The Life and Notable Adventures of that Renown'd Knight, Don Quixote De la Mancha Merrily Translated into Hudibrastick Verse. By Edward Ward |
 | I, II. |
|
 | I. |
| II. |
| III. | PART III. |
| IX. |
| IX. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
 | The Life and Notable Adventures of that Renown'd Knight, Don Quixote De la Mancha |  |
153
III. PART III.
CANTO IX.
The Raving Knight in woeful Case
Advanc'd upon the Plowman's Ass:
What pass'd between the Don and Clown
As jogging to their Native Town.
Advanc'd upon the Plowman's Ass:
What pass'd between the Don and Clown
As jogging to their Native Town.
The Poor Unhappy batter'd Knight
Unable yet to stand upright,
Bury'd in Dust, tho' not quite Dead,
His Coffin Steel instead of Lead;
As he thus lay stretch'd out at length
Upon his Back, depriv'd of strength,
Had nothing left, alas, to be
His Comfort in extremity,
But to recall to mind the Case
Of other Champions in Distress,
That by their bloody Wounds and Drubs
Receiv'd from Gyant's Swords and Clubs
And other Hardships he had read,
His own might be the lighter made;
For when we're doom'd by Evil Fate
To painful Troubles, tho they're great,
The way to bear with them the better,
Is to compare 'em still with greater.
Unable yet to stand upright,
Bury'd in Dust, tho' not quite Dead,
His Coffin Steel instead of Lead;
As he thus lay stretch'd out at length
Upon his Back, depriv'd of strength,
Had nothing left, alas, to be
His Comfort in extremity,
154
Of other Champions in Distress,
That by their bloody Wounds and Drubs
Receiv'd from Gyant's Swords and Clubs
And other Hardships he had read,
His own might be the lighter made;
For when we're doom'd by Evil Fate
To painful Troubles, tho they're great,
The way to bear with them the better,
Is to compare 'em still with greater.
Accordingly the pensive Knight,
As thus he lay in doleful plight,
Lessen'd his Sorrows and Mischances
By thinking of his old Romances,
Giving Refreshment to his Carcase
By Baldwin and the Mantuan Marquess;
The former Champion having fought
With Charlet to the Ground was brought
And when almost of Life bereft
Was bleeding on the Mountain left.
A Story often read and told
With Pleasure both by Young and Old,
Who only credited by Fools,
Like Mahomet's old Miracles,
Being forg'd upon the self same Anvil
As the Reports of Parson Glanvil.
The ancient Fable which the Don
And thus the luck to pitch upon,
He now conceited was no less
Than well adapted to his Case,
And that it suited his Mischance
In each unhappy Circumstance:
So that he roll'd from side to side,
And made his Suff'rings but his Pride,
In the warm Sun still grew the madder,
As quoil'd in Dust like Snake or Adder,
Remembring how the Knight o'th' Wood
Complain'd in melancholy mood
Against the Empress of his Heart,
For whom he had endur'd such smart,
Because he thought the Lovely She
Forbore to grieve by Sympathy,
And whilst he lay in sore Distress
Did not bemoan his wretched Case,
And shew her Pity and good Nature
In Sobs and Tears when his dear Creature
Alas, knew nothing of the Matter.
As thus he lay in doleful plight,
Lessen'd his Sorrows and Mischances
By thinking of his old Romances,
Giving Refreshment to his Carcase
By Baldwin and the Mantuan Marquess;
The former Champion having fought
With Charlet to the Ground was brought
And when almost of Life bereft
Was bleeding on the Mountain left.
155
With Pleasure both by Young and Old,
Who only credited by Fools,
Like Mahomet's old Miracles,
Being forg'd upon the self same Anvil
As the Reports of Parson Glanvil.
The ancient Fable which the Don
And thus the luck to pitch upon,
He now conceited was no less
Than well adapted to his Case,
And that it suited his Mischance
In each unhappy Circumstance:
So that he roll'd from side to side,
And made his Suff'rings but his Pride,
In the warm Sun still grew the madder,
As quoil'd in Dust like Snake or Adder,
Remembring how the Knight o'th' Wood
Complain'd in melancholy mood
Against the Empress of his Heart,
For whom he had endur'd such smart,
156
Forbore to grieve by Sympathy,
And whilst he lay in sore Distress
Did not bemoan his wretched Case,
And shew her Pity and good Nature
In Sobs and Tears when his dear Creature
Alas, knew nothing of the Matter.
This old Romantick Lamentation
Of Baldwin made such deep Impression
Upon the Don, who weak and lame,
Conceiv'd his Circumstance the same,
That in the Words of that Romance
He thus began his own Complaints
Against his Dulci', whom he thought
Guilty of t'other Lady's fault.
Of Baldwin made such deep Impression
Upon the Don, who weak and lame,
Conceiv'd his Circumstance the same,
That in the Words of that Romance
He thus began his own Complaints
Against his Dulci', whom he thought
Guilty of t'other Lady's fault.
Why haste you not, my only Dear,
To help me in Affliction here,
Or in my Absence have you quite
Forsaken your distressed Knight.
To help me in Affliction here,
Or in my Absence have you quite
Forsaken your distressed Knight.
157
Fond of this doleful Lamentation,
The Don went on without digression,
Continuing the Romantick Verse
He took such pleasure to rehearse,
Till to the foll'wing Lines he came
Repeating to himself the same,
O thou my Uncle and my Prince
Marquess of Mantua, Noble Lord—
Just at this instant as the Knight
Was in his frantick raving Fit,
A sturdy Plowman with a Sack
Of Grist upon his Ass's Back,
Was passing to a neighb'ring Village,
Where he for Years had liv'd by Tillage,
And stepping suddenly upon
The poor, forlorn, distressed Don,
Struck him at first with some surprise,
And stop'd his mad soliloquies;
The Clown more frighted than the Knight
At such a strange ungainly Sight,
Cry'd out Deliver us from Evil,
Art thou a Monster or the Devil,
Or conquer'd Combatant whose Throat
Is cut in spite of Iron Coat?
The Don went on without digression,
Continuing the Romantick Verse
He took such pleasure to rehearse,
Till to the foll'wing Lines he came
Repeating to himself the same,
O thou my Uncle and my Prince
Marquess of Mantua, Noble Lord—
Just at this instant as the Knight
Was in his frantick raving Fit,
A sturdy Plowman with a Sack
Of Grist upon his Ass's Back,
Was passing to a neighb'ring Village,
Where he for Years had liv'd by Tillage,
And stepping suddenly upon
The poor, forlorn, distressed Don,
Struck him at first with some surprise,
And stop'd his mad soliloquies;
The Clown more frighted than the Knight
At such a strange ungainly Sight,
158
Art thou a Monster or the Devil,
Or conquer'd Combatant whose Throat
Is cut in spite of Iron Coat?
Don Quixote, whose distemper'd Brain
Had quite mistook the Country-man,
Conceited he could be no less
Than Duke of Mantua by his Face,
Disguis'd i'th' Habit of a Clown,
Perhaps not caring to be known,
So that the Knight without the least
Regard to what the Lout exprest,
Went on with those Romantick Strains
Which wholly now possest his Brains,
Giving a solemn sad Account
Of all his Hardships in the Mount,
And other Troubles of his Life,
Occasion'd by the Jilt his Wife;
Who would in Spite of Wedlock Run
To Cuddle with the Emp'rour's Son,
Fancying himself to be no less
Than her 'Spouse Baldwin in distress,
And that the list'ning Country Boore
Was Uncle Marquess to be sure,
Who by some means had understood
His woeful Suff'rings in the Wood,
Was therefore in compassion come
To seek him out and bring him Home.
Had quite mistook the Country-man,
Conceited he could be no less
Than Duke of Mantua by his Face,
Disguis'd i'th' Habit of a Clown,
Perhaps not caring to be known,
So that the Knight without the least
Regard to what the Lout exprest,
Went on with those Romantick Strains
Which wholly now possest his Brains,
Giving a solemn sad Account
Of all his Hardships in the Mount,
And other Troubles of his Life,
Occasion'd by the Jilt his Wife;
Who would in Spite of Wedlock Run
To Cuddle with the Emp'rour's Son,
159
Than her 'Spouse Baldwin in distress,
And that the list'ning Country Boore
Was Uncle Marquess to be sure,
Who by some means had understood
His woeful Suff'rings in the Wood,
Was therefore in compassion come
To seek him out and bring him Home.
The Plowman much surpris'd to hear
Such frantick Bombast reach his Ear,
And that a scaly Hide, that lay
As still as Image made of Clay,
Should thro an Iron Costern vent
Such a strange whimsical Complaint,
Began to be as much afraid
As he that heard the Brazen-head,
When it in doleful Tone exprest,
Time is, Time was, and Time is past:
However, as he staring stood,
At length he found 'twas Flesh and Blood,
By seeing thro the Visor where
'Twas broken by the Muliteer
A humane, tho a dusty Face,
Which made the Clown take Heart of Grace,
That now he grew full bold enough
To wrench the shatter'd Beaver off,
Then wiping from his ghastly Phiz
The dusty Vizard of Disguise,
And well remembring he had seen
The Don, who had his Neighbour been:
Master Quixada, crys the Clown,
Adsheartly wounds, how came you down,
Stretcht out in this sad plight I wonder,
And your old Pad-Nagg grazing yonder.
Such frantick Bombast reach his Ear,
And that a scaly Hide, that lay
As still as Image made of Clay,
Should thro an Iron Costern vent
Such a strange whimsical Complaint,
Began to be as much afraid
As he that heard the Brazen-head,
When it in doleful Tone exprest,
Time is, Time was, and Time is past:
However, as he staring stood,
At length he found 'twas Flesh and Blood,
160
'Twas broken by the Muliteer
A humane, tho a dusty Face,
Which made the Clown take Heart of Grace,
That now he grew full bold enough
To wrench the shatter'd Beaver off,
Then wiping from his ghastly Phiz
The dusty Vizard of Disguise,
And well remembring he had seen
The Don, who had his Neighbour been:
Master Quixada, crys the Clown,
Adsheartly wounds, how came you down,
Stretcht out in this sad plight I wonder,
And your old Pad-Nagg grazing yonder.
The Knight, transported with the Fancies
He'd met with in his old Romances,
Ne'er minded what the Plowman said,
But still went on with what he'd read
Concerning Baldwin and his Bride,
The Lord knows who and what beside,
As poor distemper'd Bedlamites
Are wont to do in Raving Fits.
The Clown who listn'd for a time
To the Knight's frantick Prose and Rhime,
Till ready to bepiss his Breeches
To hear such strange Romantick Speeches;
At length conjectur'd by his Tattle
He had been worsted by the Bottle,
Or that some Combatant had maul'd him,
And with his Sword or Spear so gaul'd him,
That he was dying Mad with Cuts,
Or Mortal Thrusts into the Guts;
So that the Plowman in good Nature
To's Neighbour and his fellow Creature,
With much ado uncas'd the Don
Of the Old Iron he had on,
Thro Pity, being well inclin'd
To ease those Wounds he could not find,
Which were no more than Drubs too dry
To be discover'd by the Eye:
The Rustick having thus in vain
Search'd for the Causes of his Pain,
Which he believ'd had craz'd his Brain;
But finding neither Bruise nor Cut,
Or bloody Sign from Head to Foot,
Of any Wound that could be Mortal,
Or hinder him from being Heart-whole,
Only in shewing over Care,
By thrusting in his Hand too far,
He chanc'd unwarily to find
Some ugly Symptoms dropt behind,
Which the poor Clown no sooner felt,
But snuffing up his Nose, he smelt.
Thus when i'th' Dark one thing is grop'd for
We oft' meet others never hop'd for.
He'd met with in his old Romances,
Ne'er minded what the Plowman said,
But still went on with what he'd read
Concerning Baldwin and his Bride,
The Lord knows who and what beside,
159
Are wont to do in Raving Fits.
The Clown who listn'd for a time
To the Knight's frantick Prose and Rhime,
Till ready to bepiss his Breeches
To hear such strange Romantick Speeches;
At length conjectur'd by his Tattle
He had been worsted by the Bottle,
Or that some Combatant had maul'd him,
And with his Sword or Spear so gaul'd him,
That he was dying Mad with Cuts,
Or Mortal Thrusts into the Guts;
So that the Plowman in good Nature
To's Neighbour and his fellow Creature,
With much ado uncas'd the Don
Of the Old Iron he had on,
Thro Pity, being well inclin'd
To ease those Wounds he could not find,
Which were no more than Drubs too dry
To be discover'd by the Eye:
160
Search'd for the Causes of his Pain,
Which he believ'd had craz'd his Brain;
But finding neither Bruise nor Cut,
Or bloody Sign from Head to Foot,
Of any Wound that could be Mortal,
Or hinder him from being Heart-whole,
Only in shewing over Care,
By thrusting in his Hand too far,
He chanc'd unwarily to find
Some ugly Symptoms dropt behind,
Which the poor Clown no sooner felt,
But snuffing up his Nose, he smelt.
Thus when i'th' Dark one thing is grop'd for
We oft' meet others never hop'd for.
The Clown now guessing that the Knight
Was only in a frantick Fit,
And that his verbal seeming Sadness
Was nothing else but downright Madness,
Like a kind Neighbour and a Friend,
He rais'd the Champion up on end,
And with much Trouble laid him cross
The Sack of Wheat upon his Ass,
Considering that the Don's own Beast
In height was Sixteen Hands at least,
And pre-supposing he should fall
From off a Steed so woundy tall,
He could not well do less than break
A Leg or Arm, if not his Neck;
So that he thought his Ass in course
A safer Carrier than the Horse.
