ha' nothing el&s;e&mdash; Money got by my own Indu&s;try, without doing wrong to any Body.&mdash;</P>
<P>Ha&s;t got Money, Chuck! quo <HI>Tere&s;a,</HI> nay then 'tis no matter how thou cam'&s;t by it&mdash; 'tis not the Fa&s;hion now a days to be &s;o inqui&s;itive. At the &s;ame time little <HI>Sancha</HI> embracing her Father, ask'd him what he had brought her home? telling him withal that &s;he had long'd for his coming more then ere the Flowers did for Dew in May. Which Ceremonies of Love and Duty thus perform'd, <HI>Tere&s;a</HI> took him under the Arm, and <HI>Sancha</HI> fa&s;tning upon the Wa&s;t-band of his Breeches, away they tugg'd him to his Cottage, leading <HI>Grizzle</HI> by the Collar in his hand.</P>
<P>And now were the Champions friends orejoy'd, they had got him home agen, not dreaming he had any more Crotchets in his Head; but be|fore he could pull off his Boots and comb his Head, &s;o full he was, that ta|king the Curate and <HI>Carra&s;co</HI> a&s;ide, after he had given 'em a &s;hort account of his being defeated by the Knight of the <HI>White Moon,</HI> and the obligation that lay upon him not to bear Arms for a whole Year; which he was re|&s;olv'd to perform to the la&s;t Minute, he added that &s;ince he had &s;o fair an Opportunity, he was determin'd to &s;pend that lei&s;ure time the mo&s;t plea&s;ant|ly
<PB N="612" REF="325"> i' the World; for now, quo he, will I retire to the Woods and Plains, where like a Shepherd of old <HI>Arcady,</HI> I will entertain my Amorous Pa&s;&s;ions with Madrigals and Roundelays; and therefore de&s;ir'd 'em, if their Bu&s;ine&s;s would permit, to bear him Company in &s;o delightful and innocent a Life. To which purpo&s;e he would furni&s;h 'em with &s;uch a number of Sheep as might ju&s;tly entitle 'em to the dignifi'd name of <HI>Shepherd.</HI> Moreover he gave them to under&s;tand that he had half done the work already; for that he had found 'em out names &s;o &s;uitable to the Profe&s;&s;ion, that <HI>Pan</HI> him&s;elf could never have invented better.</P>
<P>Thereupon the Curate being de&s;irous to know the Names, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> reply'd, that he for his part would be call'd the Shepherd <HI>Quihotis;</HI> that he had given him the name of <HI>Curiambro;</HI> that the Student &s;hould be call'd <HI>Sam&s;onino</HI> or <HI>Carra&s;con;</HI> and <HI>Sancho Pancha, Pan&s;ino.</HI></P>
<P>This new Project made the Curate and the Schollar &s;tare; however be|ing re&s;olv'd to humour him, The Duce take me, quo the Student, if you ha' not hit it to a hair&mdash; we &s;hall lead the merrie&s;t Lives imaginable&mdash; I am old Dog at Poetry&mdash; I can make Eclogues with <HI>Virgil</HI> him&s;elf, and Pa&s;toral ditties for all the Mu&s;itians i' the Kingdom&mdash; But now I think on't what &s;hall we do for Shepherde&s;&s;es? For 'tis as impo&s;&s;ible for a Shep|herd to be without a Shepherde&s;s, as for a <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> to be without a Mi&s;tre&s;s&mdash; El&s;e, how &s;hall we do to carve and notch the Trees, as we mu&s;t do? For I'me re&s;olv'd to carry a &s;harp Penknife, along with me, and to omit no duty of a Shepherd when I come to be one.</P>
