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

The Knight does with the mad Man meet,
And kindly they each other greet;
They talk a while, at length they quarrel,
The Hermit beats, and bids 'em farewel.

The Knight now eager of his Game,
Beat ev'ry Copse to which he came,
Whilst Sancho, who had Reason for't,
Curs'd both the mad Men in his Heart,
And now began to sorely miss
That trusty Ass which once was his.

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At length, as they were ranging through
A Plat where Thorns and Brambles grew,
In the most solitary, rude,
And desart Part of all the Wood,
Up starts the mad Man bolt upright,
Not many Paces from the Knight;
And, at that Juncture, being free
From his accustom'd Lunacy,
The tatter'd Wretch came gravely on,
With courteous Mein, to meet the Don,
Who seeing that, dismounts, to pay
The like Civility half Way,
Kindly saluting frantick Brother,
As one Beau Courier does another.
No sooner had they hugg'd and kiss'd,
Like Lovers ready for the Priest,
And toss'd their Heads from Ear to Ear,
As if they closely whisp'ring were;
But the wild Vagrant of the Wood,
Withdrew one Step from whence he stood,

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And clapping both his Hands upon
The Shoulders of the weaker Don,
With a strong Wrestler's upright Grace,
He stares the Champion in the Face;
Not with Intent to strike or throw him,
But view his Phiz, in Hopes to know him,
Wond'ring as greatly to behold
So strange a Knight in Armour old,
Whose rusty Scales, and batter'd Flaws,
Gave t'other Lunatick some Cause
To take the odd-look'd Don to be
A Mountaineer, as well as he;
And that he rid so girt about
With Arms, to find some Rival out.

When thus the Anch'rite of the Wood,
His Steel-bound Visiter had view'd,
He calmly quits the Hold he'ad got,
And crys, Dear Sir, I know you not.
Pray tell me how you came to steer
Your Course into these Mountains here?

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Most noble Sir, replies the Don,
Who lives in Peace, and reigns alone,
As bearded Knight of all these Rocks,
Whose Title's printed in your Looks,
Having heard often of your Fame,
To seek you out, I hither came,
In Hopes to learn the hidden Cause
That from your Palace thus withdraws
Your troubl'd Soul, to sigh and grieve,
Where none can your Distress relieve;
I therefore beg you would impart
The painful Secrets of your Heart,
That I some speedy Means may find
To please and ease your tortur'd Mind;
Which I, by this victorious Arm,
Do firmly promise to perform;
Or if in the Attempt I fail,
And no Endeavours will avail,
These Rocks shall evermore inclose
My self, as Partner of your Woes;

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With you I'll dwell, and frankly bear,
In all your Discontents a Share;
Add 'em to mine, that you may see
Your Sorrow's far out-mourn'd by me,
That my Misfortunes, by their Weight,
May cause your Wrongs to seem less great;
As the Sun's Brightness takes away
The Light of other Stars by Day.

I thank you for your Love: But, Sir,
Replies the hungry Forester,
Neglect of eating, makes me faint;
If you have Food, relieve my Want;
For no Man's able to discourse well,
Whilst his Guts grumble for a Morsel.

With that, Don Quixote did unty
The Bag, and gave him a Supply;
Which, like a Tyger, he devour'd,
And cranch'd the Bones without a Word,
Till the sweet, timely, welcome Scraps,
Had fill'd his Guts, and tir'd his Chaps;

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Then beck'ning to the Knight and 'Squire,
He led 'em down we know not where,
Into some neighb'ring pleasant Place;
And when he'ad quatted on the Grass,
Now, Sir, said he, if you would know
The Causes of my present Woe,
Sit down by me, and I'll declare
The Suff'rings I am forc'd to bear;
But you must promise not to speak
One Word or Syllable, to break
The Chain of that unhappy Story,
Which I'm about to lay before ye;
For whilst you're silent, I'll go on,
When interrupted, I have done;
For I'd be quick, because I hate
The curs'd Remembrance of my Fate.

This Caution put the Don in Mind
Of Sancho's Tale, half left behind,
Because he had not Pow'r to hold
His Silence 'till the same was told;

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So that he now more firmly hung
A heavier Padlock on his Tongue,
Resolving not to speak a Word,
Till he the whole Discourse had heard.
Now, quoth the tatter'd frantick Lover,
All my Misfortunes I'll discover;
Attend, with Patience, what I say,
And ask no Question by the Way.

My Name, which you desire to know,
I own to be Cardenio:
In Andalusia was I born,
Of noble Race, tho' now forlorn:
My Parents living rich and great,
Tho' I their Son unfortunate.
Within that City where I first
Drew Breath, and tenderly was nurs'd,
There also the divinely bright
Lucinda first beheld the Light,
Whose Beauty, tho' it gives us Joy,
Like Helen's, would inflame a Troy.

274

Near to each other were we bred,
In early Days together play'd,
'Till infant Love sprang up apace,
And found in both our Hearts a Place:
There gently smother'd for a Time,
But blaz'd too fiercely in our Prime,
That our kind Fondness of each other
Alarm'd her Father and her Mother;
Who, jealous of our Youth, soon after
Forbid my Visits to their Daughter.
I to her Father then apply'd,
To beg Lucinda for my Bride;
Unable thus to live remov'd
From her I so ador'd and lov'd.
At my Request, he first sate thoughtful,
Then made an Answer very doubtful;
However, told me I should rather
Apply my self to my own Father,
And beg of him to come and treat
Of an Affair of so much Weight.

