The Life and Notable Adventures of that Renown'd Knight, Don Quixote De la Mancha Merrily Translated into Hudibrastick Verse. By Edward Ward |
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 | The Life and Notable Adventures of that Renown'd Knight, Don Quixote De la Mancha |  |
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.
| The Life and Notable Adventures of that Renown'd Knight, Don Quixote De la Mancha | |