<P>Oh, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> &s;haking his Head, Mr. <HI>Carra&s;co,</HI> Mr. <HI>Carra&s;co,</HI> I won|der that &s;hould be your want; for I never knew a young Student of any Met|tle without a Female, tho it were his Laundre&s;s, i' my Life&mdash; for your young Students are much of the nature of Turtles, they cannot live without a Mate&mdash; however for a &s;hift you may conceit a Shepherde&s;s, and that will do as well&mdash; For my part I am provided already with the Peerle&s;s <HI>Dulcinea del Tobo&s;o,</HI> the only Nymph of the&s;e Rivers, the Ornament, of the&s;e Meadows, the Prim|ro&s;e of Beauty, the Fountain of Cha&s;tity, more graceful then the three Daughters of <HI>Jupiter</HI> put together; and in a word, the Subject of all Ap|plau&s;es that are able to puzzle <HI>Hyperboles.</HI></P>
<P>We grant all this to be true, quo the Curate, but we that cannot pre|tend to &s;uch perfections, would be glad of &s;ome pa&s;&s;able <HI>Barren Doe</HI> or other, that may &s;tand us in&s;tead upon occa&s;ion. For I don't find in any of your An|cient Authors, but that the Shepherds and Shepherde&s;&s;es do play together now and then.</P>
<P>However, quo the Student, we can take what names we plea&s;e out of Books, <HI>Diana, Florinda, Amarillis</HI> or <HI>Galatea;</HI> they are to be bought in any Book&s;ellers Shop, and when we have purchas'd 'em, they are our own. And then if I meet with a Shepherde&s;s who&s;e name is <HI>Be&s;s,</HI> I'le call her <HI>Eliza,</HI> from <HI>Elizabeth;</HI> if <HI>Dol, Dorothea,</HI> from <HI>Doroty;</HI> if <HI>Lucie, Lu|cinda.</HI> And I am apt to believe if I propound this Project to my Landladies Daughter, I &s;han't mi&s;s of one for my Turn.</P>
<P><HI>Don Quixote</HI> was &s;o extreamly pleas'd to find that his Invention took &s;o kindly, that he re&s;olv'd to &s;end for his <HI>Dulcinea</HI> forthwith, not doubting but that &s;he mu&s;t be out of the Devils Clutches by this time, &s;ince he had paid &s;o dearly to the Keeper for her Lodging. But the Student adviz'd him to provide all things ready fir&s;t; to buy his Sheep and his Sheep-hooks, his Tarboxes, Fifes, Drums and Tabours, and then they would all go meet her in their <HI>Pontifcalibus.</HI> And having &s;o &s;aid, the Curate and the Student took their leave of the Knight, who thought him&s;elf in
<PB N="613" REF="325"> the Bo&s;om of the Moon, he was &s;o wrapt up in plea&s;ure and Con|tent.</P>
<P>All this while the Maid and the Neece had been li&s;tning like two Sows i' the Beans, and having heard the rambling Di&s;cour&s;e between the Three Shepherds; Lord, Uncle, quo the Neece, what new Maggot is this, that crawls i' your Pate? When we thought you had been come home to live like a &s;ober Gentleman, you are hearkning after new Temptations of the Devil, and going to turn Mutton-monger. By my truly you ha' pickt out a very fine Employment&mdash; Be&s;ides, another di&s;appointment, you'l meet with to boot&mdash; not a Straw to be had for Love or Money, fit to make a Pipe of&mdash; For the Fields have been &s;hav'd this Three Weeks.&mdash;</P>
<P>Faith Ma&s;ter, quo the Maid, I am neither Drunk nor Mad yet, and to my &s;hame be it &s;poken, an old Maid at Fifty without a Husband, and therefore take my advice&mdash;&s;tay at home and read godly Books, &s;ay your Pray|ers, and be Charitable to the Poor&mdash;for you are as fit to lye Basking i' the Summer Sun, or upon the cold Snow i' the Winter, as I am to be Captain of a Ship.</P>