Was only in a frantick Fit,
And that his verbal seeming Sadness
Was nothing else but downright Madness,
161
He rais'd the Champion up on end,
And with much Trouble laid him cross
The Sack of Wheat upon his Ass,
Considering that the Don's own Beast
In height was Sixteen Hands at least,
And pre-supposing he should fall
From off a Steed so woundy tall,
He could not well do less than break
A Leg or Arm, if not his Neck;
So that he thought his Ass in course
A safer Carrier than the Horse.
When thus the kind industrious Clown
Had mounted up his Neighbour Don,
Who as he sat with stinking Twist
On Ass's Rump, behind the Grist,
Lean'd forward o'er the swelling Sack
That lay upon poor Assins Back;
The Bumpkin careful of the Rust
That lay half bury'd in the Dust,
Pick'd up Don's Armour of Defence,
And e'ery Splinter of his Lance,
His Helmet by his Foe much batter'd,
And Sword and Target that were scatter'd,
Binding the Trophies altogether
In a long Strap or Zone of Leather,
Which with much Care he ty'd upon
The Steed belonging to the Don;
So leading both the Horse and Ass,
Away he walk'd a gentle pace,
Like Pedlar going to some Fair
With loaded Jades to sell his Ware,
Or a Dutch Trumpeter before
Some Monstrous Sight just brought on shore.
Had mounted up his Neighbour Don,
Who as he sat with stinking Twist
On Ass's Rump, behind the Grist,
Lean'd forward o'er the swelling Sack
That lay upon poor Assins Back;
The Bumpkin careful of the Rust
That lay half bury'd in the Dust,
162
And e'ery Splinter of his Lance,
His Helmet by his Foe much batter'd,
And Sword and Target that were scatter'd,
Binding the Trophies altogether
In a long Strap or Zone of Leather,
Which with much Care he ty'd upon
The Steed belonging to the Don;
So leading both the Horse and Ass,
Away he walk'd a gentle pace,
Like Pedlar going to some Fair
With loaded Jades to sell his Ware,
Or a Dutch Trumpeter before
Some Monstrous Sight just brought on shore.
Thus with Dwarf Ass and Gyant Horse,
The Looby Plowman steer'd his Course
To the next Neighb'ring little Town
Where long had dwelt both Don and Clown
Whilst the Knight's dangling Legs that swung,
Like a Clock Pend'lum as they hung,
Swept e'ery Rut and Clod that lay
On each side cockling in their way.
So have I seen a huge Scotch Looby
Mounted on such a puny Hobby,
That had the biggest eas'd the least
The Rider must have carr'd his Beast.
The Looby Plowman steer'd his Course
To the next Neighb'ring little Town
Where long had dwelt both Don and Clown
Whilst the Knight's dangling Legs that swung,
Like a Clock Pend'lum as they hung,
163
On each side cockling in their way.
So have I seen a huge Scotch Looby
Mounted on such a puny Hobby,
That had the biggest eas'd the least
The Rider must have carr'd his Beast.
The Knight, too sore almost to Ride,
Shuffl'd his Arse from side to side
To ease his Crupper, as he sat
Romancing about this and that,
Whilst the Clown santer'd in the middle
Between the Halter and the Bridle,
Reflecting on the Knight's strange Fancies,
And all his wild Extravagancies,
Who now had quite forsook the good
Old Tale of Baldwin in the Wood;
And from the Stories he had read
Fully possest his frantick Head,
He was the Moor Abindaraez,
The Clown Rodrigo de Narvaez,
Leading him Pris'ner to his Castle,
And there to keep him as his Vassal,
So that when e'er the Lout look'd back
Upon the Knight behind the Sack,
And cry'd, How is it with you Master,
Shall we jogg on a little faster,
The Don would ramble God knows where,
And talk of George de Monte Mayor,
From his Diana would be gleaning
Such Answers vbid of Sense or Meaning,
That made the Clown as mad almost
As he that on his Ass rid Post,
The Don saluting honest Pedro
The Plowman, as the fam'd Rodrigo,
A doubty Knight, a fighting Blade,
Of Antequera the Alcayde,
Conceiting, as exprest before,
Himself to be the Captive Moor.
Shuffl'd his Arse from side to side
To ease his Crupper, as he sat
Romancing about this and that,
Whilst the Clown santer'd in the middle
Between the Halter and the Bridle,
Reflecting on the Knight's strange Fancies,
And all his wild Extravagancies,
Who now had quite forsook the good
Old Tale of Baldwin in the Wood;
And from the Stories he had read
Fully possest his frantick Head,
He was the Moor Abindaraez,
The Clown Rodrigo de Narvaez,
164
And there to keep him as his Vassal,
So that when e'er the Lout look'd back
Upon the Knight behind the Sack,
And cry'd, How is it with you Master,
Shall we jogg on a little faster,
The Don would ramble God knows where,
And talk of George de Monte Mayor,
From his Diana would be gleaning
Such Answers vbid of Sense or Meaning,
That made the Clown as mad almost
As he that on his Ass rid Post,
The Don saluting honest Pedro
The Plowman, as the fam'd Rodrigo,
A doubty Knight, a fighting Blade,
Of Antequera the Alcayde,
Conceiting, as exprest before,
Himself to be the Captive Moor.
The Rustick gap'd at what he heard,
And scratch'd his Ears at e'ry word,
Wond'ring what Fever in his Noddle
Had made his Neighbour such a Doodle,
Who now had given the Clown full proof
By all his wild Romantick Stuff,
That he was gally'd sure enough,
So that he whipt both Horse and Ass,
And made them mend their Spanish pace,
That he might ease himself the sooner
Of such a strange Division-runner,
And free his punish'd Ears and Brains
From Madness and Impertinence;
But still the poor disorder'd Don,
From Tale to Tale went rambling on,
At length being thoughtful of his Dear
Hogs-pudding Dame, that lovely Fair,
He strait into a Rapture fled,
And thus unto his Guide he said,
And scratch'd his Ears at e'ry word,
165
Had made his Neighbour such a Doodle,
Who now had given the Clown full proof
By all his wild Romantick Stuff,
That he was gally'd sure enough,
So that he whipt both Horse and Ass,
And made them mend their Spanish pace,
That he might ease himself the sooner
Of such a strange Division-runner,
And free his punish'd Ears and Brains
From Madness and Impertinence;
But still the poor disorder'd Don,
From Tale to Tale went rambling on,
At length being thoughtful of his Dear
Hogs-pudding Dame, that lovely Fair,
He strait into a Rapture fled,
And thus unto his Guide he said,
Most Fam'd Rodrigo, Valiant Knight,
Who does in Feats of Arms delight,
Know that the Charming Beauteous Lady,
Whose Worth I have set forth already,
Is Fair Dulcinea del Tobosa,
A lovely Damsel that does grow so
Divinely graceful, that her Features
Outshine all other Female Creatures,
Therefore, Rodrigo, her Renown—
Who does in Feats of Arms delight,
166
Whose Worth I have set forth already,
Is Fair Dulcinea del Tobosa,
A lovely Damsel that does grow so
Divinely graceful, that her Features
Outshine all other Female Creatures,
Therefore, Rodrigo, her Renown—
‘'Nouns Master, Quoth the scratching Clown
‘Why make you me your Sport and Game
‘Pedro Alonso is my Name,
‘I doubt you scarce know what you say,
‘I am no Duke of Mantua,
‘No, What d'ye call him, Don Rodrigo,
‘No more than you're an Assinego,
‘I'm a poor Fellow, to my Sorrow,
‘That's forc'd to follow Plow and Harrow
‘I live not many Furlongs off,
‘Your Worship knows me well enough,
‘Nor are you Baldwin I am sure,
‘Or him with that long Name, the Moor,
Senior Quixada by this Light
You are, or I have lost my Sight.
With that Don Quixote growing Rusty
Reply'd, Why how now Goodman Crusty,
I'm old enough to know my Name,
And who I am, and whence I came,
Yet I can be, Sir, if I please
Both Baldwin and Abyndaraez;
Nay, the Twelve Peers of France beside,
Or the Nine Worthies, were I try'd,
Because my Valour far exceeds
Their Strength and all their mighty Deeds;
Therfore I'm greater than 'em all,
And am what I my self shall call.
‘Why make you me your Sport and Game
‘Pedro Alonso is my Name,
‘I doubt you scarce know what you say,
‘I am no Duke of Mantua,
‘No, What d'ye call him, Don Rodrigo,
‘No more than you're an Assinego,
‘I'm a poor Fellow, to my Sorrow,
‘That's forc'd to follow Plow and Harrow
‘I live not many Furlongs off,
‘Your Worship knows me well enough,
‘Nor are you Baldwin I am sure,
‘Or him with that long Name, the Moor,
167
You are, or I have lost my Sight.
With that Don Quixote growing Rusty
Reply'd, Why how now Goodman Crusty,
I'm old enough to know my Name,
And who I am, and whence I came,
Yet I can be, Sir, if I please
Both Baldwin and Abyndaraez;
Nay, the Twelve Peers of France beside,
Or the Nine Worthies, were I try'd,
Because my Valour far exceeds
Their Strength and all their mighty Deeds;
Therfore I'm greater than 'em all,
And am what I my self shall call.
Discoursing thus the Clown and Don
With Horse and Ass went jogging on,
Talking sometimes most complaisantly,
At other times extravagantly,
That in their turns both Knight and Rustick
Were very thwarting and Robustick;
At length they gladly came in sight
O'th' Little Village e'er twas Night;
But the kind Plowman taking Caution
Of the Mad Senior's Reputation,
Was not so silly, tho a Clown,
T'expose his Neighbour to the Town,
Upon the Rump of long Ear'd Beast,
Turn'd up behind a Sack of Grist,
Therefore lay by that they might spend
The Time till dark at Village end,
Taking a melancholly turn
By Hedge of Crab-tree and of Thorn:
So there we'll leave the doubty Frantick
To tease the Clown with Tales Romantick,
Till the kind Nocturn Goddess spreads
Her Sable Mantle o'er their Heads.
Thus he that strives to serve or save
A Fool, a Madman, or a Knave
E'er he goes thro' stich will be cloyd
With Troubles which the Wise avoid.
With Horse and Ass went jogging on,
Talking sometimes most complaisantly,
At other times extravagantly,
That in their turns both Knight and Rustick
Were very thwarting and Robustick;
168
O'th' Little Village e'er twas Night;
But the kind Plowman taking Caution
Of the Mad Senior's Reputation,
Was not so silly, tho a Clown,
T'expose his Neighbour to the Town,
Upon the Rump of long Ear'd Beast,
Turn'd up behind a Sack of Grist,
Therefore lay by that they might spend
The Time till dark at Village end,
Taking a melancholly turn
By Hedge of Crab-tree and of Thorn:
So there we'll leave the doubty Frantick
To tease the Clown with Tales Romantick,
Till the kind Nocturn Goddess spreads
Her Sable Mantle o'er their Heads.
Thus he that strives to serve or save
A Fool, a Madman, or a Knave
E'er he goes thro' stich will be cloyd
With Troubles which the Wise avoid.
169
CANTO IX.
In the Don's Absence what was said
By th' Curate, Barber, Niece and Maid:
The Champion by the Plowman's Care
Brought Home, and his Reception there.
By th' Curate, Barber, Niece and Maid:
The Champion by the Plowman's Care
Brought Home, and his Reception there.
The sad Report, thro all the Town,
That Senior from his House was flown,
By this time brought the Neighb'ring Rout
T'enquire the Truth of Matters out,
So that the Curate and the Barber,
Whom the Don often us'd to harbour,
Hearing the News, together paid
A Visit to his Niece and Maid,
That they might shew their mighty care for
Their Friend, and ask how, why, and wherefore
He thus had plaid at Hide and Seek,
And shew'n them such a slip'ry Trick;
Just so, when any Bad or Good
Has happen'd in the Neighbourhood,
Dame Sly must know of Gammar Bounce,
How many Farts will make an Ounce.
That Senior from his House was flown,
By this time brought the Neighb'ring Rout
T'enquire the Truth of Matters out,
So that the Curate and the Barber,
Whom the Don often us'd to harbour,
Hearing the News, together paid
A Visit to his Niece and Maid,
That they might shew their mighty care for
Their Friend, and ask how, why, and wherefore
170
And shew'n them such a slip'ry Trick;
Just so, when any Bad or Good
Has happen'd in the Neighbourhood,
Dame Sly must know of Gammar Bounce,
How many Farts will make an Ounce.
Amidst their Chat, good Doctor crys,
The House-keeper with pissing Eyes,
What shall we do in this Disaster,
And whither run to seek our Master;
We've sent his Man and others out,
On Horseback some, and some on Foot,
Dispers'd the Swains by Night and Day,
To make enquiry e'ery way,
Nay, search'd our selves like frightened Wretches
The Neigh'bouring Grotto's Grounds and Ditches
But cannot hear of Horse or Man
Since he his Ramble first began,
Who stole out early in the Morning.
T'hout giving any Mortal warning.
The House-keeper with pissing Eyes,
What shall we do in this Disaster,
And whither run to seek our Master;
We've sent his Man and others out,
On Horseback some, and some on Foot,
Dispers'd the Swains by Night and Day,
To make enquiry e'ery way,
Nay, search'd our selves like frightened Wretches
The Neigh'bouring Grotto's Grounds and Ditches
But cannot hear of Horse or Man
Since he his Ramble first began,
Who stole out early in the Morning.
T'hout giving any Mortal warning.
171
Besides, where e'er, alas! he's gone,
I'm sure he has his Armour on,
Because of late, both Day and Night,
He took such Pains to make it bright,
And now upon our searches round
The House, it is not to be found;
Also, he'as taken from the Wall
Those Arms which hong adorn'd the Hall.
