The Life and Notable Adventures of that Renown'd Knight, Don Quixote De la Mancha ::

Don Quixote from the Gally saves
Twelve Convicts, sentenc'd to be Slaves,
Who after bang the Knight and 'Squire,
And rob them of their loose Attire.

The doubty Champion of La Mancha,
Ending his Talk with Sancho Panca,
As throwing round his roving Eyes,
Before him saw to his Surprize
Twelve wretched Mortals in a Train,
All link'd in one continu'd Chain,
So close, that their adjoining Heads
Seem'd strung upon a Line like Beads;
For each was fasten'd by the Neck
With a long Chain too strong to break;

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All moving like a Western Teem,
That tug up Barges 'gainst the Stream;
Two ill-look'd Horsemen, arm'd with Swords
And Carabines, rid by as Guards:
Two more on foot, austere and gruff,
With Pistols stuck in Belts of Buff,
And Javelins in their Hands to pierce
The Skins of those that hung an Arse.

No sooner had poor Sancho spy'd
These Scare-crows on the High-way side,
But having seen the like, he knew
What Service they were marching to,
And fearing that the Knight should make
This an Adventure by Mistake,
That might bring on the usual Curse
Of heavy Blows, or something worse,
He cry'd, I beg you, Sir, take care,
And meddle not in this Affair;
For these are Rogues, strong lusty Fellows,
To th' Gallies doom'd instead of Gallows;

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They're each to labour for a Time,
Lengthen'd according to his Crime,
That painful Pulls and scanty Meals
May make 'em sorry for their Ills;
Therefore consider they are going
To serve the King in Galley-rowing,
And that 'tis dangerous to prevent
Their just and lawful Punishment.

‘It's Tyranny, replies the Don,
‘In any Prince, that rules a Throne,
‘To force his Subjects to be Slaves
‘By Land, or on the foaming Waves;
‘The worst of Rogues may be abus'd;
‘Men should not be like Horses us'd;
‘Therefore by Knighthood, and by Nature,
‘I'm bound t'enquire into the matter.

But Sir, quoth Sancho, if you please,
The King has put no Force on these;
They're all by Law condemn'd to be
For such a time in slavery;

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And if we rescue them for certain,
Their Punishment will be our Fortune,
And all our Kingdoms by your Folly
Be turn'd at once into a Gally.

‘I say, replies the Knight, the Name
‘Of King and Law imply the same;
‘And if we are opprest by either,
‘The Fault must be in both together;
‘When the Law's hard, the Legislator
‘Should shew himself a Moderator;
‘And if he does not, we may say
‘With Justice, he's as bad as they:
‘Who therfore knows but these poor Wretches,
‘That now are driving under Hatches,
‘May for some trifling Faults be hurry'd
‘To Sea, where they'll alive be bury'd;
‘Wherefore I cannot let 'em pass
‘In Honour, 'till I've heard their Case.

The Jailors with their fetter'd Troop
Of Slaves by this time were come up;

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So that the Knight in civil Terms
Accosted those that were in Arms;
And ask'd 'em why those wretched Creatures
Were led along in Chains and Fetters.

To which a Brute, with Nose and Eyes
Like a vex'd Bull-dog, thus replies;
They're Criminals condemn'd to mow
The great green Meadow, if you'd know,
And not to come again on shoar,
'Till their long Harvest-time is o'er.

‘I understand you, quoth the Knight;
‘But is their Sentence just and right?
‘Has not the Judge been too severe?
‘What are their Crimes? pray let me hear.

Just, quoth the Jailor, or unjust,
They're all condemn'd, and go they must:
But what good Services they've done,
What Pranks they've plaid, what hazards run,
To recommend 'em to a Gally;
Pray, ask 'em, they'll be proud to tell you.

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With that the Knight applies unto
The foremost of the slavish Crew;
Enquiring gravely by what Knav'ry
He'd brought himself to Gally-Slav'ry.

I only was in Love, reply'd
The Rogue, and by that means decoy'd
Into these Chains, for want of Sence
To govern my Concupiscence.

‘Hard, quoth the Knight, that thy Affection
‘Should bring thee to such sharp Correction;
‘Should all that are in Love be us'd
‘As Slaves, my self may be abus'd:
‘But I suppose you hanker'd after
‘Some high-born Noble's Wife or Daughter;
‘Or beauteous Lady, whose Degree
‘Was far above your Quality:
‘So that they've sent you to a Gally
‘For your rude Impudence and Folly.