<P>Good Neece, and you Mrs. Twittle Twattle, hold your Peace, quo <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> for I know be&s;t what I have do&mdash; All I de&s;ire of you at pre&s;ent is to make my Bed; for if I mi&s;take not I dont find my &s;elf very well&mdash; but let me do well or ill, I &s;hall do well enough for <HI>You;</HI> and that's as much as you can de&s;ire or need to trouble your heads with.</P>
<P>Upon the&s;e fair promi&s;es they undre&s;t him, put him to bed, and brought him his Supper; and after he had done, they drew the Curtains and left him to his Repo&s;e.</P>
</DIV3>
<DIV3 N="22" TYPE="chapter">
<HEAD>CHAP. XXII.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">How <HI>Don Quixote</HI> fell &s;ick, of the Will that he made and of his Death.</HEAD>
<P>PRe&s;umptuous Man! how vainly do&s;t thou pretend to be the di&s;po&s;er of thy Life or thy Affairs! Fond Man propo&s;es to him&s;elf to live a merry Life, and meditates future Revenge of pa&s;t Indignities; but then comes Death and di&s;appoints as well his hopes as Joys. <HI>Don Quixote</HI> thus propos'd to live a Jolly Shepherds Life, and after that to re&s;ume his fir&s;t Profe&s;&s;ion of <HI>Knight-Errantry,</HI> to regain his lo&s;t Honour and in &s;earch of new Fame; but Death &s;urpriz'd him when he lea&s;t thought of it. But whether his &s;ick|ne&s;s proceeded from the &s;ad Remembrance of his la&s;t defeat, or whether the Heavens had &s;o decreed it I will not undertake to determin. Certain it is that a Burning Fever &s;eiz'd him, which enforc'd him to keep his Bed Six days.</P>
<P>All that time the Curate, the Student and the Barber gave him fre|quent Vi&s;its, and &s;uch was <HI>Sancho</HI>'s Love that he would not &s;tir from his Bed.</P>
<P>Among the re&s;t, the Student rationally conjecturing that &s;ome con|firm'd Su&s;pition of the Devils treachery in not delivering <HI>Dulcinea</HI> to him after full payment made by <HI>Sancho,</HI> might be the Cau&s;e of his Grief that augmented his Di&s;temper, endeavour'd all he could to comfort him. To which purpo&s;e, he de&s;ir'd him to pluck up a good heart and ri&s;e, to the end
<PB N="614" REF="326"> they might begin their Pa&s;toral Life; telling him withal that he had alrea|dy compos'd an Eclogue, not inferiour to the Dialogue of <HI>Shepherd in faith I cannot &s;tay,</HI> or <HI>Strephon</HI> and <HI>Phillis;</HI> and how he had bought two the be&s;t Dogs i' the Country for keeping of Sheep, the one call'd <HI>Gipp</HI> and t'other <HI>Tan&s;ey,</HI> both Dogs of tho&s;e Eminent Parts that they could dance the Shep|herds delight to the Flageolet.</P>
<P>But the&s;e were vain attempts to rai&s;e <HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Mirth, for he could neither laugh nor talk, but lay like an Alderman in Stone i' the Chancel.</P>
<P>Thereupon they &s;ent for a Phy&s;ician, who feeling his Pul&s;e &s;hook his Head, and bid his Patient prepare for another World, for that he had not long to &s;tay i' this.</P>