I'm sure he has his Armour on,
Because of late, both Day and Night,
He took such Pains to make it bright,
And now upon our searches round
The House, it is not to be found;
Also, he'as taken from the Wall
Those Arms which hong adorn'd the Hall.
'Tis strange, reply'd the Man of God,
There's something in't seems very odd;
But Dear Sweet-Mistress Abigial,
I pray be free and tell me all:
I doubt that you have vex'd the Senior,
By some unfriendly Misdemeanour,
Or by your scornful Frowns and Slights
Caus'd some disorder in his Wits;
From his own Words I can assure you,
He has no little Kindness for you;
Besides, Dear Nabby, Day will show
Its self, thro' little Holes, you know.
I've heard and seen sweet pritty Creature,
Such things perhaps—But that's no matter—
Poh, poh, the Barber cannot hear us,
You see he's not at present near us.
There's something in't seems very odd;
But Dear Sweet-Mistress Abigial,
I pray be free and tell me all:
I doubt that you have vex'd the Senior,
By some unfriendly Misdemeanour,
Or by your scornful Frowns and Slights
Caus'd some disorder in his Wits;
From his own Words I can assure you,
He has no little Kindness for you;
Besides, Dear Nabby, Day will show
Its self, thro' little Holes, you know.
172
Such things perhaps—But that's no matter—
Poh, poh, the Barber cannot hear us,
You see he's not at present near us.
Doctor, quoth Abigial, I swear
You've told me that which makes me stare,
By my warm Cheeks I feel I blush;
The Barber's coming tow'rds us, hush.
You've told me that which makes me stare,
By my warm Cheeks I feel I blush;
The Barber's coming tow'rds us, hush.
Bless us, quoth Nicholas, in troth
This is a sudden change Forsooth;
'Tis strange, a Man of so much Sense,
Who wanted neither Wit nor Pence,
Should leave his House, and ride away
Unseen from Home, by break of Day;
When I first heard the News, that Minute
Said I, there's something wondrous in it.
What! would a Gentleman of Learning,
Wise, Wealthy, Frugal and Discerning,
Forsake his Ancient Dwelling House,
His Niece, and all his Servants thus;
No, no, I tell you what I say,
I wish he'as met with no foul Play:
This is a sudden change Forsooth;
'Tis strange, a Man of so much Sense,
Who wanted neither Wit nor Pence,
Should leave his House, and ride away
Unseen from Home, by break of Day;
When I first heard the News, that Minute
Said I, there's something wondrous in it.
What! would a Gentleman of Learning,
Wise, Wealthy, Frugal and Discerning,
Forsake his Ancient Dwelling House,
His Niece, and all his Servants thus;
173
I wish he'as met with no foul Play:
Don't be too forward in your Censure,
(The Priest return'd by way of Answer)
But first with Patience let us hear
How Mistress Nab makes things appear;
For he who let's his foolish Mouth
Give Judgment e'er he learns the truth,
Is worse than he who loves to cast
His reckoning up before his Host.
Doctor I must confess, quoth she,
That rul'd the little Family,
I have been guilty of a Crime,
In not acquainting you in time,
With what I fear has craz'd my Master,
And been the cause of our Disaster:
Nay, I am sure the Books he read
Of late, have so disturb'd his Head,
Those idle Tales of Errant Knights,
Their Hardships, Courtships, and their Fights,
With Knight's and Gyants, to redress,
Fair Dames and Ladies in distress,
Have so bewitch'd him that he's rid
In Armour Out upon his Steed,
In quest of that Romantick Glory
Found only in fictitious Story;
Therefore had I in time but told ye
What a strange Fabulous old mouldy
Collection of preposterous Stuff
Lies pil'd beneath his Study Roof,
You, Doctor, who are Learn'd and Wise
Mgiht have remov'd his Enemies,
And stop'd his frensical Condition,
By Pennance, Prayer and Admonition:
Therefore I own his frantick ailment
Is owing much to my concealment,
For had his Study been reform'd
He'ad never rid away thus arm'd,
And left us in this Care and Sadness,
To mourn his Absence and his Madness.
(The Priest return'd by way of Answer)
But first with Patience let us hear
How Mistress Nab makes things appear;
For he who let's his foolish Mouth
Give Judgment e'er he learns the truth,
Is worse than he who loves to cast
His reckoning up before his Host.
Doctor I must confess, quoth she,
That rul'd the little Family,
I have been guilty of a Crime,
In not acquainting you in time,
With what I fear has craz'd my Master,
And been the cause of our Disaster:
Nay, I am sure the Books he read
Of late, have so disturb'd his Head,
Those idle Tales of Errant Knights,
Their Hardships, Courtships, and their Fights,
174
Fair Dames and Ladies in distress,
Have so bewitch'd him that he's rid
In Armour Out upon his Steed,
In quest of that Romantick Glory
Found only in fictitious Story;
Therefore had I in time but told ye
What a strange Fabulous old mouldy
Collection of preposterous Stuff
Lies pil'd beneath his Study Roof,
You, Doctor, who are Learn'd and Wise
Mgiht have remov'd his Enemies,
And stop'd his frensical Condition,
By Pennance, Prayer and Admonition:
Therefore I own his frantick ailment
Is owing much to my concealment,
For had his Study been reform'd
He'ad never rid away thus arm'd,
And left us in this Care and Sadness,
To mourn his Absence and his Madness.
177
It was a mighty fault, reply'd
The Jolly wellfed Parish Guide,
Then squeezing Madam by the Fist,
Who Cross-leg'd sat annext the Priest,
Says he, We'll overlook to morrow
The Fables that have caus'd this Sorrow,
And the most Guilty we'll condemn
To bottom Pies or to the Flame;
And if you please 'tis likely some.
I may reprieve and carry home.
The Jolly wellfed Parish Guide,
Then squeezing Madam by the Fist,
Who Cross-leg'd sat annext the Priest,
Says he, We'll overlook to morrow
The Fables that have caus'd this Sorrow,
And the most Guilty we'll condemn
To bottom Pies or to the Flame;
And if you please 'tis likely some.
I may reprieve and carry home.
The Niece then turning to the Shaver,
For whom she had some little Favour,
Betwixt a Simper and a Cry,
Did thus her pretty self apply,
Laud, Nicholas, I vow and swear,
As I'm God's Child, and sitting here,
I've seen my Uncle play such Tricks
When in his frantick fighting Freaks,
That as I've peeping stood I oft
Have burst my Stays I have so laugh'd;
Sometimes when he for Forty eight
Full Hours has in his Study sat,
Tiring his Brains with Fights and Fancies
He met with in his old Romances,
He'd of a sudden from his Seat
Start up in such a violent Heat,
First pause, then throw away his Book,
And put on such a frightful Look,
As if he meant to kick and beat
His Study Walls into the Street,
Then, flinging out some blustering Word,
Would from the Shelf snatch down his Sword.
And drawing out the stubborn Blade
Push at the Wall like any mad,
Poke at this hole, that spot or speck,
Sometimes thrust forward, then draw back;
And when he did each Shove begin
Cry'd Ha, and then he stuck it in;
Thus would he fence with Walls and Chairs
Till Sweaty Pearls run down his Hairs,
Then strutting rave and swear he'ad kill'd
Four Gyants in the open Field,
Who were as big and full as tall
As any Steeple, Spire and all,
Fancying the trickling Sweat he felt
To be the Blood his Wounds had spilt
In the advent'rous lucky Fray
Wherein he 'ad nobly won the day.
This done, he'd call for me to bring
A huge great Jug full from the Spring,
Then would he swallow down just a'ter
A cooling Gallon of the Water,
And fancy 'twas some Cordial Draught
To heal the bleeding Wounds he 'ad got,
Brought him by some kind She Magician,
Dame Allcoife, Surgeon and Physician;
Therefore how strangely must his Head
Confounded be by what h'ad read,
That he should fancy me, his Niece,
Who is not such a homely Piece,
To be some wither'd hagged Beldam
That conjures Champions out of Thraldom.
But when he'ad taken off his Pitcher,
Fancying no Cordial could be richer,
He'ad then sit down and be as tame
And quiet as a Cosset Lamb,
Talk with such gravity and state
As if he'ad been a Magistrate.
Now I confess I've been remiss
In my so long concealing this,
For had I but in time made known
His frantick Actions when alone,
And all those Freaks he has been in,
Which thro the Key-hole I have seen,
You his kind Friends whose good advice
He took as Counsel from the Wise,
Might, by your laying Heads together,
Have stopt his Rambling God knows whither,
And burnt those Antichristian Books
That turn'd his Senses off the Hooks,
For they deserve the Flames much more
Than e'er did Heretick I'm sure.
For whom she had some little Favour,
Betwixt a Simper and a Cry,
Did thus her pretty self apply,
Laud, Nicholas, I vow and swear,
As I'm God's Child, and sitting here,
I've seen my Uncle play such Tricks
When in his frantick fighting Freaks,
That as I've peeping stood I oft
Have burst my Stays I have so laugh'd;
178
Full Hours has in his Study sat,
Tiring his Brains with Fights and Fancies
He met with in his old Romances,
He'd of a sudden from his Seat
Start up in such a violent Heat,
First pause, then throw away his Book,
And put on such a frightful Look,
As if he meant to kick and beat
His Study Walls into the Street,
Then, flinging out some blustering Word,
Would from the Shelf snatch down his Sword.
And drawing out the stubborn Blade
Push at the Wall like any mad,
Poke at this hole, that spot or speck,
Sometimes thrust forward, then draw back;
And when he did each Shove begin
Cry'd Ha, and then he stuck it in;
Thus would he fence with Walls and Chairs
Till Sweaty Pearls run down his Hairs,
179
Four Gyants in the open Field,
Who were as big and full as tall
As any Steeple, Spire and all,
Fancying the trickling Sweat he felt
To be the Blood his Wounds had spilt
In the advent'rous lucky Fray
Wherein he 'ad nobly won the day.
This done, he'd call for me to bring
A huge great Jug full from the Spring,
Then would he swallow down just a'ter
A cooling Gallon of the Water,
And fancy 'twas some Cordial Draught
To heal the bleeding Wounds he 'ad got,
Brought him by some kind She Magician,
Dame Allcoife, Surgeon and Physician;
Therefore how strangely must his Head
Confounded be by what h'ad read,
That he should fancy me, his Niece,
Who is not such a homely Piece,
108
That conjures Champions out of Thraldom.
But when he'ad taken off his Pitcher,
Fancying no Cordial could be richer,
He'ad then sit down and be as tame
And quiet as a Cosset Lamb,
Talk with such gravity and state
As if he'ad been a Magistrate.
Now I confess I've been remiss
In my so long concealing this,
For had I but in time made known
His frantick Actions when alone,
And all those Freaks he has been in,
Which thro the Key-hole I have seen,
You his kind Friends whose good advice
He took as Counsel from the Wise,
Might, by your laying Heads together,
Have stopt his Rambling God knows whither,
And burnt those Antichristian Books
That turn'd his Senses off the Hooks,
185
Than e'er did Heretick I'm sure.
‘Be patient, Lady, quoth the Priest,
Yout Sorrows shall be soon redrest,
My Neighbour Nicholas and I
To Morrow will the Traytors try,
And be assured that we shall shew 'em
No Mercy when we come to view 'em,
Since they have spoil'd the wisest Head
That ever fam'd La Mancha bred.
Yout Sorrows shall be soon redrest,
My Neighbour Nicholas and I
To Morrow will the Traytors try,
And be assured that we shall shew 'em
No Mercy when we come to view 'em,
Since they have spoil'd the wisest Head
That ever fam'd La Mancha bred.
By this time Pedro by the Light
O th' Moon had brought Home Ass and Knight,
With Rozinante, and the Lumber
That did his aged Back incumber,
But passing by the Hall that stood
Adjacent to the dusty Road,
And hearing of a vocal din
Come thro a Window from within,
He made a stop and overheard
The whole of what the Niece declar'd;
And being now inform'd thereby
How Quixote's Brains were turn'd awry.
The Rustick as without he stood
Cry'd Out as loud as e'r he cou'd,
Soho, Where are You there, Who waits?
Here, Open wide the Castle Gates,
For Baldwin that pussant Lord,
His Horse, his Armour and his Sword,
And I that am his Noble Grace
Of Mantua, I think's the Place,
Make haste, for here's a goodly Crew
Of Champions, and the Lord know who,
The Captive Moore Abindaraez
Whom Don Rodrigo of Narvaez
Brings on his Ass a Pris'ner hither
Sick, Drunk or Mad I know not whether,
Some sadly wounded in Conceit,
Some in Reality Besh---t,
And others in as bad Conditions,
All wanting Cooks or good Physicians.
O th' Moon had brought Home Ass and Knight,
With Rozinante, and the Lumber
That did his aged Back incumber,
But passing by the Hall that stood
Adjacent to the dusty Road,
And hearing of a vocal din
Come thro a Window from within,
He made a stop and overheard
The whole of what the Niece declar'd;
182
How Quixote's Brains were turn'd awry.
The Rustick as without he stood
Cry'd Out as loud as e'r he cou'd,
Soho, Where are You there, Who waits?
Here, Open wide the Castle Gates,
For Baldwin that pussant Lord,
His Horse, his Armour and his Sword,
And I that am his Noble Grace
Of Mantua, I think's the Place,
Make haste, for here's a goodly Crew
Of Champions, and the Lord know who,
The Captive Moore Abindaraez
Whom Don Rodrigo of Narvaez
Brings on his Ass a Pris'ner hither
Sick, Drunk or Mad I know not whether,
Some sadly wounded in Conceit,
Some in Reality Besh---t,
And others in as bad Conditions,
All wanting Cooks or good Physicians.