No Sir, reply'd the Slave, I'm vitious
'Tis true but ne'er was so ambitious;

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In short I only chanc'd to fall
In Love with a Gold Cup, that's all:
Therefore in hopes to mend my Fortune,
One Night I nimm'd it, that's for certain.

‘Then thou'rt a Rascal, cryes the Knight.
Faith Master, quoth the Slave, that's right;
And if your Worship wants to find
Eleven more, they're close behind.

Then turning to the next, the Don
Desir'd he'd make his Vertues known,
Whose Answer was, His only Fact
In short was lifting what he lack'd,
And piking off by Night or Day
With any Booty in his way.

‘Then you, replies the Knight, profess
‘The Mistery of Theft, I guess.

I borrow'd, quoth the Slave, sometime,
But ne'er return'd, there lay the Crime.

Then the Don turning to the Third,
At him, who answer'd not a Word,

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But look'd as sullen, and as moody
As a cross'd Lover in a Study.
This surly Booby, cryes the next,
That is so mute, and seems so vex'd,
Does in this manner droop and languish,
Because the Coward sung in Anguish.

‘I must confess, replies the Knight,
‘I do not understand you right:
‘Sing away Sorrow I have found,
‘When Mirth and Wine went briskly round,
‘But Sing in Anguish is a Phrase
‘I never heard in all my Days.

Then, quoth the Slave, you shall be more
Accomplish'd than you were before;
To sing in Anguish is to make
A clear Confession on the Rack;
And this same Fellow here, whose Crime
Was stealing Sheep from time to time,
Tattl'd or sung, by which is meant
Acknowledging his Guilt in Cant;

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A Fault, which hardy Rogues agree,
Is scandalous and cowardly;
He's therefore made the common Jest,
And laughing stock of all the rest;
That makes the moody Rogue, and please ye,
So sullen, silent, and uneasy.

Then to the fourth Don Quixote turn'd,
A grave old Don, who wept and mourn'd,
And shook his Beard, as if he felt
Some inward prickings of his Guilt:
‘How, now, old Father, quoth the Knight,
‘What hast thou done, that is not right?
‘What Crimes have brought thy aged Furrows
‘To these unseasonable Sorrows?
‘When Nature scarce has strength to bear
‘The galling Weight of so much Care:
But this would not procure an Answer
From the poor penitential Grandsire;
So that a merry Rogue, among
The rest, both quick of Wit and Tongue,

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Reply'd, that old religious Dad,
That prays and weeps all Day like mad,
Is a Whim-broker for the fair,
Who deals in bringing things to bear;
He's an old pious Pimp in short
Between the City and the Court,
Who us'd to make rich gouty Nobles,
And wild Extravagants his Bubbles,
By topping young experienc'd Jades
Upon the Gulls for Maiden-heads;
And bringing Sharpers of the Town
For Men of Title and Renown
To ease the Itch, and cool the Flames
Of barren lustful City Dames:
Besides he did pretend to be
An Artist in Astrology,
Told Fortunes, manag'd Love-Intrigues,
Made Matches, settl'd amorous Leagues,
Had Female Fern-Seed, Dragons, Glasses,
To shew young Fools their Lovers Faces,

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And made unlawful Conjuration
A gainful part of his Profession,
For which the old deceitful Cuff
At Market-Cross wore wooden Ruff,
And now with us must quit the Shoar
For Stripes, hard Bisket, and the Oar:
Chear up Old Daddy in thy Age,
Thou'lt ne'r be drown'd, I dare engage,
As long as there's a Gallows standing
Thou'rt safe, what signifies complaining?