<P>For which <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> without the lea&s;t di&s;may return'd him thanks; telling him withal, that he did not expect &s;o much Divinity from a Per&s;on of his Profe&s;&s;ion.</P>
<P>The Phy&s;ician was no &s;ooner gone, but he fell into a &s;ound &s;leep, and had a Nap for &s;ix hours together; &s;o that his Neece and his Maid thought he ne|ver would have wak'd again. However at the &s;ix houres end it happen'd that he did open his Eyes again once more in his Life, as it were to take his la&s;t leave of the World. At what time, he call'd for his Neece, and bid her &s;end for the Curate, the Student and Mr. <HI>Nicholas</HI> the Barber; for that he found him&s;elf drawing toward his end, and therefore was re&s;olv'd to make his la&s;t Will and Te&s;tament, and tho&s;e other preparations for Death, which a good Chri&s;tian ought to do.</P>
<P>Which <HI>Sancho</HI> hearing, Oh my dear Ma&s;ter, quo he, is this a time to dye, when we have ju&s;t now news of Madam <HI>Dulcinea</HI>'s being di&s;inchan|ted? Come, come, Sir, leave your melancholy Dumps and ri&s;e; is this a time to lye groaning a bed, when we &s;hould be abroad i' the Fields, piping like the Boys in <HI>Bartlemew</HI> Fair time, and &s;inging like Canary Birds. Take my Coun&s;el Ma&s;ter, live as long as you can; for 'tis the greate&s;t folly i' the World to dye for a brui&s;e o' the Bum. Why, what if yee were unhors'd, and were well Crupper-&s;cratch'd, what great matter's that. You know 'tis a common thing for <HI>Knight-Errants</HI> to overturn one another. Be&s;ides, you may lay the blame of your di&s;grace upon me, and &s;ay 'twas through my confounded neglect, in not girting <HI>Ro&s;inante</HI> as I ought to ha' done.</P>
<P>By this time the Curate and the Schollar came into the Chamber; to whom <HI>Don Quixote,</HI> with a chearful Voice, Come Neighbours, quo he, I am no longer <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> but plain Mr. <HI>Alon&s;o Quixano.</HI> I am an utter Enemy to <HI>Amadis de Gaul</HI> and all his Generation. I abominate and dete&s;t all the whole Rabble of <HI>Knight-Errants,</HI> and all tho&s;e prophane and ungodly Legends of wandring Chivalry that &s;o be&s;otted my Under&s;tand|ing, and heartily forgive the Necromancer that robb'd me of that wicked Study of mine. In a word, I have liv'd like a Fool, but I am re&s;olv'd to dye i' my Wits. To that purpo&s;e I de&s;ire yee to &s;end for a Scrivener to make my Will, for I find the Approach of Death too neer; and with that he &s;unk down again in his Bed.</P>
<P>The Curate, the Schollar and the Barber were not a little &s;tartl'd at his Expre&s;&s;ions, and &s;taring one upon another, knew not what to think of his Condition. Thereupon while the Curate confe&s;s'd him, the Schollar went for a Scrivener; nor was it long before he return'd again; at what time, quo the Curate to the Schollar, meeting him upon the Stairs, Upon my word you come in good time; for now I believe he has not long to live indeed, however I am glad that he dyes in the Bed of Repentance, rather then in the Bed of Romantick Honour. I de&s;ire yee to be mindful of the Church and
<PB N="615" REF="326"> the poor Curate, and don't let him give all away to Neeces and Maid Ser|vants; and &s;o go on with your bu&s;ine&s;s.</P>