275

With this Advice, I Home return'd,
And our unhappy Absence mourn'd,
Resolving, by the Help of Heaven,
To take the Counsel he had given;
But going with Design to move
My Father to approve my Love,
I found him leaning in his Chair,
And reading with a joyful Air.
Cardenio, cries the good old Man,
Then rising, to the Window ran,
Here's happy News for thee, my Boy,
That gives thy aged Father Joy.
This Letter's from the Duke Ricardo,
Who tells me he has often heard how
Obedient you to me have been,
And what a comely courteous Mein
You shew to others, and how free
You are of all Debauchery,
That he requires you to be gone
With Speed unto his eldest Son,

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As a Companion, and assures
They both will serve you to their Pow'rs.

This Letter to my Father sent,
Quite interrupted my Intent,
And render'd him unfit to mind,
Or me to speak what I design'd,
But thought the prudent'st way, was rather
T'acquaint Lucinda and her Father
With what had happen'd, and to give her
My solemn Vows to ne'er deceive her;
Which pleas'd the youthful charming Dame,
And caus'd her to return the same;
Her Father giving me his Honour
To never force a Match upon her.

When thus betroth'd, to ease our Fears,
We parted, but alas! in Tears.

I now prepar'd to wait upon
The Duke Ricardo and his Son,
From whom I had a friendly kind
Reception suited to my Mind;

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I specially was entertain'd
So courteously by Ferdinand
The second Son, that Friendship grew
Each Day so fast between us two,
That ev'ry Secret of his Breast
And mine, we mutually possest.
He told me all his am'rous Leagues,
His youthful Frolicks, and Intrigues;
How he debauch'd a Grasier's Daughter,
And left the beauteous Dam'sel a'ter,
Tho' he had brought her lovely Charms,
By Vows of Marriage, to his Arms.

These Freedoms tempted me, alas!
To open my unhappy Case;
Also to shew him, at a Window,
The Beauty of my fair Lucinda.
Astonish'd at so bless'd a Sight,
He gaz'd with Wonder and Delight,
And vow'd her Features brighter far
Than the Sun, Moon, or Ev'ning-Star.

278

Now ev'ry Step he mov'd along,
Lucinda's Name was made his Song;
And ev'ry study'd, am'rous Phrase
He spoke, was in her Beauty's Praise.
I now repented, tho' too late,
I'd shewn him such a tempting Bait,
On whom no Mortal Eye could cast
A Look, but must desire to taste;
But still was willing to suspend
Distrust of such a gen'rous Friend;
Nor could my partial Soul foresee
Lucinda's Infidelity,
'Till finding my uneasy Breast,
At length, with Doubts and Fears opprest,
I set a-part a certain Day
To steal from Home, that I might pay
A Visit to the fairest She,
T'acquaint her with my Jealousy;
And, by fresh Vows and Protestations,
Renew our former Obligations;

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For female Oaths no longer bind,
Than new ones keep the old in Mind.

When I to fair Lucinda came,
I found her Temper still the same,
Pleasing herself with the Romance
Of the twelve famous Peers of France,
By which, upon a little Table;
There lay another ancient Fable,
Containing many strange Exploits
Perform'd long since by Errant Knights.

How! quoth the Don; and does the Lady
Make Books of Errantry her Study?
Forgetting he was bound to hold
His Tongue 'till all the Tale was told.
Then am I certain she is fair,
And chaste as Gods or Angels are;
Kind, constant, generous, and wise,
And all that's good beneath the Skies;
Deserving of that Love and Duty
You owe to her illustrious Beauty.

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Whilst Quixote thus run rambling on,
Cardenio hung his Noddle down,
And in a sullen Posture sate,
To hear his Brother mad Man prate,
Ne'er interrupting what he said,
Or stirring his attentive Head,
'Till weary of the Don's long Rattle,
More tiresome than a Gossip's Tattle,
At length he gave a sudden Flounce,
And started from his Pause at once;
Put on a threat'ning stern Grimace,
And staring Quixote in the Face,
Cry'd, He's a Dog, that dares to say
Snapsuds the Barber never lay
With the fair Queen Madasima.
'Tis a false scandalous Report;
That cut-beard Rogue was ne'er at Court.
Besides, can you believe, said he,
A Lady of that high Degree,

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Rich, beauteous, great enough by Birth
To bed the proudest Prince on Earth,
Would fall upon her Royal Back,
To please a Draw-tooth Dog, a Quack?
O fye! and he that dares to say,
That such a Scoundrel ever lay,
Kiss'd, hugg'd, or mingl'd Legs or Thighs
With that fair Queen, I say he lies,
And ready am, by Day or Night,
Arm'd or unarm'd, to do her Right,
And make the Rascal, with my Sword,
Retract his Scandal ev'ry Word.

Cardenio star'd upon the Don,
To hear him thus run rambling on,
And growing downright mad beside,
To find himself so much defy'd,
Dropt of a Sudden nimbly down,
And snatches up a mighty Stone,
With which he gave the Knight such Slaps
Upon his thin unwary Chaps,

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That down he tumbl'd with the Blows
Receiv'd about his Eyes and Nose;
At Sight of which, the trusty 'Squire,
Inflam'd with Honour, and with Ire,
Fell on as fiercely as a Tyger,
To shew his Valour, and his Vigor;
But mad Cardenio, with his Stone,
Gave Sancho's Snot-galls such a Con,
That laid him flat upon his Back,
Half dead the very first Attack,
Then trod his Bowels, without Quarter,
Like Country Lab'rer treading Mortar.
Thus beat 'em both; and when he'ad done
Among the Mountains hooping run,
Leaving his Victims full of Sadness,
Mo mourn their Folly, and his Madness.

Thus he that foolishly enrages
A mad Man, and the same engages,
Will, to his Shame, well beaten be,
Except himself's as mad as he.

University of Virginia Library

CANTO XXXIV.