‘Had not the Sin of Conjuration
‘Been, quoth the Knight, an Aggravation
‘Of his Love-Managements, which you
‘Have giv'n so ill a Title to,
‘I think such sort of friendly Knavery
‘Would not deserve a starving Slavery;
‘For tho' you stile him like a Novice,
‘A Pimp, his Trade's a civil Office,
‘Which any cordial Friend or Brother
‘Will freely do to serve another:

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‘Happy's the Noble, that can bring
‘A beauteous Mistress to the King,
‘Nay, thinks it no Dishonour neither
‘To hold the Door when they're together;
‘Blest is the Valet, who can sneak
‘To his Lord's Chamber once a Week,
‘Up the back-stairs with a new Face,
‘To please his Lordship or his Grace;
‘And glad is Madam's trusty Maid
‘To usher to her Lady's Bed
‘Some strong-back'd Cousin, and to guard
‘The Chamber for a small Reward;
‘In short, both Sexes do approve
‘Their Pimps, as Messengers of Love;
‘And faithful Cent'ries, that secure
‘At once both Honour and the Door:
‘They're in all Courts esteem'd we see,
‘For Service and Fidelity;
‘And therefore ought to be protected,
‘Instead of punish'd or corrected:

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‘For since both Sexes are inclin'd
‘To Love by Nature, and be kind,
‘'Tis hard to persecute such Friends,
‘That help us to obtain our Ends.

The Knight then riding to the side
O'th' fifth Offender, thus apply'd;
‘How now, young Spark, pray what Offence
‘Has brought your Rogueship into Chains?
‘You look as if you did not value
‘The slavish Penance of a Gally.

Sir, quoth the Slave, to tell you truth,
My Crimes were but the Sins of Youth,
Meer Failings of the Flesh, which all
Are tainted with from Adam's Fall;
Only th' unfortunate are caught,
And punish'd, but the lucky not:
A Blot's no Blot, untill it's hit,
All sin, but some are more discreet,
And if detected in a Crime,
Swear heartily 'tis the only time;

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But I, like an unthinking Dunce,
Crept into Bed to two at once;
Both my own Nieces, and begot
Two Bastard Cousins on the Spot;
And by incestuous Fornication
Rais'd up so strange a Generation,
That all the Casuistick Train,
Of Holy Fathers now in Spain,
Or skilful Heralds in the Nation,
Can't fix or settle our Relation:
And this is all for which I'm sent
Six Years to Gally Punishment,
That Labour and hard Fare may tame
The Member, that has wrought my Shame;
Therefore I hope Sir Knight you'll give me
A Spill to comfort and releive me;
For I was really bred a Scholar,
Tho' now I'm chain'd in Iron Collar;
And had I been but gelt before
I'd plaid these foolish Pranks on shoar,

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I'd been the Pastor of a Flock;
But now I'm bound to curse the Smock.

‘Well, well, be patient, quoth the Don,
‘I'll stand thy hearty Friend anon.
Then turning to the sixth, a bold
And daring Rogue 'twixt young and old;
Loaded with Fetters and a Clog,
Like a mad Horse or Mastiff-Dog,
And manacl'd with greater Care
Than all his guilty Comrades were:
‘What Monster's this, quoth doubty Knight,
‘Chain'd like a Tyger for a sight?
‘Why is this squinting Wretch opprest
‘With heavier Irons than the rest?
‘Because that Fellow, quoth the Keeper,
‘In Villainy is learn'd much deeper
‘Than all the Rogues, that e'er were sent,
‘Or carr'd from Jail to Punishment:
‘He's plagu'd and rob'd thro' e'ery County,
‘His Name is Gines de Passimonte;

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‘Chang'd sometimes into Ginesillo,
‘To which he adds de Parapillo,
‘With many alias's beside,
‘All mention'd when the Rogue was try'd.

Hold Sir, reply'd the Thief, forbear,
Tho' you're my Keeper, 'tis not fair
To give a Gentleman more Names,
In Trouble, than he justly claims:
'Tis true, the World may say I've taken
These Names perhaps to save my Bacon;
What then, th' ill-natur'd World may call
You Rascal too, if that be all:
Who can help that? What Man is able
To stop the Mouths o'th' giddy Rabble?
I own no Name, if I have twenty,
But honest Gines de Passimonte:
Then boldly turning to the Don,
Cry'd, You Sir, with your Armour on,
Who're so inquisitive to know
From whence we come, and where we go;

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If you'll relieve us with a Ducat,
Be quick, and pull it out your Pocket,
And hold us not in such Suspence,
To answer your Impertinence:
Blood I am Gines de Passimonte,
And that's my Name Sir, no Affront t'ye;
As for my Life and Conversation,
My Parentage and Education,
There's an Account in black and white,
That will in Season come to Light.