<P>With the&s;e In&s;tructions the Student carri'd the Scrivener into the Cham|ber, where, after Mr. Penman had made the formal Part of the Will, with an <HI>In Nomine Domini,</HI> in Text Letters, <HI>Don Quixote</HI> order'd him to write on in the&s;e words.</P>
<P><HI>Item,</HI> It is my Will, that as to the Money which <HI>Sancho Pancha</HI> (whom in my madne&s;s I made my Squire) has in his hands, no accompt be taken of him; I know he has layd out much Money for me, and I owe him for Three thou&s;and three hunder'd La&s;hes, which he laid upon his own back for my &s;ake about ten days ago; and therefore if there be any Money re|maining I freely give it him and much good may it do him. And as I gave him the Government of an I&s;land when I was mad, &s;o would I now give him a Kingdom if I had it; for his &s;implicity and fidelity de&s;erve it. And then turning to <HI>Sancho,</HI> he begg'd his pardon for having &s;educ'd him from his Wife and Family to make him as mad as him&s;elf; and for being the oc|ca&s;ion of his being &s;o cruelly to&s;s'd in a Blanket.&mdash;</P>
<P>But then <HI>Sancho,</HI> letting fall a &s;howre of Tears as big as Pibbles, be|&s;ought him once more not to dye that Bout; put him in mind of his plea|&s;ant Pa&s;toral Life, and told him withal that for a Man to dye of the <HI>Mulli|grubs,</HI> was like a Hens dying of the Pip.</P>
<P>But <HI>Don Quixote</HI> was not now at lei&s;ure to hear his Squire's Admonitions as he wont to do, and therefore ordering the Scrivener to proceed,</P>
<P><HI>Item,</HI> quo he, I give to my Neece <HI>Antonia Quixana</HI> all my Hou&s;hold Goods, deducting the payment of my Maid her full Wages and Forty Shil|lings to buy her Mourning.</P>
<P><HI>Item,</HI> I make my Executors Mr. Curate, and Mr. <HI>Sam&s;on Carra&s;co</HI> the Student, and bequeath 'em Five Shillings a piece for the hire of a Mourn|ing Cloak, and to buy each of them a Mourning Hat-band, to attend me to my Grave.</P>
<P><HI>Item,</HI> It is my Will, that if my Neece have a de&s;ire to marry, that the Man be enquir'd after, whether he be a Per&s;on addicted to read Romances; and if he be found to be &s;uch a one, and yet my Neece will ob&s;tinately marry him, that then &s;he &s;hall forfeit her Legacy to be be&s;tow'd in Pious U&s;es.</P>
<P><HI>Item,</HI> As for <HI>Ro&s;inante,</HI> I bequeath him to the Pari&s;h Scavenger, for his Incontinency with a Carriers Mare, which co&s;t me the wor&s;t Ba&s;ting that ere I had i' my Life.</P>
<P><HI>Item,</HI> I leave my old Armour to <HI>Don Perez de Mendoza</HI> the Famous Bone|&s;etter, for the rectifying of crooked Virgins, to prevent their Parents doub|ling their Portions, to the ruin of their other Children, and the madne&s;s of young Men that will marry Faggot-&s;ticks for Money.</P>
<P><HI>Item,</HI> My Will is, that the Ba&s;on (which I took for <HI>Mambrinos</HI> Helmet) be re&s;tor'd to the Barber, from whom in my madne&s;s I took it by force and violence, and Five Shillings withal, either to get it mended or buy him a new one.</P>
<P><HI>Item,</HI> I de&s;ire my Executors, that if at any time they happen to meet with the Author of the Second Part of the Hi&s;tory of <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> that they beg his Pardon i' my Name, for having been the occa&s;ion of his writing &s;o many Lies an Extravagancies as he has done. For I depart this Life much di&s;atisfi'd for having given him &s;uch an unnece&s;&s;ary Trouble.</P>
