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

The Knight's return to fetch clean Shirts,
And Salves, in case of Maims and Hurts;
His woful Suff'rings in a Fray,
He chanc'd to meet with by the way.

The Knight conceiting he had won
Much Fame by th' Justice he had done
Between the Farmer and his Boy,
Now trotted homewards full of Joy,
The Beast expressing, like his Master,
Much chearfulness in jogging Faster,
That truly 'twas no easy matter
For the most prying Observator,
To judge who felt the greatest force
Of Joy, the Champion or his Horse;

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The one b'ing very much delighted,
To think how timely he'd been Knighted;
The other with his Journey back,
To his old Stable and his Rack,
Where he for many Years had led
A lazy Life, and oft been fed.
At length the Knight b'ing over-run
With the proud Thoughts of what he'd done,
As he jog'd on upon his Beast,
Thus his dear Dulci he address'd,
With Love and Honour in his Breast.

O thou most beautiful of Beauties!
I kiss the shadow of thy Shooe-ties,
And only seek to raise thy Name
The highest in the Rolls of Fame.
Well may'st thou deem thyself to be
The Fairest and the Happy'st she,
Whose Charms Divine can make so brave
A Knight as me thy Captive Slave;

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Who tho' I was but dubb'd last Night,
My pale Diana's silver Light,
Yet have I done a Deed this Day,
Which humbly at your Feet I lay,
That ne'er was yet perform'd by Man,
Since ancient Knighthood first began;
The greatest Wrong have I redrest,
That e'er was done by Man or Beast,
And rescu'd from a Tyrant's Rage,
In Infant of a tender Age;
And stop'd the cruel Hand that whip'd
Poor Innocence when naked strip'd;
And would have surely flead'd him a'ter,
As God Apollo did the Satyr.

Before the Knight had fully ended
The noble Speech that he intended,
He chanc'd to come unto a Place
Where the Road split four sev'ral ways,
And having read that Knights were us'd,
In such a Case, to be confus'd,

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For half an Hour he stop'd his Horse,
And study'd how to steer his Course;
At length he thought the wisest way
Was on his Prancer's Neck to lay
The Reins, and let the Beast decide
Which was the lucki'st Road to ride,
Who, without Boggle, run a Head,
That Way which tow'rds his Stable lead,
And scowr'd as if he'd smelt or seen
The distant Hay-loft or the Bin.
Just so the Fortunate, by chance,
Step right, and do themselves advance,
Whilst others, full as wise as they,
But not so lucky, miss the Way.

Don Quixote scarce two Miles had got,
Upon a round uneasy Trot,
Within the Lane, the poor dumb Creature
Had chosen by instinct of Nature,
But he beheld a distant Croud
Of Mortals on the dusty Road,

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Six Spanish Merchants, Mules bestriding,
Four Servants upon Gennets riding,
Three Muleteers, who lamely beat
The drowthy Ground with batter'd Feet,
All from Toledo bound to Murcia,
To buy up Silks that came from Persia.
No sooner had the Valiant Knight
Beheld this unexpected sight,
But he began to bless the Day
For this Adventure in his Way,
Believing it would prove to be
As he had read in Errantry,
Some Accident wherein he might
Advance his Glory to that hight,
That no Renown should ever claim,
A Zenith equal with his Fame.
By such fantastick Hopes inspir'd,
His Breast with Courage soon was fir'd,
That now he warily prepar'd
To stoutly stand upon his Guard,

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Sate himself firmly in his Seat,
And in his Stirrups fix'd his Feet,
His Target for his Safety plac'd
In ample Order, at his Breast,
Then couching his tremendous Lance,
He waited for the Foes advance,
And in this threatning Posture stood
I'th' middle of the dusty Road,
That Rooks and Jack-daws shun'd the Knight,
And fled with Terror from his sight.