‘That, quoth the Officer, is Truth,
‘He's penn'd a Journal from his Youth,
‘Of e'ery roguish Prank and Crime
‘He's plaid and acted in his time;
‘The Manuscript lies now in pawn,
‘He's borrow'd fifty Crowns thereon.

Yes, quoth the Slave, and shall, I hope,
Redeem it, spight of Sea or Rope.

‘Sure, quoth Don Quixote, it must be
‘A witty piece of Roguery;

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‘And pray, Sir, is your Hist'ry quite
‘Compleated, cryes the busy Knight.

How should that be, replies the Thief,
As long as I am blest with Life?
D'ye think me such a Lump of Clay,
That has no more Rogues Tricks to play?
No, no, I hope to live and reign,
'Till it's inlarg'd as big again:
You see as for us honest Fellows,
The Gally saves us from the Gallows,
And then the Gallows, when we're Slaves,
Secures us from the drowning Waves:
Therefore my Sentence makes me laugh,
Because I know 'twixt both I'm safe.

‘Pray, Sir, quoth Quixote, if you please,
‘Let's hear the Title of your piece,
‘That I may know it from the Croud
‘Of other Books, that steal abroad.

What, quoth the Rogue, d'ye think should be
The Title of my History,

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But this? A full and true Account
Of Captain Gines de Passimont,
Containing an exact Relation
Of his high Birth and Education;
Also his merry Pranks and Feats,
His Rob'ries, Rogu'ries, and his Cheats;
His pleasant Frolicks and Amours
With Maids, Wives, Widows, Jades and Whores,
Written by 'mself, and verify'd
By his own Tongue before he dy'd.

‘I'm apt to fancy, what you write
‘Will outdo Gusmond, quoth the Knight.

His musty study'd Book, replies
The Slave, is but a pack of Lies;
I'd have you know he's not to be
Compar'd with such a Rogue as me:
I scorn to treat the World with Fiction,
Mine's Truth beyond all Contradiction;
I borrow nought to cheat the Reader,
But run the length of my own Tedder:

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Or may I ne'er return to Shoar
This second Time from Gally-Oar.

‘Quoth Quixote, I perceive you know
‘Already what it is to row:
‘This time is not the first you've fan'd
‘The Ocean with a painful Hand.

No, no, Sir, I've learn'd already
The Diff'rence betwixt thus and steddy:
My stubborn Back knows how to bend
Beneath the Weight of a Rope's End,
And oft have born, I tell you that,
The stroakings of a nine-tail'd Cat,
And mump'd hard Bisket like a Rat.

‘I'll swear thou seem'st, replies the Knight,
‘To be a Fellow of some Wit.

Unfortunate enough to have
Good store of Wit, replies the Knave,
For Foroune crosses them the most,
Who have the greatest share to boast;

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And those, who have the smallest stock,
She wraps as Darlings in her Smock;
So Hens are kindest to the Chick,
That is of all the Brood most weak;
And Mothers for this Cause or that,
Are fondest of the silly'st Brat;
And that one Reason is for certain,
Why the best Wits have the worst Fortune.

‘Do you Sir, cries the Officer,
‘Set up for Brains, you slipstring Cur,
‘And Poet-like, because yo've writ,
‘Ascribe your Hardships to your Wit,
‘When you are only wretched made
‘By the Rogue's Tricks you know you've plaid.

Pray Master Dubnose, ben't so rough,
Quoth Gines, I ken you well enough.
What need you scandalize my Parts?
Had e'ery Rascal his Deserts,
Those that ride by perhaps might be
In Chains and Hand-cuffs well as we.

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The Keeper much enrag'd to hear
The Knave return so shrewd a Jeer,
Advanc'd his Staff at the Reflection,
To give the sausy Rogue Correction:
But Quixote interposing stop'd
The Mischief, e'er the Blow was drop'd,
And gravely told him 'twas unkind
T'insult a Wretch in Chains confin'd:
Then turning on the Guards his Breech,
To th' Slaves he made the following Speech.