<P>The Will thus made and &s;eal'd, the Scrivener prote&s;ted that he had ne|ver read in any Book of <HI>Knight-Errantry</HI> of any <HI>Knight-Errant</HI> that ever
<PB N="616" REF="327"> dy'd &s;o penitent, and &s;o like a good Chri&s;tian, as <HI>Don Quixote</HI> did; who three days after expir'd.</P>
<P>Thus dy'd the Famous <HI>Don Quixote de la Mancha,</HI> upon whom (to omit the Lamentations and Howlings of <HI>Sancho,</HI> the Neece and the old Maid) the Student <HI>Carra&s;co</HI> made the following Epitaph.</P>
<Q><LG>
<L>HEre &s;eiz'd by Death's immediate warrant,</L>
<L>Lyes one that call'd him&s;elf <HI>Knight-Errant;</HI></L>
<L>In &s;earch of Fame from home he rubb'd,</L>
<L>And got him&s;elf by Tap&s;ter dubb'd:</L>
<L>And thus made Knight, away he po&s;ted,</L>
<L>To be lamba&s;ted and Rib-roa&s;ted.</L>
<L>For bravely he his Sword devotes</L>
<L>To &s;uccour all in Petticoats.</L>
<L>More &s;hame to Fortune, &s;o to vex</L>
<L>The &s;tout defender of her Sex.</L>
<L>For always &s;he, in Honours Porch,</L>
<L>&V;nkindly left him in the Lurch,</L>
<L>Half Ma&s;&s;aker'd with Clubs and Stones;</L>
<L>And when &s;he &s;aw him maul'd and drop,</L>
<L>The Punk would laugh, and cry, ri&s;e up</L>
<L>Sir <HI>Don</HI> Raw-head, and Bloody-bones.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>In &s;hort, he &s;lept awake, and lull'd</L>
<L>With Honours charms, him&s;elf befool'd.</L>
<L>His Life was Peaceful, and outragious,</L>
<L>A Dream of Pious, and Couragious:</L>
<L>To &s;hew that Honour's an edg'd Tool,</L>
<L>Not to be dally'd with by every Fool,</L>
</LG></Q>
</DIV3>
</DIV2>
<TRAILER>The End.</TRAILER>
</DIV1>
</BODY>
<BACK>
<DIV1 TYPE="poem">
<PB REF="327">
<HEAD><HI>Don Quixote</HI>'s Entertainment in th' <HI>Ely&s;ian Shades,</HI> By the Knights of the Wandring Order.</HEAD>
<L>SIR Knight we 're glad y' are come, pray take a Stool;</L>
<L>We thought t' have warn'd yee not to play the Fool;</L>
<L>But there's no telling tales out of Hell's School.</L>
<L>Get yee a Perriwig, take our advice;</L>
<L>Colour your Eye-brows, any &s;trange Di&s;gui&s;e.</L>
<L>For Satan, mad beyond all Rhime or Rea&s;on,</L>
<L>Swears you are guilty of Infernal Trea&s;on.</L>
<L>What Slave is that? quo he, with looks &s;evere,</L>
<L>Has built &s;o many Ca&s;tles in the Air?</L>
<L>As if with me the Caitiff meant to &s;hare</L>
<L>My Principality&mdash;To this we &s;aid,</L>
<L>That you were a Knight Errant, &s;taring Mad&mdash;</L>
<L>Sir Knights, I thank yee, but your <HI>Soverano</HI></L>
<L>Mi&s;takes his Man, my Name is <HI>Don Quixano.</HI></L>
<L>And with that Name I dy'd, reclaim'd and &s;ober;</L>
<L>Renouncing Knights of all &s;orts; were my Brother,</L>
<L>Or Father of the Number; Knights o' th' Game,</L>
<L>Or Dunghill Knights; for 'tis to me the &s;ame&mdash;</L>
<L>How's this! Wee'll kick thee back to Earth again;</L>
<L>There rot among the Worms, Thou &s;corn of Men.</L>
<L>But &s;tay a while&mdash; For now we think on't well,</L>
<L>Th' art th' only Penitent ere came to Hell.</L>
</DIV1>
<DIV1 TYPE="poem">