183
The Curate, Barber, Maid and Niece
Pon hearing such a Speech as this,
Came running to the Door in haste,
The nimble Priest before the rest,
And, greatly srighted, at his Tail,
Run sodden Mistress Abigail,
Young Tonsor next, the Niece close a'ter,
All wondring what could be the matter;
No sooner did they see whose Face
Peep'd o'er the Sack upon the Ass,
But all got round him in a Cluster
To welcome Home Friend, Uncle, Master,
Each striving who should first express
Their sudden Joy and Happiness,
Warmly contending to embrace him,
Pulling on both sides to uncase him,
The Senior crying out in vain
Forbear good Friends, for I'm in pain,
Much injur'd by my heedless Horse,
Who o'er his Noddle pitch'd his Arse,
Therefore I pray, dismount me gently,
For I can stand or move but faintly;
Good Doctor, let me straight be led
Into my Room and put to Bed,
Send for Urguna, Niece the while,
Th' Enchantress of the Burning Isle,
That with her Balsam she may heal
My painful Wounds, and make me well.
Pon hearing such a Speech as this,
Came running to the Door in haste,
The nimble Priest before the rest,
And, greatly srighted, at his Tail,
Run sodden Mistress Abigail,
Young Tonsor next, the Niece close a'ter,
All wondring what could be the matter;
No sooner did they see whose Face
Peep'd o'er the Sack upon the Ass,
But all got round him in a Cluster
To welcome Home Friend, Uncle, Master,
Each striving who should first express
Their sudden Joy and Happiness,
Warmly contending to embrace him,
Pulling on both sides to uncase him,
The Senior crying out in vain
Forbear good Friends, for I'm in pain,
Much injur'd by my heedless Horse,
Who o'er his Noddle pitch'd his Arse,
184
For I can stand or move but faintly;
Good Doctor, let me straight be led
Into my Room and put to Bed,
Send for Urguna, Niece the while,
Th' Enchantress of the Burning Isle,
That with her Balsam she may heal
My painful Wounds, and make me well.
See now, cry'd Housekeeper and Niece,
‘How right we both were in our Guess,
‘I knew, says One, those plaguy Books
‘Of Wounded Lords and Fighting Dukes,
‘And cursed Lies of Errant Knights,
‘Had been the Cause of all our Frights;
‘Go, as you said, to Bed, Dear Master,
‘And we'll take care to find a Plaister
‘Shall cure your Wounds 'twixt this and Sunday
‘Without that Sorceress Ugunda.
‘How right we both were in our Guess,
‘I knew, says One, those plaguy Books
‘Of Wounded Lords and Fighting Dukes,
‘And cursed Lies of Errant Knights,
‘Had been the Cause of all our Frights;
‘Go, as you said, to Bed, Dear Master,
‘And we'll take care to find a Plaister
‘Shall cure your Wounds 'twixt this and Sunday
‘Without that Sorceress Ugunda.
With that they led him up to Bed
That he might ease his crazy Head,
Where his She-Vallet stroak'd him round
With her soft Hand, to find a Wound;
Who, tho' she search'd his Flesh all over
She could no broken Skin discover,
Only his Buttock end she might
Have felt before in better plight,
Cause now 'twas smear'd with what the Clown
Had finger'd when the Knight was down.
Who told the busy Crew, that tho'
Is Ailments made no bloody show,
Ye was he bruis'd and maim'd most sorely
In an advent'rous Hurly-burly,
Wherein his heedless Horse had thrown him,
And pitch'd his heavy Arse upon him,
As he was bidding bold Defiance,
T'at least Ten hugeous Looby Gyants,
The most discurteous and ungracious,
Outrageous, cruel, and audacious,
That e'er were bang'd and put to flight,
By trusty Sword of Doubty Knight.
That he might ease his crazy Head,
185
With her soft Hand, to find a Wound;
Who, tho' she search'd his Flesh all over
She could no broken Skin discover,
Only his Buttock end she might
Have felt before in better plight,
Cause now 'twas smear'd with what the Clown
Had finger'd when the Knight was down.
Who told the busy Crew, that tho'
Is Ailments made no bloody show,
Ye was he bruis'd and maim'd most sorely
In an advent'rous Hurly-burly,
Wherein his heedless Horse had thrown him,
And pitch'd his heavy Arse upon him,
As he was bidding bold Defiance,
T'at least Ten hugeous Looby Gyants,
The most discurteous and ungracious,
Outrageous, cruel, and audacious,
That e'er were bang'd and put to flight,
By trusty Sword of Doubty Knight.
186
How! quoth the Curate, Is it so:
Do Gyants in such Numbers go?
Have we so strong and stern a Crew
Of frightful Monsters to subdue?
Nay then, cry'd Parish-Guide, Adsbobs,
May I be strip'd of Holy Robes,
If I don't burn the Books that bred
These o'ergrown Maggots in his Head,
And turn, to Morrow, into Flames,
The hurtful Pile of Lyes and Shams;
For if we take the Cause away,
Th' Effect must cease, the Learned say.
Do Gyants in such Numbers go?
Have we so strong and stern a Crew
Of frightful Monsters to subdue?
Nay then, cry'd Parish-Guide, Adsbobs,
May I be strip'd of Holy Robes,
If I don't burn the Books that bred
These o'ergrown Maggots in his Head,
And turn, to Morrow, into Flames,
The hurtful Pile of Lyes and Shams;
For if we take the Cause away,
Th' Effect must cease, the Learned say.
No sooner had the weary Don
Stretch'd out his painful Limbs upon
His Downy-Bed, an easier Place
Than dusty Road or Rump of Ass,
But he began to think that Eating
Before he slept was very fitting;
For now his Guts were tir'd with Fasting,
As much as were his Limbs with basting.
He therefore rav'd for that which might
Suffice his craving Appetite;
For Hunger, that tormenting want
Of Food, was grown predominant:
Accordingly that wither'd Piece
His servile Thornback, and his Niece,
To cooking went, that he might pick
The roasted Bones of Dunghil-Chick,
Whilst Tonsor and the Priest went down
To tattle with their Neighbour Clown,
And to examine in what manner
It met their worthy Friend the Seignior,
From whence and how it came to pass
It brought him home upon his Ass:
The Plow-man told them all his Freaks,
His Bedlam Speeches and his Tricks;
Which hearing, jointly they renew'd
Their Resolutions to intrude
Into his Study next Day Morning,
To see what Books deserv'd their Burning,
Hoping thereby to mend his Wits,
And bring his Brains again to Rights.
Then walking back each lent a Kiss
To Mistress Nabby and the Niece,
So left the Lasses in the Kitchen,
To mind the Cook'ry of the Chicken,
Each promising his Kind-look'd Dowdy
To come next Morn to purge the Study.
Stretch'd out his painful Limbs upon
His Downy-Bed, an easier Place
Than dusty Road or Rump of Ass,
But he began to think that Eating
Before he slept was very fitting;
For now his Guts were tir'd with Fasting,
As much as were his Limbs with basting.
187
Suffice his craving Appetite;
For Hunger, that tormenting want
Of Food, was grown predominant:
Accordingly that wither'd Piece
His servile Thornback, and his Niece,
To cooking went, that he might pick
The roasted Bones of Dunghil-Chick,
Whilst Tonsor and the Priest went down
To tattle with their Neighbour Clown,
And to examine in what manner
It met their worthy Friend the Seignior,
From whence and how it came to pass
It brought him home upon his Ass:
The Plow-man told them all his Freaks,
His Bedlam Speeches and his Tricks;
Which hearing, jointly they renew'd
Their Resolutions to intrude
Into his Study next Day Morning,
To see what Books deserv'd their Burning,
188
And bring his Brains again to Rights.
Then walking back each lent a Kiss
To Mistress Nabby and the Niece,
So left the Lasses in the Kitchen,
To mind the Cook'ry of the Chicken,
Each promising his Kind-look'd Dowdy
To come next Morn to purge the Study.
Thus Idle-Tales, adorn'd with Wit,
And hurtful Books with cunning writ,
In shallow Brains strange Maggots breed,
And make Men Act the things they read.
And hurtful Books with cunning writ,
In shallow Brains strange Maggots breed,
And make Men Act the things they read.
189
CANTO XI.
The Don's Romantick Books survey'd
By Priest and Barber, Niece and Maid;
The Righteous Judge secures the best,
And to the Flames condemns the rest.
By Priest and Barber, Niece and Maid;
The Righteous Judge secures the best,
And to the Flames condemns the rest.
Next Morning by the time the Sun
Had his diurnal Course begun,
The Parish-Guide and Parish-Shaver
Came to the Seignior's House together,
Where Mistress Nabby and the Niece
Had set out Wine and Bread and Cheese,
That they might break their Fast before
They look'd the Seignior's Study o'er;
A Task of Time as well as Labour,
To punish what had craz'd their Neighbour.
Had his diurnal Course begun,
The Parish-Guide and Parish-Shaver
Came to the Seignior's House together,
Where Mistress Nabby and the Niece
Had set out Wine and Bread and Cheese,
That they might break their Fast before
They look'd the Seignior's Study o'er;
A Task of Time as well as Labour,
To punish what had craz'd their Neighbour.
No sooner had they chear'd their Hearts,
With three or four repeated Quarts
Of humming Liquor mull'd and brew'd
With costly Spice, to make it good,
But up the Stairs they gently crept,
Whilst Quixote very soundly slept,
In order to inspect and rummage
The Study that had done such Damage;
The Niece admitting, by the Key,
Her trusty self and t'other Three;
The House-keeper, who having heard
Strange Nigromantick Stories, fear'd
The Room might be with Spirits haunted,
Or by her Master's Spells Inchanted,
Because his Custom 'twas to start
Most frightful Tales of Magick Art,
And us'd to Lard his Conversation
With Wonders done by Conjuration;
Therefore she'd carefully brought a'ter
The Priest, a Pot of Holy-Water,
Humbly beseeching him to take
The Sprinkler, and for Heaven's sake
To shake it o'er each Hole and Creek,
For fear the subtle Fiend Old-Nick,
Or some Infernal Sprite should in
The sinful Study lurk unseen,
Who by its Power might circumvent
Their pious friendly good Intent
Of burning what had brought her Master
Beneath so fatal a Disaster.
With three or four repeated Quarts
190
With costly Spice, to make it good,
But up the Stairs they gently crept,
Whilst Quixote very soundly slept,
In order to inspect and rummage
The Study that had done such Damage;
The Niece admitting, by the Key,
Her trusty self and t'other Three;
The House-keeper, who having heard
Strange Nigromantick Stories, fear'd
The Room might be with Spirits haunted,
Or by her Master's Spells Inchanted,
Because his Custom 'twas to start
Most frightful Tales of Magick Art,
And us'd to Lard his Conversation
With Wonders done by Conjuration;
Therefore she'd carefully brought a'ter
The Priest, a Pot of Holy-Water,
Humbly beseeching him to take
The Sprinkler, and for Heaven's sake
191
For fear the subtle Fiend Old-Nick,
Or some Infernal Sprite should in
The sinful Study lurk unseen,
Who by its Power might circumvent
Their pious friendly good Intent
Of burning what had brought her Master
Beneath so fatal a Disaster.
The Guide reply'd, There is no fear
Of Satan whilst a Priest is near;
The Devil always flies the Room,
Where-e'er our Holy Function come.
So calling, when he'ad made this Answer,
To his Friend Nicolas, the Tonsor,
He order'd him to hand him down
The Heath'nish Volumes one by one,
That with due Care he might o'erlook
Each idle individual Book,
And pass such Judgment upon those
Who'd been his Friend's seducing Foes,
That might at once prevent their further
Occasion of his sad Disorder,
But save, by vertue of his Gown,
The Good and Guiltless as his own,;
Consid'ring that no humane Laws
Should damn the Innocent, because
Unknowingly they chance to be
Betray'd into bad Company.
Of Satan whilst a Priest is near;
The Devil always flies the Room,
Where-e'er our Holy Function come.
So calling, when he'ad made this Answer,
To his Friend Nicolas, the Tonsor,
He order'd him to hand him down
The Heath'nish Volumes one by one,
That with due Care he might o'erlook
Each idle individual Book,
And pass such Judgment upon those
Who'd been his Friend's seducing Foes,
192
Occasion of his sad Disorder,
But save, by vertue of his Gown,
The Good and Guiltless as his own,;
Consid'ring that no humane Laws
Should damn the Innocent, because
Unknowingly they chance to be
Betray'd into bad Company.
The angry Females pleaded hard
That not one Volume should be spar'd,
Of several Hundreds that were pil'd
On Shelves, but all be burnt and spoil'd,
Since they themselves could witness bear
That each bewitching Volume there,
Had, in their turns, contributed
To craze his studious Worship's Head:
They therefore beg'd all might be thrown,
Thro' Study-Casement, headlong down
Into a bleeching Yard, that lay
Behind, convenient ev'ry way,
Where none could see or smell the while,
The smoaky Exit of the Pile.
That not one Volume should be spar'd,
Of several Hundreds that were pil'd
On Shelves, but all be burnt and spoil'd,
Since they themselves could witness bear
That each bewitching Volume there,
Had, in their turns, contributed
To craze his studious Worship's Head:
They therefore beg'd all might be thrown,
Thro' Study-Casement, headlong down
Into a bleeching Yard, that lay
Behind, convenient ev'ry way,
137
The smoaky Exit of the Pile.
But still the Curate was too wise
To mind their Importunities,
Resolving to inspect 'em first,
At least the Titles, that the worst
Might be condemn'd for their Abuses,
And the best sav'd for better Uses:
So putting on, as Judges do,
An awful Magisterial Brow,
Looking most gravely and discreet,
He now assum'd his Judgment-seat,
Where Culprits bound in Leathern Hide
Were haul'd before him to be try'd.