‘Dear Brethren, who are bound in Fetters
‘By those proud Tyrants, call'd your Betters;
‘And stand condemn'd as Gally Slaves,
‘For ought I know, by bigger Knaves;
‘I say, no Christian upon Earth,
‘Since by the Law he's free by Birth,
‘Can forfeit Liberty, the Mother
‘Of Health and Comfort, to another;
‘'Tis born with us, and therefore fit
‘That e'ery Man should die with it:

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‘'Tis true, the wicked may sometimes
‘Forfeit their Lives for heinous Crimes:
‘What then? Death makes us still more free,
‘Not robs us of our Liberty:
‘Law may extend to Limb or Life,
‘But Liberty is each Man's Wife;
‘Which none have Right by Law or Force,
‘To put asunder or divorce;
‘Besides, who knows but want of Money
‘Might make the Jury hard upon ye;
‘Or that the Judge might be severe,
‘Because he saw no Friends appear:
‘Therefore since I am doubly bless'd
‘With Strength to succour the oppress'd,
‘And am by my Profession ty'd
‘To rescue Slaves from humane Pride,
‘By Interception or by Sword,
‘Will I perswade, or force your Guard,
‘To loose your Chains, and set you free
‘From so unjust a Slavery.

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The Rogues, not knowing what to say,
Stood grinning in the dusty Way,
Yet shew'd some little signs of Gladness,
Altho' they took it all for Madness,
Whilst Quixote turn'd his Horse aside,
And to the Keepers thus apply'd.

‘You Gentlemen, but cruel Creatures,
‘That triumph o'er these Slaves in Fetters,
‘Know, that by Knighthood I am bound
‘To range all Christian Countries round,
‘To check vile Malice, and redress
‘The Wrongs impos'd on humane Race:
‘I therefore beg you to inlarge
‘These Slaves, by granting their Discharge;
‘In doing which, you will for ever
‘Remain intitl'd to my Favour.

Zouns, quoth a Keeper, full of Vigour,
With glaring Eyes like angry Tyger,
What is't you mean, Sir Knight, you'd best
Take care, or we shall spoil your Jest.

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‘Sir, I'm in earnest, quoth the Don,
‘And what I ask, insist upon:
‘I say, it is not fair, that old
‘Cross Chirls should sit in Chains of Gold;
‘And to support their Pride, inviron
‘Poor Wretches thus with Chains of Iron:
‘Or is it just for greater Knaves
‘In Pow'r to make the lesser Slaves:
‘I'm therefore bound and sworn to see
‘These Pris'ners set at Liberty.

Quoth the next Keeper, then in troth,
Sir Knight, you're like to break your Oath:
Who dares controul the higher Pow'rs?
They're the King's Gally-Slaves, not ours:
Therefore pray march about your Business,
You're troubl'd with a drunken Dizziness,
Or sure you'd never stand to prate
At such a foolish random Rate:
Pray set your Barber's Bason right;
Your Helmet hangs awry, Sir Knight;

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And trouble not your Pate with what
We're well assur'd concerns you not:
Remember, he that plays with Cats
Must expect nothing less than Scrats.

‘I tell thee, quoth the Knight, that thou'rt
‘A Dog, a Cat, a Rat, a Coward:
Then spurring Rozinante heart'ly,
Attack'd the Officer so smartly,
That down he fetch'd him Horse and all,
And laid both sprawling with the Fall;
At sight of which the Slaves began
With their joint strength to snap their Chain,
Whilst Quixote with successful Force
O'erthrew the other Keeper's Horse,
Before they'd time to cock a Gun,
Or fire a Pistol at the Don:
The Guards on foot surpriz'd to see
The Slaves attempt their Liberty,
Ran thither to secure their Charge
From turning Prisoners at large:

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But by that time the famous Gines
With Sancho's help had broke his Chains,
And snatch'd up one o'th' Carabines;
Which with such Oaths and Threats he level'd,
That made the Jailors look bedevil'd,
And kept 'em in a Consternation,
From daring any Molestation,
'Till all his Brother Slaves got free,
From Iron Bonds as well as he.

By this time those the doubty Knight
Had left but in a sorry plight,
With much ado were rid away,
Not caring for a farther Fray;
And now the Rogues, with Stones they got,
So pelted those that were on foot,
That all their Guards were glad to fly,
And leave the Slaves at Liberty.

Sancho, who now began at last
To gravely think of what had past,

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And knowing Crimes of such a Nature
Might prove, if catch'd, a hanging matter,
Advis'd his Master to retire
With Speed, for fear of Hugh the Cryer:
But Quixote having no Regard
To what his Man press'd very hard,
Would not be work'd on to comply,
Because 'twas cowardly to fly;
But calling all the tatter'd Creatures,
He'd rescu'd from their Chains and Fetters;
The foll'wing Speech he made to shew
What he expected they should do.