<HEAD><HI>Between the</HI> Knights Templers <HI>and</HI> Don Quixote.</HEAD>
<L><HI>Kn^t^s.</HI> BRother <HI>Don Quixote</HI> welcom to thy Doom,</L>
<L>By <HI>Charon</HI>'s drivell'd Beard we'll make thee Room</L>
<L><HI>D. Qu.</HI> Sons of Debau&s;hry, keep your na&s;ty Cells,</L>
<L>I'le not lye neer &s;uch Chri&s;tian Infidels.</L>
<L><HI>Kn^t^s.</HI> Peace, why &s;o angry with the Brotherhood.</L>
<L><HI>D. Qu.</HI> No Brotherhood of Mine, by all that's good:</L>
<L>Di&s;&s;emblers! here you lye devout in Stone;</L>
<L>Wor&s;e then the Devil far, when Fle&s;h and Bone.</L>
<L>I never was &s;o mad, tho mad enough,</L>
<L>To fight' gain&s;t Heavens Decrees. <HI>Kn^t^s.</HI> As how? your proof.</L>
<L><HI>D. Qu.</HI> You fought for a rude heap of Stones in Pa&s;&s;ion,</L>
<L>Which Heaven had curs'd to utter De&s;olation.</L>
<L><HI>Kn^t^s. Hermitical</HI> Devotion thought it Meet.</L>
<L><HI>D. Qu.</HI> Devotion<HI>'s</HI> Non&s;ence, without Sence or Wit.</L>
<L><HI>Kn^t^s.</HI> Com'&s;t thou like <HI>Phlegeus</HI> hear to preach in Hell;</L>
<L>Be quiet and lye down. <HI>D. Qu.</HI> The truth to tell,</L>
<L>I dare not lye &s;o neer your Stone Haubergeons,</L>
<L>My Skin is &s;oft, and I want Coin for Surgeons.</L>
<L><HI>Kn^t^s.</HI> Lye, and be damn'd then, under Sulphur &s;howres;</L>
<L>We &s;corn thy Company, &s;ince thou &s;corn'&s;t ours.</L>
</DIV1>
<DIV1 TYPE="poem">
<PB REF="328">
<HEAD>Olivers Porter <HI>to</HI> Don Quixote.</HEAD>
<L>KEeper, keep out that Flatothraxing Knight,</L>
<L>El&s;e here will be no peace by day nor night;</L>
<L>He'l put me from my Praying Humour quite;</L>
<L>No Patience I &s;hall have, that have but little,</L>
<L>To &s;ee that Skeleton, that Raw-bon'd Spittle.</L>
<L>He a Knight-Errant! He a Fool, a Gudgeon,</L>
<L>A Cuckow-brains, a Peagoo&s;e, a meer Widgeon.</L>
<L>I know of no Knight-Errant but my <HI>Ma&s;ter;</HI></L>
<L>He was a <HI>Termagaunt,</HI> the World's Lamba&s;ter.</L>
<L>This Puppy rode a Kingdom-hunting too;</L>
<L>What got he by't? knocks, rubs, and thumps enow;</L>
<L>Not earth enough to bury three Hog-Lice;</L>
<L>My Ma&s;ter got Three Kingdoms in a Trice;</L>
<L>With all the Giblets and Apurtenances;</L>
<L>I&s;lands I mean; Had <HI>Sancho</HI> been his Squire,</L>
<L>He'd had a Government to his de&s;ire.</L>
<L>Nay, might ha' been a Major-General;</L>
<L>His Birth con&s;ider'd, and his Parts withal.</L>
<L>Your <HI>Amadi&s;s's, Palmerin's</HI> and <HI>Bevi&s;s's,</HI></L>
<L>Your <HI>Guy's,</HI> he would have beaten into Crevi&s;&s;es.</L>
<L>And I his Porter, a fit Match for thee,</L>
<L>As if thou dar'&s;t provoke me, thou &s;halt &s;ee.</L>
<L>Go then, lye clo&s;e, and o're thy Hole I'le write</L>
<L>Here lyes a prating talking Milk-&s;op Knight,</L>
<L>That bounc'd and flu&s;ter-blu&s;ter'd all day long,</L>
<L>And every day &s;lew Thou&s;ands with his Tongue.</L>
</DIV1>
<DIV1 TYPE="poem">
<HEAD>Betty Buly's <HI>Congratulation to Madam</HI> Dulcinea.</HEAD>
<L>MAdam, my Name is <HI>Betty Buly,</HI></L>
<L>I pity your Condition, Truly.</L>
<L>Had you but liv'd, where I did dwell,</L>
<L>You nere &s;hould ha' led Apes in Hell.</L>
<L>Better y' had link'd with City Fop,</L>
<L>Then Mi&s;tre&s;s to a Nickapoop.</L>
<L>But Madam, pray what &s;mell is this?</L>