To mind their Importunities,
Resolving to inspect 'em first,
At least the Titles, that the worst
Might be condemn'd for their Abuses,
And the best sav'd for better Uses:
So putting on, as Judges do,
An awful Magisterial Brow,
Looking most gravely and discreet,
He now assum'd his Judgment-seat,
Where Culprits bound in Leathern Hide
Were haul'd before him to be try'd.
The first that to the Bar were brought
To be arraign'd of God knows what,
Were the Four Volumes of Amadis,
Handed by Nic'las and the Ladies;
I own, quoth Sacerdotal Judge,
To these old Books I owe a grudge,
Because they were the first Romances
That introduc'd those Idle Fancies,
And sow'd in Spain, as most agree,
That freakish Vice Knight-Errantry;
Therefore as they originally
Were the Four Founders of that Folly,
And Teachers of that Frantick Fighting,
As well as of Romantick Writing,
I think 'tis fit they should be doom'd
To be in fatal Flames consum'd.
To be arraign'd of God knows what,
Were the Four Volumes of Amadis,
Handed by Nic'las and the Ladies;
I own, quoth Sacerdotal Judge,
To these old Books I owe a grudge,
138
That introduc'd those Idle Fancies,
And sow'd in Spain, as most agree,
That freakish Vice Knight-Errantry;
Therefore as they originally
Were the Four Founders of that Folly,
And Teachers of that Frantick Fighting,
As well as of Romantick Writing,
I think 'tis fit they should be doom'd
To be in fatal Flames consum'd.
‘Hold (quoth the Barber) I desire
‘To save these Volumes from the Fire,
‘Because they are allow'd, we find,
‘To be the wittiest of their kind;
‘I therefore humbly crave your leave
‘To beg both them and their Reprieve.
‘To save these Volumes from the Fire,
‘Because they are allow'd, we find,
‘To be the wittiest of their kind;
‘I therefore humbly crave your leave
‘To beg both them and their Reprieve.
Well, honest Nic'las, cry'd the Curate,
To shew I'm not a Man obdurate,
I'll grant a Pardon for your sake,
Altho' I know their Crimes are black:
However take them to thyself,
And hand some other from the Shelf.
To shew I'm not a Man obdurate,
I'll grant a Pardon for your sake,
Altho' I know their Crimes are black:
139
And hand some other from the Shelf.
The next Romantick Volume brought
To hasty Judgment for its Fau't,
Was the fam'd Actions of that Man
Of Valour, Don Esplandian,
The lawful Issue of Amadis
De Gaul, who fought so for the Ladies.
Nay, cries the Priest, with shaking Head,
Sure none in thy Defence can plead,
Nor shall thy Father's Wit atone
For want of Merit in the Son;
No Mortal shall for thee prevail,
Here take him Mistress Abigail;
He's a meer Hector, poor and nought,
The Scoundrel is not worth a Groat;
Pray toss him down into the Yard,
For he's too wicked to be spar'd,
Use him as the Foundation-Stone
To erect the Learned Pile upon,
Which your fair Hand shall set on fire,
That in a blaze they may expire,
According to your own desire.
To hasty Judgment for its Fau't,
Was the fam'd Actions of that Man
Of Valour, Don Esplandian,
The lawful Issue of Amadis
De Gaul, who fought so for the Ladies.
Nay, cries the Priest, with shaking Head,
Sure none in thy Defence can plead,
Nor shall thy Father's Wit atone
For want of Merit in the Son;
No Mortal shall for thee prevail,
Here take him Mistress Abigail;
He's a meer Hector, poor and nought,
The Scoundrel is not worth a Groat;
Pray toss him down into the Yard,
For he's too wicked to be spar'd,
Use him as the Foundation-Stone
To erect the Learned Pile upon,
140
That in a blaze they may expire,
According to your own desire.
‘Here's a huge Volume, (cries the Shaver)
‘I think I never felt a heavier:
‘This, for its Bulk, deserves no Quarter,
‘'Twould load the Shoulders of a Porter;
‘This is Amadis, born in Greece,
‘A notable deluding Piece;
‘This Book, so wond'rous edifying,
‘Contains the very Art of Lying:
‘Nay, outdoes, in that sort of Wit,
‘All that the Jesuits ever writ;
‘And is, I'll swear, enough to crack
‘The Brain not only, but the Back.
‘I think I never felt a heavier:
‘This, for its Bulk, deserves no Quarter,
‘'Twould load the Shoulders of a Porter;
‘This is Amadis, born in Greece,
‘A notable deluding Piece;
‘This Book, so wond'rous edifying,
‘Contains the very Art of Lying:
‘Nay, outdoes, in that sort of Wit,
‘All that the Jesuits ever writ;
‘And is, I'll swear, enough to crack
‘The Brain not only, but the Back.
I've heard enough, (reply'd the Priest)
E'en pack him downwards with the rest
That do their Readers so deceive
With Lies, they merit no reprieve.
E'en pack him downwards with the rest
That do their Readers so deceive
With Lies, they merit no reprieve.
141
‘This upper Classis (cries the Barber)
‘Does none but such like Lumber harbour;
‘By their unweildy Bulk I see
‘They're all upon Knight-Errantry,
‘Books that their Authors did devise,
‘To fill the giddy World with Lyes,
‘And tempt us to mispend our Prime,
‘In fighting Prose and am'rous Rhime.
‘Does none but such like Lumber harbour;
‘By their unweildy Bulk I see
‘They're all upon Knight-Errantry,
‘Books that their Authors did devise,
‘To fill the giddy World with Lyes,
‘And tempt us to mispend our Prime,
‘In fighting Prose and am'rous Rhime.
Down with them all, (cries Holy Guide)
And let the Vermin be destroy'd,
That we may then proceed to try
Those other Imps, the lesser Fry;
For rather than I'd save or skreen
Antiquinestra, that fair Queen
From burning, or from flaming Pile,
Protect the Shepherd Darinel,
His Eclogues, and the Author's worse
Intolerable dull Discourse,
I'd burn my Grandsire should he be
Bound up in old Knight-Errantry.
And let the Vermin be destroy'd,
That we may then proceed to try
Those other Imps, the lesser Fry;
For rather than I'd save or skreen
Antiquinestra, that fair Queen
From burning, or from flaming Pile,
Protect the Shepherd Darinel,
His Eclogues, and the Author's worse
Intolerable dull Discourse,
I'd burn my Grandsire should he be
Bound up in old Knight-Errantry.
142
The Housekeeper and Neice b'ing glad
To hear this Sentence, toil'd like Mad,
To fetch those bigger Loobies down
That did the Senior's Study crown,
Tossing them out, without regard
To their old Fellows in the Yard,
Where the dull Crowd were forc'd to wait
Confus'dly mix'd, to share their Fate.
To hear this Sentence, toil'd like Mad,
To fetch those bigger Loobies down
That did the Senior's Study crown,
Tossing them out, without regard
To their old Fellows in the Yard,
Where the dull Crowd were forc'd to wait
Confus'dly mix'd, to share their Fate.
Cries Nich'las, Here's another Shelf
Of Lumber, in a Nook by'ts self,
Come forward one of you that skulk
Behind to hide your mighty Bulk:
Here's Olivant de Laura, Doctor,
A worthy notable Instructor,
The famous Author, alias Father,
Of this huge Muckhil pil'd together,
Has writ another noble Piece,
By some thought ten times worse than this,
The Gard'n of Flowers is the sweet
Inviting Name to's shallow Wit;
Both being stuff'd with little else
Than worthless Whims and monstrous Tales,
Alike fit only to surprise
The Reader with stupendious Lyes;
Therefore e'en let 'em downwards go,
Among the rest that wait below.
Of Lumber, in a Nook by'ts self,
Come forward one of you that skulk
Behind to hide your mighty Bulk:
Here's Olivant de Laura, Doctor,
A worthy notable Instructor,
The famous Author, alias Father,
Of this huge Muckhil pil'd together,
Has writ another noble Piece,
By some thought ten times worse than this,
The Gard'n of Flowers is the sweet
Inviting Name to's shallow Wit;
143
Than worthless Whims and monstrous Tales,
Alike fit only to surprise
The Reader with stupendious Lyes;
Therefore e'en let 'em downwards go,
Among the rest that wait below.
Here's more Antiquity (cries Tonsor)
This Book is older than my Grandsire:
Here you may read how Florismart,
The fam'd Hyrcanian play'd his Part.
This Book is older than my Grandsire:
Here you may read how Florismart,
The fam'd Hyrcanian play'd his Part.
‘Is Florismart, (replies the Priest)
‘That Noble Lord, among the rest?
‘Neither his Valour, nor his Worth,
‘Or yet the strangeness of his Birth,
‘Or his incredible Exploits,
‘Shall save him from his Brother Knights;
‘For his rough, dull, insipid Style
‘Deserves at least a flaming Pile,
‘E'en turn him down into the Yard,
‘For he may very well be spar'd;
Which Orders gladly were obey'd
By Niece and Nab as soon as said.
‘That Noble Lord, among the rest?
‘Neither his Valour, nor his Worth,
‘Or yet the strangeness of his Birth,
‘Or his incredible Exploits,
‘Shall save him from his Brother Knights;
‘For his rough, dull, insipid Style
‘Deserves at least a flaming Pile,
‘E'en turn him down into the Yard,
‘For he may very well be spar'd;
144
By Niece and Nab as soon as said.
Next, (cries the Barber) comes Don Platir,
That famous fighting Fornicator,
I guess he'll merit nothing more,
Than those old Champions gone before.
That famous fighting Fornicator,
I guess he'll merit nothing more,
Than those old Champions gone before.
‘Truly, (replies the Priest) I own
‘I have no Favour for the Don,
‘E'en turn him downwards, for at best
‘He's an old Lyar like the rest.
‘I have no Favour for the Don,
‘E'en turn him downwards, for at best
‘He's an old Lyar like the rest.
Then busy Tonsor chanc'd to look
Upon another Errant-Book,
Nam'd in its Front, The Knight o'th' Cross,
Which put the Curate to a loss:
Says he, This Book deserves a little
Compassion for its Holy Title:
But since the Devil lurks behind
The Cross, as we in Proverb find,
We shall no great Injustice do
In case we send him packing too;
For Holy Names to Heath'nish Books
Are like a Pious Villain's Looks,
Us'd only to disguise the Sin,
And impious Lusts that lurk within:
E'en toss him down into the Yard,
He may do Mischief if he's spar'd.
Upon another Errant-Book,
Nam'd in its Front, The Knight o'th' Cross,
Which put the Curate to a loss:
Says he, This Book deserves a little
Compassion for its Holy Title:
But since the Devil lurks behind
The Cross, as we in Proverb find,
We shall no great Injustice do
In case we send him packing too;
201
Are like a Pious Villain's Looks,
Us'd only to disguise the Sin,
And impious Lusts that lurk within:
E'en toss him down into the Yard,
He may do Mischief if he's spar'd.
Then Tonsor reaching down the next,
Cry'd to th' Expounder of the Text,
Now, Doctor, if you want to see
The Quintessence of Errantry,
This Book of Knighthood you will find
The only Mirrour of its kind.
Cry'd to th' Expounder of the Text,
Now, Doctor, if you want to see
The Quintessence of Errantry,
This Book of Knighthood you will find
The only Mirrour of its kind.
Quoth Priest, I know him by his Looks,
I own him as the Book of Books,
That is, with due Consideration
To's Lying or Romantick Station;
There you may find the Noble Lord
Rinaldo brandishing his Sword,
With such Companions as he lov'd,
Horse Thieves than Cacus ever prov'd;
With them the Twelve bold Peers of France,
Who did their Fame so high advance;
Among the rest that faithful Man,
Turpin, the Just Historian.
I own I have an itching Mind
To be to these a little kind,
Am therefore willing to prevent
Their Fate by only Banishment,
Because the Story does contain,
As 'tis agreed by Learned Men,
Something of Boyardo's Invention,
Which gives unto the whole a Sanction,
For nothing can partake his Spirit,
But what must in itself have Merit;
Besides, that famous Christian Poet,
Ariosto's Writings, plainly show it,
That thence the Subject he derives,
Wherein his Mem'ry chiefly lives,
And his bright Fame his Dust survives;
Yet should a Bard of his Degree
Keep such notorious Company,
And he should stamm'ring turn his Tone
To any Language but his own,
No more Indulgence shall be shown him
By me, than if I'd never known him;
But if he speaks his Mother-Tongue,
I vow I cannot do him wrong,
Because his Excellency claims
A just exemption from the Flames,
And so deserves our estimation,
That none can wish his Conflagration.
I own him as the Book of Books,
That is, with due Consideration
To's Lying or Romantick Station;
There you may find the Noble Lord
Rinaldo brandishing his Sword,
With such Companions as he lov'd,
Horse Thieves than Cacus ever prov'd;
202
Who did their Fame so high advance;
Among the rest that faithful Man,
Turpin, the Just Historian.
I own I have an itching Mind
To be to these a little kind,
Am therefore willing to prevent
Their Fate by only Banishment,
Because the Story does contain,
As 'tis agreed by Learned Men,
Something of Boyardo's Invention,
Which gives unto the whole a Sanction,
For nothing can partake his Spirit,
But what must in itself have Merit;
Besides, that famous Christian Poet,
Ariosto's Writings, plainly show it,
That thence the Subject he derives,
Wherein his Mem'ry chiefly lives,
And his bright Fame his Dust survives;
203
Keep such notorious Company,
And he should stamm'ring turn his Tone
To any Language but his own,
No more Indulgence shall be shown him
By me, than if I'd never known him;
But if he speaks his Mother-Tongue,
I vow I cannot do him wrong,
Because his Excellency claims
A just exemption from the Flames,
And so deserves our estimation,
That none can wish his Conflagration.