‘Now Brethren, you're restor'd by me
‘From Bondage to your Liberty,
‘And by my Courage and Discretion
‘Freed from base Slav'ry and Oppression;
‘There now remains a grateful Act
‘On your side, which I must exact:

‘That is, that e'ery Slave should take
‘His Chains and Fetters on his Back,

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‘And to Toboso make his way
‘Without Let, Hindrance, or Delay;
‘There pay your Homage to the chast
‘Dulcinea, Sov'raign of my Breast;
‘And tell her what a glorious Deed
‘I've done, by which your selves are freed;
‘Then may you go wheree'er you please,
‘Eat, drink in Peace, and live at Ease.

So Princes, when they lend their Aid
To save a People, that's betray'd,
Proud of the Kindness they have done,
They tax 'em, 'till they make it none.

Their Leader Gines de Passimont,
Taking his Station in the Front,
Thus undertook for all the rest
An Answer to the Knight's Request.

Noble Deliverer, 'tis true
We owe our Liberty to you:
But what you now impose upon us
O'er ballances the Good you've done us;

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For should we undergo the Pain
Of taking up our Chains again,
And were we willing all to go so
Far loaded with them as Toboso,
The Weight would crippl' us ten times more,
Than all we have endur'd before,
And make us more unhappy Wretches,
Than sev'n Years Service under Hatches;
Besides the Hue and Cry must take us,
And then upon the Wheel they'd break us;
So that what you exact is really
Worse than the Slav'ry of a Gally:
We therefore hold up all our Hands
Against your Worship's hard Demands,
Because this unexpected Doom
Is worse than what you snatch'd us from;
And he Sir Knight, who does pretend
To help the wretched as a Friend,
And when he's snatch'd him from one Curse,
Forthwith condemns him to a worse,

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I say, whilst one Hand serves his Brother,
He basely knocks him down with t'other.

‘Ingrateful Dog! replies the Don,
‘Thither I'll make you creep alone,
‘Like a chid Spaniel, or a Hound,
‘With your Rogue's Belly to the Ground.

These Threats provoking Gines the Thief,
Who was of all the Villains chief,
He now concluded from the Dangers
The Knight had run for Rogues and Strangers,
And from his present odd Request,
He must be mad, or drunk at best,
So tip'd the Wink upon his Crew,
Who to the Right and Left withdrew,
And soon presented such a Volly,
In scorn of their Deliverer's Folly,
That fell as thick as Hail about
His Ears, his Bason, and his Snout,
'Till shoals of Flints and Pebble-stones
From Rozinante fetch'd such Groans,

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And made him winch, and backward start
At such a Rate, that all the Art
Of Quixote could not make him feel
The stabbing Force of armed Heel;
Whilst Sancho stood behind his Ass,
And stoop'd to save his handsome Face;
Making poor Assin in the warm
Attack his Bullwark 'gainst the Storm:
At last the Knight, no longer able
To stand the shock of such a Rabble,
Submitted to the galling Force
Of a hard Clod, or something worse,
And tumbl'd headlong from his Horse;
Which Conquest was no sooner won
By th' Rogues, but in the Student run,
Bruising his Bason on the Head
O'th' Knight, 'till he was almost dead;
Then taking off his Iron-Coat,
Eat up with Rust, not worth a Groat,

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He laid that by, but what was under
He stripp'd and carry'd off as Plunder;
But was so civil, when he'd done,
To put the worthless Armour on
Again, and in this sorry plight
He left the poor unhappy Knight:
Nor did his 'Squire escape without
Some Marks about his Eyes and Snout;
Because his Tunick, which they took,
Caus'd him to give 'em such a Look,
That made the Rascals, who had thrown him,
Bestow a Thump or Two upon him;
So that when rifl'd by the Vermin,
As well as beat, we can't determine,
Whether the Champions griev'd the most,
For what they got, or what they lost.

He that redeems us from one Curse,
And when he's done intails a worse,
The serv'd from Gratitude he frees,
And makes his Friends his Enemies.

University of Virginia Library

CANTO XXXII.