At length the Travellers came up,
But wisely made a distant stop,
And with faint Hearts and doubtful Eyes,
Beheld the Knight, to their surprize;
Some who his scaly Hide perceiv'd,
Cry'd, 'twas a Dragon they believ'd,
Taking his Lance to be his Sting,
And each bright Arm to be a Wing;
Others, more given to Superstition,
Averr'd it was some dreadful Vision,

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That threaten'd, by its angry Motion,
The Christian Church with Persecution;
The rest conceited 'twas some Evil
Infernal Monster, or the Devil,
Or Ghost of Chiron the Centaur,
Whom they had read of long before,
Because they could distinguish plain,
Twas one half Horse, the other Man:
But finding that the Scare-crow kept
His Ground, the Merchants forward stept,
Till humane Voice could reach the Ear
Of either side, they were so near.
The Knight perceiving that the Foe
Took Courage, and did bolder grow,
In haughty Tone, and Words as proud,
Thus spoke to the approaching Croud.

Let all Mankind at my Command,
No further pass this way, but stand,
Till they confess, affirm, and swear,
By all the solemn Ties that are,

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That the bright Ladies they pretend
To Love, to Honour, and Defend,
Are but dull Stars that shine but so-so,
Compar'd to Dulci del Tobosa,
That Queen of all the Beauteous Train,
Whose Empire I alone maintain.

No sooner had the Merchants heard
This Speech, but they no longer fear'd;
And smiling at their past surprize,
Thought him some Madman in disguise,
Who being by Ill-fortune crost
In Love, had all his Senses lost.
So that to better understand
The meaning of his high Demand,
He that was thought to be the best
Improver of so odd a Jest,
And was most furnish'd with Discretion,
To manage the Capitulation,
Was by the rest, in their defence,
Appointed for the Conference;

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Accordingly he bow'd his Head,
And this evasive Answer made.

Most worthy and renowned Knight,
We come to Treat, and not to Fight;
Nor do we only Honour you,
But that fair Queen you talk of too:
Yet how, alas, can we confess
She's brightest of the Female Race,
Or say and swear that she alone
Has Title unto Beauty's Throne,
Before we've had the pleasing sight,
Of those sweet Charms that are so bright?
No Mortal can sincerely vow
The Truth of what he does not know;
How then can we in Justice swear,
The Dame we never saw is Fair?
No awful Judge, with rev'rend Beard,
Decides a Cause before 'tis heard:
How then can you expect that we,
In solemn manner, should agree

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To own your Lady to be Queen
Of Beauties, till her Charms are seen.

‘Should I (reply'd the angry Knight)
‘Expose her Beauty to your sight,
‘'Twould be no Wonder then for you
‘To own what you're convinc'd is true:
‘You should believe upon my Honour,
‘The Praise that I bestow upon her,
‘Or 'tis my Duty you must know it,
‘By dint of Sword to force you to it;
‘Therefore confess, affirm, and swear,
‘That she alone's the brightest Fair;
‘Or else prepare to give me Battle,
‘For Words are all but Tittle-Tattle;
‘Therefore come on, discurteous Crew,
‘By one and one, as Knights should do,
‘According to the Rules we see
‘In the old Laws of Chivalry;
‘Or altogether rudely join'd,
‘Like cow'rdly Slaves undisciplin'd,

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That never trod in Honour's Field,
In Battle and in Arms unskill'd:
Come all, I say, and I'll depend
On my just Cause to stand my Friend.

Pray, worthy good Sir Knight, reply'd
The Spokesman on the Merchants side,
I humbly beg you, for the sake
Of all these Princes at my Back,
That you'll regard the inward ease
Of all our tender Consciences,
And for the Honour of those Queens
That reign in the Alcarian Plains,
And Empresses that bear the sway
Ith' Fields of Estramadura,
That you'd vouchsafe to let us see
The Picture or Epitome
Of the Fair Maid you love so well,
Tho' 'tis no broader than my Nail;
For Art is able to express
Much Beauty in a little Piece;

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Then shall we all be satisfy'd,
And lay our Scruples quite aside,
And, after one judicious view,
Affirm what now we cannot do.

Nay, all, I find, as well as I,
Are so inclining to comply,
Provided you would shew her Face
In paint, or in a Magick Glass,
That tho' her Nose should be defective,
By being over kind and active;
Or should she prove a sore-ey'd Gillion,
That wept both Brimstone and Vermillion,
We're Men of Breeding, and more Honour,
Than to reflect small Faults upon her;
But shall pass by a blemish'd Feature
That's wrong'd by chance, and not by Nature,
And all agree to think her Fair,
And vow what e'er you'd have us swear.