‘I've one at home, (cries Tonsor Nick)
‘But mine does in Italian speak;
‘So that I am not so politely
‘Bred as to understand him rightly.
‘But mine does in Italian speak;
‘So that I am not so politely
‘Bred as to understand him rightly.
No reason that you should, reply'd
The solemn, grave, judicious Guide;
For Works of Authors so discerning,
Are only fit for Men of Learning.
Nor can I much commend the Whim
O'th' Captain who translated him,
And forc'd him so against the Grain,
To hoarsely speak the Tongue of Spain;
Because he's wrong'd in many places
Of all those beauteous Thoughts and Graces
That in his native Stile appear
So sweet, so excellent and clear:
A Fault that few escape who venture
On Tasks so difficult to enter:
For he that undertakes to shew
A Poet in a Dress that's new,
If the Original be fine,
His Numbers flowing and divine,
Is but like that officious Ninny
Who gives us Silver for a Guinea.
'Tis true, what we receive is more
In Bulk, but 'tis in baser Ore.
Therefore, Friend Nich'las, I desire
To save this Volume from the Fire;
Likewise all other Books that chance
To treat of the Affairs of France,
Pray let them be with Care laid by
In Vault or Closet that is dry,
Till we find Methods to dispose
Of those as Friends, instead of Foes:
But one Exception I must make,
And beg you for right Reason's sake,
That if you meet with in your way,
Bernardo, stil'd del Carpio, pray
Deliv'r him freely up at sight,
To th' Dames that wait to do him right:
Or if you should, in Hole or Nook,
Find Roncesvalles, that fam'd Book,
O! let him be excepted from
All Mercy, and receive his Doom;
For certain they must lurk among
This empty, vile, romantick Throng;
Therefore, Friend Nich'las, prithee watch 'em,
For they're condemn'd before we catch 'em.
The solemn, grave, judicious Guide;
For Works of Authors so discerning,
Are only fit for Men of Learning.
204
O'th' Captain who translated him,
And forc'd him so against the Grain,
To hoarsely speak the Tongue of Spain;
Because he's wrong'd in many places
Of all those beauteous Thoughts and Graces
That in his native Stile appear
So sweet, so excellent and clear:
A Fault that few escape who venture
On Tasks so difficult to enter:
For he that undertakes to shew
A Poet in a Dress that's new,
If the Original be fine,
His Numbers flowing and divine,
Is but like that officious Ninny
Who gives us Silver for a Guinea.
'Tis true, what we receive is more
In Bulk, but 'tis in baser Ore.
Therefore, Friend Nich'las, I desire
To save this Volume from the Fire;
205
To treat of the Affairs of France,
Pray let them be with Care laid by
In Vault or Closet that is dry,
Till we find Methods to dispose
Of those as Friends, instead of Foes:
But one Exception I must make,
And beg you for right Reason's sake,
That if you meet with in your way,
Bernardo, stil'd del Carpio, pray
Deliv'r him freely up at sight,
To th' Dames that wait to do him right:
Or if you should, in Hole or Nook,
Find Roncesvalles, that fam'd Book,
O! let him be excepted from
All Mercy, and receive his Doom;
For certain they must lurk among
This empty, vile, romantick Throng;
Therefore, Friend Nich'las, prithee watch 'em,
For they're condemn'd before we catch 'em.
206
Cries Tonsor, ‘Be assur'd, Good Doctor,
‘I'll do the Will of my Instructor;
‘But, by the way, what is't you say
‘To Palmerin de Oliva,
‘For here he is, and in my view
‘Stands Palmerin of England too.
‘What Sentence does your Worship please
‘To pass judiciously on these?
‘I'll do the Will of my Instructor;
‘But, by the way, what is't you say
‘To Palmerin de Oliva,
‘For here he is, and in my view
‘Stands Palmerin of England too.
‘What Sentence does your Worship please
‘To pass judiciously on these?
Ha! (cries the Priest) Do you appear?
I thought that we should find you here:
As for de Oliva, be sure
You give him up to Female Pow'r,
Let the Fair make him, Page by Page,
A Sacrifice to Woman's Rage;
Rend him, unbind him, burn him a'ter,
And let the Wind his Ashes scatter:
But as for t'other Palmerin
Of England, 'twould be thought a Sin
To doom his noble ancient Style,
To perish in the flaming Pile;
Not 'cause his Tales are finely told,
And that he's singular and old;
Or for neat Management and Care
At Miraguarda-Castle, where
The Author shows his Wit and Art
Discreetly mix'd in ev'ry part:
Not that I say it only shou'd
Escape, because it's old and good,
But for its high Degree, much rather,
Because it had a Royal Father;
For some, who know the growth of Wit,
Affirm, this famous Book was writ,
Most part thereof, if not the whole,
By a Learn'd King of Portugal;
Therefore let's keep the Offspring back
From Execution, for the sake
Of that renown'd Majestick He,
Who got the spritely Progeny;
For tho' a better Book should be
Compil'd by one of low Degree,
Yet due regard should still be shown
To th' meanest Issue of a Throne.
I thought that we should find you here:
As for de Oliva, be sure
You give him up to Female Pow'r,
Let the Fair make him, Page by Page,
A Sacrifice to Woman's Rage;
Rend him, unbind him, burn him a'ter,
And let the Wind his Ashes scatter:
But as for t'other Palmerin
Of England, 'twould be thought a Sin
To doom his noble ancient Style,
To perish in the flaming Pile;
207
And that he's singular and old;
Or for neat Management and Care
At Miraguarda-Castle, where
The Author shows his Wit and Art
Discreetly mix'd in ev'ry part:
Not that I say it only shou'd
Escape, because it's old and good,
But for its high Degree, much rather,
Because it had a Royal Father;
For some, who know the growth of Wit,
Affirm, this famous Book was writ,
Most part thereof, if not the whole,
By a Learn'd King of Portugal;
Therefore let's keep the Offspring back
From Execution, for the sake
Of that renown'd Majestick He,
Who got the spritely Progeny;
For tho' a better Book should be
Compil'd by one of low Degree,
208
To th' meanest Issue of a Throne.
‘Burn him, or save him, which you please,
(Quoth Nick) ‘I long to be at Ease:
‘My Shoulders are so tir'd, I vow,
‘With lifting such a lumbring Crew,
‘That I must rest, and take off just
‘One Glass of Mountain and a Crust,
‘And then (Fair Ladies) you will see
‘The Work go on most chearfully.
(Quoth Nick) ‘I long to be at Ease:
‘My Shoulders are so tir'd, I vow,
‘With lifting such a lumbring Crew,
‘That I must rest, and take off just
‘One Glass of Mountain and a Crust,
‘And then (Fair Ladies) you will see
‘The Work go on most chearfully.
Well said, Friend Nicholas, (reply'd
The Priest) I must be of your side;
Continual Labour and no Play,
Makes Jack a heavy Boy, they say.
Quoth Niece & Nabby, ‘Pray good Neighbours,
‘If you're grown weary cease your Labours,
‘And we'll go fetch whate'er you think
‘Is best for you to eat and drink.
The Priest) I must be of your side;
Continual Labour and no Play,
Makes Jack a heavy Boy, they say.
Quoth Niece & Nabby, ‘Pray good Neighbours,
‘If you're grown weary cease your Labours,
‘And we'll go fetch whate'er you think
‘Is best for you to eat and drink.
Thus all desiring to be Idle,
They cut their Work off in the middle,
Sending some respite in enjoying
The sweets of Junketing and Toying.
They cut their Work off in the middle,
209
The sweets of Junketing and Toying.
Thus when the Head, that bears the Rule,
Turns Madman, or a Careless Fool,
Those who obey'd whilst he was wise,
Will then Command and Tyrannize.
Turns Madman, or a Careless Fool,
Those who obey'd whilst he was wise,
Will then Command and Tyrannize.
CANTO XII.
Worse havock with his Books they make,
Before the Seignior does awake.
At length he starts, from Bed arises,
And raving, the Cabal surprises.
Before the Seignior does awake.
At length he starts, from Bed arises,
And raving, the Cabal surprises.
When Drinking, Sitting-still, and Eating,
And eas'd their Arms, and stop'd their Sweating,
They laid aside the Glass, to make an
End of the Work they'd undertaken,
So that they briskly now went on,
With what for Ease they'd left undone.
Thus, taken in due time, a Whet
Will prove a Spur, instead of Let.
And eas'd their Arms, and stop'd their Sweating,
They laid aside the Glass, to make an
End of the Work they'd undertaken,
210
With what for Ease they'd left undone.
Thus, taken in due time, a Whet
Will prove a Spur, instead of Let.
The Curate very brisk and crank,
In his high Seat, with what he'd drank,
Finding sharp Conduct in his Post,
And quick dispatch oblig'd the most,
Cry'd out to Nich'las, Prithee Neighbour
Don't take such Pains, but spare your Labour
You need not spend such time in reading,
Or be so nice in your proceeding,
But pull at once those Folio Books
From off their Shelves, and out their Nooks,
And, without searching for their Names,
Condemn 'em all unto the Flames;
As Judges do by Rogues sometimes,
More for their Looks than for their Crimes.
In his high Seat, with what he'd drank,
Finding sharp Conduct in his Post,
And quick dispatch oblig'd the most,
Cry'd out to Nich'las, Prithee Neighbour
Don't take such Pains, but spare your Labour
You need not spend such time in reading,
Or be so nice in your proceeding,
But pull at once those Folio Books
From off their Shelves, and out their Nooks,
And, without searching for their Names,
Condemn 'em all unto the Flames;
As Judges do by Rogues sometimes,
More for their Looks than for their Crimes.
Quoth Nicholas, ‘Tho' Judges have
‘Sometimes a Pow'r to hang or save,
‘Yet we should think that Judge stark mad
‘That should condemn both Good and Bad,
‘And cause the Innocent to share
‘The Fate of those that Guilty are:
‘Therefore, Good Doctor, I beseech you,
‘For want of Brains enough to teach you,
‘That in your Post you'd use a Conscience,
‘And not condemn good Wit with Nonsence.
‘Here's Don Bellianis, that fam'd Piece,
‘What Judgment will you pass on this?
‘In my Opinion, (quoth the Shaver)
‘This Volume may deserve some Favour.
‘Sometimes a Pow'r to hang or save,
211
‘That should condemn both Good and Bad,
‘And cause the Innocent to share
‘The Fate of those that Guilty are:
‘Therefore, Good Doctor, I beseech you,
‘For want of Brains enough to teach you,
‘That in your Post you'd use a Conscience,
‘And not condemn good Wit with Nonsence.
‘Here's Don Bellianis, that fam'd Piece,
‘What Judgment will you pass on this?
‘In my Opinion, (quoth the Shaver)
‘This Volume may deserve some Favour.
Truly, (replies the Curate) I
Conceive him to be dull and dry,
He, with his Second, Third, and Fourth
Insipid Parts, are little worth:
His Choler does so far exceed
Due Bounds, that he should purge and bleed.
Besides, he wants to be new polish'd,
His Castle of Fame should be demolish'd,
And other Rubbish be remov'd,
Before he can be well approv'd:
However, Nich'las, since I find
To save him you are much inclin'd,
For once I'll grant him Transportation,
In hopes some Pen of Moderation,
In time, may work his Reformation:
Therefore as you have snatch'd him from
The fatal Flames, pray take him home;
For he that does from Gallows save
The Ruffian, or the filching Knave,
Ought to command him as his own,
In lieu o'th' Favour he has shown.
Conceive him to be dull and dry,
He, with his Second, Third, and Fourth
Insipid Parts, are little worth:
His Choler does so far exceed
Due Bounds, that he should purge and bleed.
Besides, he wants to be new polish'd,
His Castle of Fame should be demolish'd,
212
Before he can be well approv'd:
However, Nich'las, since I find
To save him you are much inclin'd,
For once I'll grant him Transportation,
In hopes some Pen of Moderation,
In time, may work his Reformation:
Therefore as you have snatch'd him from
The fatal Flames, pray take him home;
For he that does from Gallows save
The Ruffian, or the filching Knave,
Ought to command him as his own,
In lieu o'th' Favour he has shown.
‘Doctor, (cries Nicholas) I vow,
‘You have so highly pleas'd me now;
‘That since you've been so very kind,
‘Do what you please with those behind;
‘For, as you say, I dare to swear,
‘That all those Folio Loobies there,
‘By their old tatter'd leathern Cloathing,
‘Are but dull Lumps, just good for nothing
‘You have so highly pleas'd me now;
‘That since you've been so very kind,
‘Do what you please with those behind;
‘For, as you say, I dare to swear,
‘That all those Folio Loobies there,
‘By their old tatter'd leathern Cloathing,
‘Are but dull Lumps, just good for nothing
213
I told you so before, (replies
The Curate, very grave and wise)
Therefore, pray Ladies, take 'em all,
And let no Mercy stop their fall;
But let 'em be confus'dly cast,
Where Flames, e'relong, shall be their last.
The Curate, very grave and wise)
Therefore, pray Ladies, take 'em all,
And let no Mercy stop their fall;
But let 'em be confus'dly cast,
Where Flames, e'relong, shall be their last.
The Lasses, fond to be imploy'd,
Were at this Sentence overjoy'd,
Running as gladly to the Books,
As if to make their Wedding-Smocks,
Tearing them down from off the Shelves,
With so much Pleasure to themselves,
As if their Authors and Translators
Had all been beastly Woman-haters,
Working to answer their Desire,
Like Helpers lab'ring at a Fire,
Lugging whole Armfuls in a Heat,
From Shelf to Window, to compleat
Revenge, that's said to be so sweet.
At length the Niece, by taking up
Too many, chanc'd to let one drop,
Which being by the Barber found
At's Foot, he took it from the Ground;
And after he had paus'd a little
Upon the Book, and read the Title.
