University of Virginia Library

Worse havock with his Books they make,
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.

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.

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.

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.

‘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

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 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.

‘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.

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.

‘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.

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.

‘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.

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.

‘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.

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?

‘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.

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.

‘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.

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.

‘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.

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.

‘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.

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.

‘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.

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.

‘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.

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.

‘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.

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.

‘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.

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.

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.

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.

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.