<L>'Tis neither Musk, nor Ambergrei&s;e.</L>
<L>Oh&mdash; now I have it for a groat,</L>
<L>Your Ladi&s;hip has &s;opt your Coat</L>
<L>In Hogwa&s;h, Madam, a &s;hrew'd &s;ign</L>
<L>Your Ladi&s;hip once fed the Swine.</L>
<L>The be&s;t could fall of bad Mi&s;haps,</L>
<L>To &s;ave your leading <HI>Stygian</HI> Apes;</L>
<L>For now you'l be employ'd to keep</L>
<L>Our Ma&s;ter Satan's grunting Sheep.</L>
<PB REF="328">
<L>Oh happy you, as nere was none:</L>
<L>Ala&s;s my Trade is lo&s;t and gone:</L>
<L>Here's no men calls for lu&s;ty Chear,</L>
<L>For Wine or pretty La&s;&s;es here.</L>
<L>But, Madam, you are as you were.</L>
</DIV1>
<DIV1 TYPE="poem">
<HEAD>The Aldermen of <HI>Gotam</HI> to <HI>Sancho Pancha.</HI></HEAD>
<BYLINE>By Gayton.</BYLINE>
<L><HI>O</HI> Do not grieve, tho great thy Lo&s;s,</L>
<L>To lo&s;e a Lord not worth a Cro&s;s.</L>
<L>We hearing of thy great Renown,</L>
<L>De&s;ire thee to o' re-rule our Town:</L>
<L>You'll find us ea&s;ie to be rul'd;</L>
<L>People that will and may be fool'd:</L>
<L>A &s;ort of Cockscombs cannot tell</L>
<L>When we are ill or when we're well:</L>
<L>Full of Money, full of Pride,</L>
<L>And want an Ebb to our long Tide.</L>
<L>You need not bring your A&s;s with you,</L>
<L>You &s;hall have A&s;&s;es here enow.</L>
<L><HI>Caetera de&s;unt.</HI></L>
</DIV1>
<DIV1 TYPE="epitaph">
<HEAD>An Epitaph upon Madam <HI>Dulcinea.</HI></HEAD>
<L>HEre by report of every one that know &s;o,</L>
<L>Lyes the deceas'd <HI>Dulcina del Tobo&s;o:</HI></L>
<L>A fair, ill favour'd, Highborn, Dirty Blowze,</L>
<L>Whom Great <HI>Don Quixote</HI> cho&s;e to be his Spou&s;e.</L>
<L>She thra&s;h'd in open Barn, and &s;erv'd the Swine,</L>
<L>But yet a Lady, Empre&s;s and a Queen.</L>
<L>If ere you meet the Place that hides her Bum,</L>
<L>Pray write this Elegy upon her Tomb.</L>
</DIV1>
<DIV1 TYPE="errata">
<HEAD>ERRATA.</HEAD>
<P>PAge 2. l. 46. read <HI>Gentleman.</HI> Page 4. l. 36. r. <HI>the Tongue.</HI> ibid l. 38. r. <HI>his mind.</HI> p. 5. l. 9. r. <HI>Mart.</HI> p. 7. l. 14. r. <HI>ravings,</HI> ib. l. 50. r. <HI>&s;ame in&s;tant.</HI> p. 8. l. 11. dele <HI>to.</HI> p. 11. l. ult. r. <HI>they meet with the &s;ign.</HI> p. 12. l. 11. dele <HI>to.</HI> p. 14. l. 37. dele the comma after oblig'd. p. 18. l. 8. r. <HI>el&s;e I challenge and defie ye all for.</HI> P. 23. l. 1. r. <HI>This is.</HI> P. 25. l. 40. r. <HI>and performs.</HI> p. 28. l. 35. r. <HI>Sancho,</HI> and &s;o for &s;everal pages. p. 32. l. 42. r. <HI>Gentle|man for.</HI> p. 41. l. 41. r. <HI>tearing the meat.</HI> p. 49. l. 23. r. <HI>either at.</HI> p. 50. l. 25. r. <HI>the Gentlemen.</HI> p. 52. l. 22. r. <HI>to God,</HI> ibid. l. 29. r. <HI>gambole.</HI> p. 57. l. 12. r. <HI>Swedeland.</HI> p. 61. l. 3. r. <HI>Benengeli.</HI> p. 68. l. 44. r. <HI>Landabrides.</HI> p. 72. l. 8. r. <HI>&s;immer.</HI> p. 81. l. 27. r. <HI>a time.</HI> p. 89. l. 35. r. <HI>like.</HI> p. 90. l. 50. r. <HI>might.</HI> p. 138. l. ult. r. <HI>careful.</HI> p. 142. l. 24. r. <HI>Maukins.</HI> p. 156. l. 33. r. <HI>Micomicon.</HI> p. 467. l. 6. r. <HI>Ladies old Gown, ju&s;t.</HI> p. 480. l. 25. r. <HI>con|foundedly.</HI> p. 486. l. 45. r. <HI>upon it.</HI> p. 533. l. ult. r. <HI>Tumult.</HI> p. 582. l. 5. r. <HI>heard a Tittle.</HI></P>
</DIV1>
</BACK>
</TEXT>
</EEBO>
</ETS>