Now Doctor, (smiling cries the Shaver)
Here's an old Book that merits Favour;
This is call'd, Tirante the White,
That famous fighting doubty Knight.
Were at this Sentence overjoy'd,
Running as gladly to the Books,
As if to make their Wedding-Smocks,
Tearing them down from off the Shelves,
With so much Pleasure to themselves,
As if their Authors and Translators
Had all been beastly Woman-haters,
Working to answer their Desire,
Like Helpers lab'ring at a Fire,
Lugging whole Armfuls in a Heat,
From Shelf to Window, to compleat
Revenge, that's said to be so sweet.
214
Too many, chanc'd to let one drop,
Which being by the Barber found
At's Foot, he took it from the Ground;
And after he had paus'd a little
Upon the Book, and read the Title.
Now Doctor, (smiling cries the Shaver)
Here's an old Book that merits Favour;
This is call'd, Tirante the White,
That famous fighting doubty Knight.
‘Have you got him, (replies the Priest)
‘He shall be my old Friend and Guest,
‘That merry Knight shall sup with me,
‘I'll secure him from Jeopardy;
‘His Tales will yield me much delight
‘Upon a tedious Winter's Night;
‘He's rare obliging Conversation,
‘Brim-full of Life and Recreation:
‘No Miser's Banquet can exceed
‘His Dainties, and a Pipe of Weed.
‘Besides, there's not a Page therein
‘But what's rare Physick for the Spleen:
‘Nay, you may find some places out
‘That will divert the Stone or Gout,
‘Or charm the Tooth-Ach, with Proviso
‘You meet Don Kyrie-Eleiso,
‘That valorous successful Man,
‘The famous Knight of Montaban,
‘His Brother Thomas, and the doubty
‘Fonseca, who would ne'er fight Booty:
‘And the fierce Combat bravely fought
‘Long since, about the Lord knows what,
‘Between the Valiant Detriante
‘And Mastiff, who had worry'd twenty:
‘The Humours of that pleasant Jade,
‘That witty, wanton, merry Maid,
‘The Fair Plazerdimivida,
‘And all the Tricks she us'd to play:
‘Also the Jilting Ways and Wiles,
‘False Favours and deceitful Smiles
‘Of the brisk Widow, whom, some say,
‘Was therefore call'd Reposada,
‘Together with the Empress, who
‘Was charm'd with young Hippolyto,
‘Tho' but her Usher, and no more,
‘To lead her to her Chariot-door;
‘Yet did her Royal Heart beguile,
‘By tickling of her Palms the while.
‘This Book for noble Style at least,
(Continues the Judicious Priest)
‘Is sure the best the World can find
‘'Mongst all the Volumes of its kind;
‘For here Knight-Errants Eat and Drink,
‘Talk Sense, and regularly Think;
‘Sleep in their Beds, as Men should do,
‘And when they're Ancient die there too;
‘First make their Wills, and in their Age,
‘Like other Mortals, quit the Stage.
‘Whilst all of the Romantick Strain
‘Besides, are so profusely vain,
‘That they will scarce vouchsafe a Word
‘Of things beneath the Lance and Sword,
‘Fair Ladies, Gyants, Dwarfs, Magicians,
‘Young Damsels in distress'd Conditions,
‘Knights wounded in tremendous Fights,
‘And Lovers kill'd with Beauty's Slights,
‘All vanishing at last together,
‘Like Fiends and Witches, God knows whither.
‘However, tho' a Man may profit
‘By this one Book, the Author of it,
‘I must confess, deserves to be
‘Chastis'd with some Severity,
‘For writing such an Ass's Load
‘Of silly things to please the Croud;
‘For one Good-Work will not atone
‘For all the Follies he has done:
‘But take this Home, and for thy Pleasure,
‘Friend Nich'las, con it o'er at leisure,
‘And with thy own Opinion then,
‘Return it back to me again.
‘He shall be my old Friend and Guest,
‘That merry Knight shall sup with me,
‘I'll secure him from Jeopardy;
‘His Tales will yield me much delight
‘Upon a tedious Winter's Night;
‘He's rare obliging Conversation,
‘Brim-full of Life and Recreation:
‘No Miser's Banquet can exceed
‘His Dainties, and a Pipe of Weed.
215
‘But what's rare Physick for the Spleen:
‘Nay, you may find some places out
‘That will divert the Stone or Gout,
‘Or charm the Tooth-Ach, with Proviso
‘You meet Don Kyrie-Eleiso,
‘That valorous successful Man,
‘The famous Knight of Montaban,
‘His Brother Thomas, and the doubty
‘Fonseca, who would ne'er fight Booty:
‘And the fierce Combat bravely fought
‘Long since, about the Lord knows what,
‘Between the Valiant Detriante
‘And Mastiff, who had worry'd twenty:
‘The Humours of that pleasant Jade,
‘That witty, wanton, merry Maid,
‘The Fair Plazerdimivida,
‘And all the Tricks she us'd to play:
‘Also the Jilting Ways and Wiles,
‘False Favours and deceitful Smiles
216
‘Was therefore call'd Reposada,
‘Together with the Empress, who
‘Was charm'd with young Hippolyto,
‘Tho' but her Usher, and no more,
‘To lead her to her Chariot-door;
‘Yet did her Royal Heart beguile,
‘By tickling of her Palms the while.
‘This Book for noble Style at least,
(Continues the Judicious Priest)
‘Is sure the best the World can find
‘'Mongst all the Volumes of its kind;
‘For here Knight-Errants Eat and Drink,
‘Talk Sense, and regularly Think;
‘Sleep in their Beds, as Men should do,
‘And when they're Ancient die there too;
‘First make their Wills, and in their Age,
‘Like other Mortals, quit the Stage.
‘Whilst all of the Romantick Strain
‘Besides, are so profusely vain,
217
‘Of things beneath the Lance and Sword,
‘Fair Ladies, Gyants, Dwarfs, Magicians,
‘Young Damsels in distress'd Conditions,
‘Knights wounded in tremendous Fights,
‘And Lovers kill'd with Beauty's Slights,
‘All vanishing at last together,
‘Like Fiends and Witches, God knows whither.
‘However, tho' a Man may profit
‘By this one Book, the Author of it,
‘I must confess, deserves to be
‘Chastis'd with some Severity,
‘For writing such an Ass's Load
‘Of silly things to please the Croud;
‘For one Good-Work will not atone
‘For all the Follies he has done:
‘But take this Home, and for thy Pleasure,
‘Friend Nich'las, con it o'er at leisure,
‘And with thy own Opinion then,
‘Return it back to me again.
218
I'll take your Counsel, quoth the Shaver,
But see what little Books we have here;
These lesser Fry sure cannot be
A Nurs'ry of Knight-Errantry.
But see what little Books we have here;
These lesser Fry sure cannot be
A Nurs'ry of Knight-Errantry.
‘No, (cries the Curate) they're too small
‘For fighting Knights, they're Poets all;
‘They have not room enough to hold
‘Such Gyants as were born of old.
‘View them, and I'll engage you'll find
‘Those Dwarfs are of another kind.
‘For fighting Knights, they're Poets all;
‘They have not room enough to hold
‘Such Gyants as were born of old.
‘View them, and I'll engage you'll find
‘Those Dwarfs are of another kind.
With that the Barber took in hand
A Volume that did nearest stand,
And op'ning it, cry'd out, I'll swear,
Here's a rare Piece of Montemayor;
His fam'd Diana, I protest,
I've singl'd out from all the rest:
What think you of this beauteous Dame,
She cannot sure deserve the flame.
A Volume that did nearest stand,
And op'ning it, cry'd out, I'll swear,
Here's a rare Piece of Montemayor;
His fam'd Diana, I protest,
I've singl'd out from all the rest:
What think you of this beauteous Dame,
She cannot sure deserve the flame.
‘No, truly, (cries Judge Advocate)
‘She merits not so harsh a Fate;
‘Such Past'ral Books can never be
‘So hurtful as Knight-Errantry,
‘Because they treat of harmless Matters
‘That rather soften rugged Natures,
‘Than animate our headstrong Passions
‘To seek out mischi'vous Occasions;
‘Therefore, I think, the Dame commands
‘Mild Usage at her Judges hands.
‘She merits not so harsh a Fate;
219
‘So hurtful as Knight-Errantry,
‘Because they treat of harmless Matters
‘That rather soften rugged Natures,
‘Than animate our headstrong Passions
‘To seek out mischi'vous Occasions;
‘Therefore, I think, the Dame commands
‘Mild Usage at her Judges hands.
Good Doctor Perez, (then reply'd
The angry Niece unto the Guide)
Gave not such Witches, no not one,
For if you do we're all undone;
Their Sorceries will do more harm
Than those that made my Uncle Arm;
Nor should we, by our Care and Pains,
Discover his distemper'd Brains,
And conquer those Knight-Errant Frenzies
That now deprive him of his Senses,
Tho' robb'd of all that cursed Store
Of Books that made him Mad before.
Should we again but give him leave
To read what you would now reprieve,
He'd then turn Shepherd, range the Plains
In search of beauteous Nymphs and Swains,
And wander thro' the Woods and Groves,
Where Turtles moan their absent Loves:
Nay, Poet turn, run mad in Meter,
To make the Mischief still the greater,
And fill his Head with foolish Dreams
Of murm'ring Brooks and purling Streams;
A Madness which so strangely pleases
The jingling Brains of him it seizes,
That 'tis incurable, they say,
And never will be chas'd away;
Therefore, dear Doctor, for the sake
Of us whose Welfare lies at Stake,
And in Compassion to your Friend,
Postpone the Mercy you intend.
The angry Niece unto the Guide)
Gave not such Witches, no not one,
For if you do we're all undone;
Their Sorceries will do more harm
Than those that made my Uncle Arm;
Nor should we, by our Care and Pains,
Discover his distemper'd Brains,
And conquer those Knight-Errant Frenzies
That now deprive him of his Senses,
Tho' robb'd of all that cursed Store
Of Books that made him Mad before.
220
To read what you would now reprieve,
He'd then turn Shepherd, range the Plains
In search of beauteous Nymphs and Swains,
And wander thro' the Woods and Groves,
Where Turtles moan their absent Loves:
Nay, Poet turn, run mad in Meter,
To make the Mischief still the greater,
And fill his Head with foolish Dreams
Of murm'ring Brooks and purling Streams;
A Madness which so strangely pleases
The jingling Brains of him it seizes,
That 'tis incurable, they say,
And never will be chas'd away;
Therefore, dear Doctor, for the sake
Of us whose Welfare lies at Stake,
And in Compassion to your Friend,
Postpone the Mercy you intend.
‘Why truly, Madam, (cries the Priest)
‘'Tis but a reasonable Request,
‘What you have ask'd I must allow
‘Is really to the purpose now;
‘Care shall be taken to remove
‘Those Stumbling-Blocks you disapprove;
‘Not that a Volume that does bear
‘The worthy Name of Montemayor,
‘Shall perish in the Flames among
‘So worthless a Romantick Throng;
‘Therefore, Friend Nich'las, I desire,
‘Rather than doom him to the Fire,
‘That you'll tear out, by my Commission,
‘Felicia, Montemay'r's Magician,
‘With that dull part that follows a'ter,
‘Concerning the Inchanted Water:
‘Also those tedious Poems where
‘Great length, but little Wit appear,
‘And let the rest escape the Flame,
‘In Honour to its Author's Name,
‘Because we Men of Reading find,
‘'Tis the best Book of all its kind.
‘'Tis but a reasonable Request,
221
‘Is really to the purpose now;
‘Care shall be taken to remove
‘Those Stumbling-Blocks you disapprove;
‘Not that a Volume that does bear
‘The worthy Name of Montemayor,
‘Shall perish in the Flames among
‘So worthless a Romantick Throng;
‘Therefore, Friend Nich'las, I desire,
‘Rather than doom him to the Fire,
‘That you'll tear out, by my Commission,
‘Felicia, Montemay'r's Magician,
‘With that dull part that follows a'ter,
‘Concerning the Inchanted Water:
‘Also those tedious Poems where
‘Great length, but little Wit appear,
‘And let the rest escape the Flame,
‘In Honour to its Author's Name,
‘Because we Men of Reading find,
‘'Tis the best Book of all its kind.
222
Doctor, (quoth Nich'las) your Commands
Shall be obey'd with both my hands:
But here are two Dianas more,
Which make up three, with that before;
One by Salmantino, whose Name,
I doubt, will scarce preserve the same:
The other by Gill Polo writ,
He was, I think, a Man of Wit.
What say you, Sir, shall we dispose
Of these as worthy Friends, or Foes?
Shall be obey'd with both my hands:
But here are two Dianas more,
Which make up three, with that before;
One by Salmantino, whose Name,
I doubt, will scarce preserve the same:
The other by Gill Polo writ,
He was, I think, a Man of Wit.
What say you, Sir, shall we dispose
Of these as worthy Friends, or Foes?
‘Salmantino (reply'd the Priest)
‘Is a dull Rogue, without a Jest;
‘I'm sure 'tis worth no Mortal's while
‘To save his Rubbish from the Pile.
‘But (good Friend Nich'las) as for t'other,
‘Which claims Gill Polo for its Author,
‘Pray take him home, and lay him by,
‘Tend'r him as th' Apple of your Eye;
‘For scarce Apollo ever writ
‘With finer Thought or keener Wit.
‘Is a dull Rogue, without a Jest;
‘I'm sure 'tis worth no Mortal's while
‘To save his Rubbish from the Pile.
‘But (good Friend Nich'las) as for t'other,
‘Which claims Gill Polo for its Author,
‘Pray take him home, and lay him by,
‘Tend'r him as th' Apple of your Eye;
‘For scarce Apollo ever writ
‘With finer Thought or keener Wit.