‘Brimstone, Vermillion, (quoth the Knight)
‘Ye Scoundrel Slaves prepare to fight,

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I'd have you know she ne'er distils
From Eyes, or any Feature else,
Such Filth, or any thing, unless
Tis Civet, Musk, or Ambergrese;
Her Eyes, I'd have you know, are bright,
And shine like Diamonds in the Night;
Her Mein most graceful, and her Waste
A perfect Spindle when she's lac'd.
Know therefore, ye provoking Rabble,
That this victorious Arm is able
To vindicate my lovely Dutchess,
Against your blasphemous Reproaches;
Nor shall you part unpunish'd hence,
Till you've recanted your Offence.
With that he grin'd and spurr'd his Horse,
Couch'd Lance, and with his utmost force,
Rid on full Tilt, to be the Death
Of him that had provok'd his Wrath,
But Fortune stepping in between
Most timely stop'd the bloody Scene,

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And in poor Rozinante's Way
Did such a dirty Hillock lay,
That down he came, Arse over Head,
And almost laid the Knight for dead,
Who struggl'd hard upon the Ground,
And in the Dust rowl'd round and round,
But could not raise himself to guard
Against that Danger now he fear'd:
However, tho' the weight of Iron,
That did his Raw-bon'd Corps environ,
And Bruises in his Hips and Thighs,
Made him unable to arise;
Yet the poor Knight, whose heart was strong,
As in the Dust he laid along,
Thus play'd the Hero with his Tongue.

Stay, Cowards, Rascals, do not fly,
I shall be with you by and by,
'Tis not my Fear, or yet your Force,
That have o'erthrown me, but my Horse:

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Let me but Mount, and you shall see
I'll soon revenge this Injury.

These Bugbear Words the Champion spoke,
At a bad time, did so provoke
A Merchant's Groom, ill-will'd enough
To lend the Don a Kick and Cuff,
That he attack'd the sprawling Knight,
First broke his Lance, to shew his Spite,
Then taking up that end thereof
Which he believ'd was Armour-proof,
Did on his Shoulders and his Breech
Return such Answers to his Speech,
That made, at ev'ry stubborn thwack,
His yielding Armour bruise his Back:
But still the Knight, in a Bravado,
Bore with such Grace the Bastinado,
That he ne'er flinch'd, cry'd out, or mourn'd,
Or beg'd for Mercy, but return'd,
In valiant Words, each painful Blow,
Receiv'd from his ignoble Foe.

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Thus he that's Brave will ne'er lament
Those Suff'rings that he can't prevent,
But by his Patience still defeat
The Victor's Malice, tho' he's beat.

At length the Merchant rating off
His Groom, by crying 'twas enough;
Who now b'ing weary of the Pains
He'd taken for so little Gains,
Was glad, upon his Master's calling,
To leave the beaten Bugbear sprawling,
Giving the Champion, as he lay
Half dead in the unlucky Fray,
A parting Blow upon his Chest,
That vex'd him more than all the rest:
Which being done, they left the Knight
Bedung'd, in very woful plight.

The Don much bruis'd in Front and Rear,
Now seeing that the Coast was clear,
Made many faint Essays, in vain,
To raise his Carcass up again,

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But finding Nature had not force,
As yet, to rise and mount his Horse,
Stretching his Limbs, lock'd up in Rust,
For Ease, upon his Bed of Dust,
Upon his Arm he lean'd his Head,
And thus unto himself he said:

Such cross Adventures and Exploits,
Alas! are common to us Knights,
Fortune's not always in the way,
But will sometimes from Valour stray.
Besides, tho' I am overthrown,
The dastard Foe is fled and gone:
Nor could their Usage make me yield,
Tho' wounded, I have kept the Field;
Therefore, altho' my Hopes were crost,
My Knighthood has no Honour lost;
For the base Scoundrels plainly see
The Fault was in my Horse, not me.

Thus the maim'd Knight reflecting lay,
Upon the past unhappy Fray,

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Hoping to gather Strength in time,
With Rozinante grazing by'm.

When Pride and Ign'rance jointly aim
At Glory, they come off with Shame;
And hair-brain'd Fools, that run at all,
For want of Forecast, often fall.

University of Virginia Library

CANTO VIII.