223
Sa'ye so, (quoth Nich'las) by my Life,
I'll hug him as I do my Wife.—
Here are Ten Books upon Love's Fortune,
Yet all bound up in one, for certain,
Written by him (if you would ask who)
Whose Name was Tony de Lafrasco,
A merry Wag, who was (some say)
A Poet of Sardinia.
I'll hug him as I do my Wife.—
Here are Ten Books upon Love's Fortune,
Yet all bound up in one, for certain,
Written by him (if you would ask who)
Whose Name was Tony de Lafrasco,
A merry Wag, who was (some say)
A Poet of Sardinia.
‘Now, by my Function (cries the Guide)
‘And all my holy Robes beside,
‘I do not think since Poets first
‘With pensive Poverty were curst
‘Or since that sublunary Time,
‘When Madmen first began to Rhime,
‘That e'er a more diverting Fool,
‘So silly, yet so Comical,
‘Appear'd before in Print, to make
‘His Reader's Sides with Laughing shake.
‘Pray, Neighbour Nich'las, give it me,
(Continu'd Father Domine)
‘For I am much more pleas'd to find
‘So quaint a Darling of its kind,
‘Than if some Penitent, to shew
‘The last good Office they could do
‘Within my Parish-Bounds, had dy'd,
‘And left new Mourning to their Guide:
‘But, prithee, Neighbour, make more haste,
‘This is hard Labour, I protest.
‘And all my holy Robes beside,
‘I do not think since Poets first
‘With pensive Poverty were curst
‘Or since that sublunary Time,
‘When Madmen first began to Rhime,
‘That e'er a more diverting Fool,
‘So silly, yet so Comical,
‘Appear'd before in Print, to make
‘His Reader's Sides with Laughing shake.
‘Pray, Neighbour Nich'las, give it me,
(Continu'd Father Domine)
224
‘So quaint a Darling of its kind,
‘Than if some Penitent, to shew
‘The last good Office they could do
‘Within my Parish-Bounds, had dy'd,
‘And left new Mourning to their Guide:
‘But, prithee, Neighbour, make more haste,
‘This is hard Labour, I protest.
Cries Tonsor, I am tired too
Of this confounded Rhiming Crew:
What say you, Doctor, now you're weary,
To the fam'd Shepherd of Iberia,
Also the Nymphs of Enares,
Those witty pritty Baggages;
And with those two, to make up three,
Here comes the Cure of Jealousie.
Of this confounded Rhiming Crew:
What say you, Doctor, now you're weary,
To the fam'd Shepherd of Iberia,
Also the Nymphs of Enares,
Those witty pritty Baggages;
And with those two, to make up three,
Here comes the Cure of Jealousie.
‘Take 'em good Jaylor, (quoth the Priest)
‘For burning they deserve at least;
‘But pray forbear to ask their Crime,
‘Impertinence prolongs the Time;
‘Judges, you know, when tir'd with sitting,
‘Or faint for want of Ease or Eating,
‘Have never patience with Debates
‘When Gout torments or Dinner waits,
‘But by a Figure in the Laws,
‘Apostrophe the tedious Cause.
‘For burning they deserve at least;
‘But pray forbear to ask their Crime,
‘Impertinence prolongs the Time;
225
‘Or faint for want of Ease or Eating,
‘Have never patience with Debates
‘When Gout torments or Dinner waits,
‘But by a Figure in the Laws,
‘Apostrophe the tedious Cause.
The next (cries Tonsor) in my way,
Is call'd the Swain of Filida,
Or Shepherd I should stile him rather,
I think 'tis no great matter whether.
Is call'd the Swain of Filida,
Or Shepherd I should stile him rather,
I think 'tis no great matter whether.
‘He was no Shepherd, I aver it,
‘But a wise Courtier, (cries the Curate)
‘He shall not be condemn'd for Fuel,
‘Pray save him, he's a precious Jewel.
‘But a wise Courtier, (cries the Curate)
‘He shall not be condemn'd for Fuel,
‘Pray save him, he's a precious Jewel.
Now (cries Friend Nich'las) here comes
The Treasury of divers Poems;
If Bulk or Greatness is a Sign
That Goodness is contain'd therein,
Then this, methinks, should be the best,
Because it's bigger than the rest.
The Treasury of divers Poems;
If Bulk or Greatness is a Sign
That Goodness is contain'd therein,
Then this, methinks, should be the best,
Because it's bigger than the rest.
226
‘Had there been less of 'em (replies
The Judge) ‘the Poet had been wise:
‘But that which has his Weakness shew'd
‘Is, they're too num'rous to be good:
‘However we'll their Doom suspend,
‘Because the Author is my Friend.
‘For Kissing does by Favour go,
‘The Wise by old Experience know,
‘In ev'ry Court it will be so.
The Judge) ‘the Poet had been wise:
‘But that which has his Weakness shew'd
‘Is, they're too num'rous to be good:
‘However we'll their Doom suspend,
‘Because the Author is my Friend.
‘For Kissing does by Favour go,
‘The Wise by old Experience know,
‘In ev'ry Court it will be so.
Then Tonsor taking in his Hand
The next, cry'd, What art thou, my Friend?
Ha! a rare merry Fa-la-lado
Of Songs, by Lapez Maldonado.
The next, cry'd, What art thou, my Friend?
Ha! a rare merry Fa-la-lado
Of Songs, by Lapez Maldonado.
‘He's a rare Lyrist (cries the Guide)
‘Sings well, and is my Friend beside;
‘His Lyrick Poems too we find
‘Are well approv'd of in their kind,
‘And better when he does repeat
‘The chearful Strains himself has writ;
‘But when he sings 'em, then he warms
‘The Fancy with a thousand Charms.
‘As for his Eclogues, I confess
‘They're tedious, tho' I like their Dress;
‘As if he thought no Reader cou'd
‘Have too much of a thing that's good.
‘Sings well, and is my Friend beside;
‘His Lyrick Poems too we find
‘Are well approv'd of in their kind,
‘And better when he does repeat
‘The chearful Strains himself has writ;
227
‘The Fancy with a thousand Charms.
‘As for his Eclogues, I confess
‘They're tedious, tho' I like their Dress;
‘As if he thought no Reader cou'd
‘Have too much of a thing that's good.
Cries Tonsor also, I pretend
To claim this Lapez as my Friend;
For Barbers and Musicians chime
Together, just like Tune and Rhime;
Therefore I find we both agree
To save this Book from Jeopardy.
Now, Doctor, pray prepare to be a
Kind Advocate for Galatea;
For here among the rest I've found
Her Ladyship most neatly Bound:
You'll spare her, I suppose, the rather
'Cause your Friend Miguel was her Father;
For he that does so well approve
The Parent, must the Daughter love.
To claim this Lapez as my Friend;
For Barbers and Musicians chime
Together, just like Tune and Rhime;
Therefore I find we both agree
To save this Book from Jeopardy.
Now, Doctor, pray prepare to be a
Kind Advocate for Galatea;
For here among the rest I've found
Her Ladyship most neatly Bound:
You'll spare her, I suppose, the rather
'Cause your Friend Miguel was her Father;
For he that does so well approve
The Parent, must the Daughter love.
228
‘Truly, good Nicholas (reply'd
The grave, judicious, partial Guide)
‘That Miguel de Cervantes is
‘My Friend, I own, and what is his
‘I'm bound not only to respect,
‘But at this Juncture to protect.
‘Judges, you know, will strain the Laws
‘In favour of a friendly Cause,
‘And run the hazard of Repentance,
‘To serve an honest old Acquaintance;
‘Therefore, tho' Miguel has, for certain,
‘Been more Conversant with Misfortune,
‘Than with those nice Poetick Rules
‘Observ'd and taught us in the Schools;
‘And that, as yet, we scarce can find,
‘In his first Volume, what's design'd;
‘Yet since he aims and does pretend
‘To something Noble in the End,
‘We'll wave our Judgment of its worth,
‘Until his Second Part comes forth;
‘Because in that we find his Friends
‘Expect he'll make the World amends;
‘Therefore were I myself Astrea,
‘I'd not condemn his Galatea;
‘But take her Home, from Danger skreen her,
‘Till the next shews us what is in her.
The grave, judicious, partial Guide)
‘That Miguel de Cervantes is
‘My Friend, I own, and what is his
‘I'm bound not only to respect,
‘But at this Juncture to protect.
‘Judges, you know, will strain the Laws
‘In favour of a friendly Cause,
‘And run the hazard of Repentance,
‘To serve an honest old Acquaintance;
‘Therefore, tho' Miguel has, for certain,
‘Been more Conversant with Misfortune,
‘Than with those nice Poetick Rules
‘Observ'd and taught us in the Schools;
‘And that, as yet, we scarce can find,
‘In his first Volume, what's design'd;
‘Yet since he aims and does pretend
‘To something Noble in the End,
‘We'll wave our Judgment of its worth,
‘Until his Second Part comes forth;
229
‘Expect he'll make the World amends;
‘Therefore were I myself Astrea,
‘I'd not condemn his Galatea;
‘But take her Home, from Danger skreen her,
‘Till the next shews us what is in her.
Now, Doctor, that we may go on, Sir,
The faster, (quoth the weary Tonsor)
Here are three Volumes all together,
I suppose, Birds of the same Feather:
First Don Alonso's Auricana.
This far excels your fine Diana;
Next Juan Ruffo's Austriada,
This Book has giv'n me many a Play-day;
I've left my Victuals oftentimes
To feast upon his dainty Rhimes:
Thirdly, I give unto your view,
The famous Monserrato too;
A Book much valu'd for its Wit,
By Christopher de Virves writ;
For these transcendant Poets sure
You must have Mercy still in store;
These merit not alone Compassion,
But claim respect and veneration.
The faster, (quoth the weary Tonsor)
Here are three Volumes all together,
I suppose, Birds of the same Feather:
First Don Alonso's Auricana.
This far excels your fine Diana;
Next Juan Ruffo's Austriada,
This Book has giv'n me many a Play-day;
I've left my Victuals oftentimes
To feast upon his dainty Rhimes:
Thirdly, I give unto your view,
The famous Monserrato too;
A Book much valu'd for its Wit,
By Christopher de Virves writ;
230
You must have Mercy still in store;
These merit not alone Compassion,
But claim respect and veneration.
‘I must allow (replies the Priest)
‘You've brought me now the very best
‘Heroicks in the Spanish Tongue,
‘We therefore must not do 'em wrong;
‘For these melodious happy three
‘Are th' only Beauties, I agree,
‘That Spain can boast in Poetry.
‘These precious Works, as wealthy Jems,
‘I'll save not only from the Flames,
‘But keep 'em safe from Female Fury,
‘Lest they destroy 'em in the hurry.
‘You've brought me now the very best
‘Heroicks in the Spanish Tongue,
‘We therefore must not do 'em wrong;
‘For these melodious happy three
‘Are th' only Beauties, I agree,
‘That Spain can boast in Poetry.
‘These precious Works, as wealthy Jems,
‘I'll save not only from the Flames,
‘But keep 'em safe from Female Fury,
‘Lest they destroy 'em in the hurry.
Now Priest and Barber both were grown
So weary with the Work they'd done,
That they resolv'd to damn the rest,
Without enquiring which was best;
And turn 'em down into the Yard,
Unview'd, unpity'd, and unheard;
But just as they had thus agreed
To give the rest no time to plead,
There chanc'd to fall in Tonsor's way,
The Tears of fair Angelica,
Which Book unto the Priest was handed,
And's Judgment of the same demanded.
So weary with the Work they'd done,
That they resolv'd to damn the rest,
Without enquiring which was best;
231
Unview'd, unpity'd, and unheard;
But just as they had thus agreed
To give the rest no time to plead,
There chanc'd to fall in Tonsor's way,
The Tears of fair Angelica,
Which Book unto the Priest was handed,
And's Judgment of the same demanded.
Had this dear Book (reply'd the Guide)
With its ill Neighbours been destroy'd,
And after I, by chance, had known
The fatal Wrong I'd rashly done,
I should have curs'd the Evil time
I'd been so great a Foe to Rhime,
Because its Author, all agree,
Did so excel in Poetry,
That he's not only justly thought
One of the best that ever wrote
In Spain, but all the World can scarce
Produce a greater King of Verse.
With its ill Neighbours been destroy'd,
And after I, by chance, had known
The fatal Wrong I'd rashly done,
I should have curs'd the Evil time
I'd been so great a Foe to Rhime,
Because its Author, all agree,
Did so excel in Poetry,
That he's not only justly thought
One of the best that ever wrote
In Spain, but all the World can scarce
Produce a greater King of Verse.
232
As Nich'las and the Holy Father
Were ord'ring Matters thus together,
The Seignior, who had long been dreaming,
Of Gyants, Knights, and pretty Women,
Awak'd i'th' middle of a deep
Engagement he had had in's Sleep,
And was as raving Mad as if
His Rest had giv'n him no Relief:
So that the Roaring and the Noise
He made did the Cabal surprise,
And cause them to condemn the rest,
Without a view, in fear and haste.
Were ord'ring Matters thus together,
The Seignior, who had long been dreaming,
Of Gyants, Knights, and pretty Women,
Awak'd i'th' middle of a deep
Engagement he had had in's Sleep,
And was as raving Mad as if
His Rest had giv'n him no Relief:
So that the Roaring and the Noise
He made did the Cabal surprise,
And cause them to condemn the rest,
Without a view, in fear and haste.
Thus we may see how Servants reign
When they the upper-hand can gain;
And when our Rulers once run Mad,
How the Good suffer for the Bad.
When they the upper-hand can gain;
And when our Rulers once run Mad,
How the Good suffer for the Bad.
The End of the Third Part.
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